Don't Call it a Resolution

Our New "House"

         Hello? Hello? Is there anyone out there? It’s been so long since I’ve posted, I’m not sure if anyone is reading. If there is anyone out there, let me start by saying, “Happy New Year!” If you’re one to make resolutions, may you have the wisdom to make good ones and the strength and support to keep them. I tend to make my resolutions in the fall. For at least twelve years of our early lives, that’s when the new beginnings start and I’ve always found it a good time to start new projects and work on things in my life.
         The projects I started this past fall are a big part of why I’ve done so little writing lately. I am the Vice President of a community theatre group. This year we moved into a new space.  It was an exciting, challenging and time consuming adventure.  I also signed on to the committee to help select plays for next year. Since August I have read dozens of plays and (for the first time I can remember) absolutely no novels.
         In September I began teaching children’s drama classes at a local music and arts school. There has been a huge amount of prep work for the classes, but the teaching part was rewarding beyond words. More than any job I’ve ever had, I feel like I am doing exactly what I am supposed to be doing.
         Of course, I still have my day job and plenty of family obligations. Both of my children started new schools in September. And of course they have music lessons, scouts, and sports (they even have a drama class with this crazy teacher). The boys are happy where they are, but the new routine is tiring.
         This was a particularly long Christmas break for the boys, with very few commitments. Entire days went by when I didn’t put on shoes or get in my car. I’ve read three novels for pleasure. There was nothing especially “literary” about them--they were pure entertainment. I even began working on my long-neglected manuscript. I found that I really missed writing. At first, I thought I just missed my readers and fellow writers. But I also missed this weird creative outlet. So here I am, back at my computer. I’m not one to make resolutions, but if I were, I’d resolve to get back to my writing.
         As we speak, the snow is falling and our vacation has been extended by a couple of days. I have soup stock simmering in the slow cooker and plans to bake bread later in the day.  And of course, there will be snow to shovel. Lots of snow. The craziness will begin again on Monday. The boys will go back to school and I’ll have auditions for my next adventure. The routine will start again. Hopefully, I’ll make some time in the routine for writing.
        Happy 2014 everyone!

Take THAT, Stagefright

           I know in most parts of the country, summer vacation is in full swing. But here in my little corner of the world, we have another agonizing week to go thanks to the hurricanes and blizzards that visited us this year. But the full-on crunch of homework and projects is finally winding down and has been replaced with field trips, science fairs, Hawaiian shirt days, and my favorites—school plays and concerts.

           Having been bitten by the performance bug when I was in sixth grade I get really excited to see my kids discovering the joy of being on stage. They had been reluctant to try, claiming stage fright (although how you can have stage fright without actually getting on stage remains a mystery to me). Several years ago I auditioned for a local production of “South Pacific” and there was a part for a child Owen's age. I asked him if he'd like to come with me and give it a try. He was wide-eyed with horror at the prospect, “I will if I have to,” he said. I assured him that he didn't have to and he was very relieved.

           During April vacation, he told me his class was going to be doing a play and he asked if I'd help him practice for the audition. After running a victory lap around the house, I settled on the couch with him to read his part. He wanted to be a palace guard—a small part that would allow him to wear his Halloween costume again.

           He got the part and last week after months of rehearsal, we finally got to see the production. He did a great job with the small number of lines that he had. (As we say in the biz, there are no small parts, only small actors.) But my favorite part of the show was an ensemble musical number where the entire cast sang and danced together. When the song began, he sang shyly and danced deliberately. As he warmed to the audience, the desire to entertain became greater than the fear of looking silly. By the end of the number he was glowing. Owen had discovered the joy of performing for an audience.

           When it was over, he ran up to us and said, “That was so much fun!”

           Yes Sweetie. Yes it is.

Seven O'clock

 

            The clock on my computer reads 6:38 AM. The sky outside my window is beginning to glow as the sun rises. My workroom door is closed, but I can hear the sounds of waking from the boys’ room. Their door open and the elephant like thudding takes them to the bathroom and back. I can hear their discussion as they get dressed.

“Is it time yet?”

“You go in.”

            “No. You.”

            It’s nearly seven. My morning writing time is over. I ask myself for one more paragraph. One more sentence. One more word. It’s like the negotiation I had with my alarm clock an hour ago. Ten more minutes? Five? But then I was only stealing the time from myself. This time belongs to all of us.

            Finally, Owen has talked James into opening my door.

            “Mama!” he says in his babyish way when he wants something. He throws his skinny arms around me. “It’s snuggle time!”

            Back in September, the idea of snuggle time before school would have been absurd. Mornings were a constant state of chaos. The boys are in two different elementary schools this year. Their buses arrive at the same time in two different places. The two schools would be in different towns if they were any farther apart. After months of trying different combinations of buses and dropping off and picking up, we found a routine that works—most of the time.

            One morning this winter, Owen came into my workroom at 7:00. His eyes were sleepy and a little red. He loves his new school, but the work is harder and there is a lot more of it. Fourth grade is a big jump from third. There isn’t always time to just play and that really eats away at him. A nine-year-old boy needs to play as much as his forty-year-old mom needs time alone behind a closed door.

            “Mom, do you have time to snuggle with me before breakfast?”

            In all honesty, I didn’t see how we had time for one more thing in our morning routine. But he definitely needed some snuggle time, so I shut down my computer and we cuddled under an old wool afghan on the sofa to watch the first few minutes of Arthur on PBS.  We haven’t missed a day since. My mother used to say, “You have time for what you make time for.” and I’ve always found this to be true. My boys are growing up and before long I know the last thing in the world they’ll want to do is snuggle up with me and watch PBS. But for now they do. And so do I.

Turning it Around

            At the end of August I felt like I was the only mom blogger around who hadn’t written an ode to the end of summer. Owen fell and cracked his front tooth the same week James had hand surgery. He ended up needing a root canal. I felt like I spent the end of summer trying to make my kids comfortable during the day and heading off to work at night. I wanted to be taking my kids to the beach, gathering the last of the summer tomatoes, inviting friends over for barbeques, and taking walks to Dairy Queen. But between the unexpected medical and dental bills and needing to buy a new car, I had to work as many hours as my boss could give me. It didn’t leave much time or money for fun. August kicked my ass.

            Then September arrived I felt like I was the only blogger who hadn’t written a back to school post. I didn’t feel that feeling of lightness that comes with the freedom of having my house to myself. I knew the tango of getting the kids to two different schools on different sides of town and getting myself to work on time was a task that would take military precision. I knew cramming in homework and dinner before soccer and scouting would be painful. I put together a calendar and color-coded our activities, I made lunches in advance, washed, folded and put away every scrap of laundry in the house. I was too busy getting ready for back to school to write about it. I’m not going to lie. September also kicked my ass.

            Now September is drawing to a close. We’re settling into a manageable, yet far from perfect, routine. After getting sent home from school three times for uncontrollable coughing fits, we finally seem to have James’ allergies under control. We’re managing to juggle all of our activities. And I’ve learned it’s okay to say, “We can’t make it tonight” when it’s just too much.

            Our school system is closed for Rosh Hashanah so we have a four-day weekend. The boys and I slept a little later this morning. We’re going to go to the library and then drive to New Hampshire to go out to lunch with my parents. If the rain breaks, we’ll pick some apples and maybe a pumpkin. We’ll get to enjoy a little of what makes it wonderful to live in New England in the fall. By the time the boys go back to school on Monday it will be October. It won’t be any less busy than September. I don't celebrate Rosh Hashanah myself, but this seems like a really good time to welcome a new year and make a resolution. It's almost October, time for me to do the ass kicking.

Playing Hooky

            This morning as my six-year-old son James was getting his coat on he announced that he wasn’t feeling well. He had been awake for almost two hours exhibiting only the slightest sign of having the sniffles. Being a concerned parent, I naturally responded with sympathy. I believe my exact words were, “Get your coat on.”

            James somewhere, somehow acquired a penchant for drama. So I’m not quick to believe that he’s sick—even when he’s putting on a pretty good show. This morning he wasn’t even putting on his normal Oscar worthy song and dance. I figured he’d be distracted once he got to school and forget about being “sick”.

            A couple of hours later (while lying on the copy-room floor attempting to extract a sliver of paper from the inner workings of the copy machine) my cell phone rang. It was the school nurse. He didn’t seem that sick to her either. But there he was in the nurses office coughing—but only when the nurse said, “You don’t seem to be coughing.” 

            Back in the spring, I wrote the following piece for a writing class. It is written from the point of view of myself as a five-year-old and is based upon a day I remember spending with my dad. Thinking about days like this are probably the reason I left work and picked James up instead of sending him back to class. It's called “The Best Day Ever”.

It’s still dark outside when my mother wakes me up. I want to stay under my green and white gingham bedspread. She lets me hide a little longer while she works on getting my brothers out of bed. I can hear my sister in the shower. Kindergarten starts later than everyone else’s school and they are too busy in the morning to try to get me out of bed early. I love my bed—it is a river raft, and a stage, and a parade float, and a trampoline.

            Eventually my dad comes in to wake me up. They had something called lay-offs where he works so he gets to spend more time with me. He goes to school now too—just like me.

            “Come on My Little Chickadee,” he says. “Time to get up.”

            “I don’t feel good.” I tell him.

            “Why don’t you come downstairs? Maybe some orange juice will make you feel better.”

            “Okay. But I don’t think it will work,” I say with a sigh.

            He gets me an English muffin and a glass of orange juice. It does make me feel better but I still don’t want to go to school.

            “What’s the matter Sweetie? I thought you loved kindergarten.”

            I do love kindergarten. I love learning my letters and numbers. I love snack time—sometimes we get saltines with peanut butter! I love the monkey bars at recess. I even like naptime. I just don’t like the bus. Lisa will make fun of me. She is tall and wears pretty dresses.  She has shiny blond hair like Nellie on “Little House on the Prairie”.  My hair is brown. Lisa makes fun of my sweater—it is navy blue. Hers is pink. She says my sweater is black and looks like a boy’s sweater. I have begged my mother for a pink sweater. But she says my navy blue sweater is very practical—it goes with everything and doesn’t get dirty as quickly. I don’t want to tell Daddy about Lisa.

            “I do like kindergarten Daddy.” I tell him. “I just don’t feel like going today.”

             “Well I wasn’t going to get any yard work done today anyway,” He says looking out the window at the rain. I suppose one day off won’t kill you. Okay. But you have to help me around the house this morning and let me get some homework done.”

            I giggle when he says that. I think it’s funny that Daddy has homework like my sister and brothers. He is studying to be a teacher like Mommy.

            Daddy vacuumed and I dusted. I got to watch “Sesame Street” and “Mister Rogers” while Daddy did his homework. He bought a small bag of potato chips to have with our lunch. Mommy doesn’t buy junk food so it was a big treat. The best part was playing checkers—I won three times.

            I tried to get Daddy to let me stay home again the next day. But he said if I was well enough to beat him in checkers three times, I was well enough to go to school. At least it isn’t going to rain tomorrow. We’ll be able to play on the monkey bars at recess. Lisa may have a prettier sweater than I do, but she misses all the fun trying to keep it clean.

            So today, instead of telling the school nurse to send James back to class, I said, “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes or so”. He definitely has a little cold—the inconsequential kind most of us work through and try to ignore. We had chicken noodle soup and peanut butter sandwiches for lunch. James helped me clean a little and he watched a little TV. When it was time to pick up his big brother at the bus stop, James declared, “I feel better Mom!” Maybe it was knowing he’d miss tomorrow’s Cub Scout Christmas party if he missed another day of school. But I like to think having a little one-on-one time with Mom made him feel better. Hanging out with him certainly made my day a little better.