Tuesday, August 25, 2015

Day 2


This morning I walked Will to his second day of second grade.  I have been building up to this task for almost a year now, since we live so close, but today was the first day when the four small bodies obstructing this path and the eating reluctance that runs the clock out on it were all finally cleared.

We walked, we chatted, Charlie sat perfectly content (or perhaps overwhelmed into silence by the shock of leaving his property for the first time since returning to Texas), the cars whizzed by and we entered the school through the back by the track, the place we went for his Tiger Cub picnic a few weeks after Charlie was born.

I worry so little about Will these days.  Everything comes so easily to him, or maybe he so easily to it.  He's confident and happy, easy to please.  When I picked him up after violin practice yesterday, it had basically fallen off my radar that it had been his first day.  "Second grade is going to be fun!" he announced to me with a grin as we sweated our way to the parking lot, preempting a question I had forgotten to even ask.  I also tend to experience fewer feelings of nostalgia over his growing up than I do with the other kids--the side-effect of having an older brother to broach new vistas of childhood first and younger siblings whose transformations are more pronounced.

But today as he scampered confidently off in the direction of his new classroom, not a hesitation about where or how or with whom he would go, I was struck by the small shock of his growing independence.  He disappeared in the swarm of kids and a day that will be all his own.

I spent the rest of the day taking excessive footage of the four kids who spent the day at home.  

Sunday, August 23, 2015

In With the New

Somehow another school year is upon us already, pressing its Type A face with its schedules and time tables and homework into our darkened windows where we are oversleeping.  Two days after arriving back in Houston from our East Coast Summer, I felt grateful that we were able to invade my parents' house for 6 weeks.  Every inconvenience associated with suitcase living and crowded beds was dwarfed by all the fun moments spent with family and friends, doing old, familiar Virginia things and having the opportunity to try out new ones (like taking a trip to NYC).  It is nice to be in our home again but I think we will be summer travelers from now on.

Will is the first to head back, with his first day tomorrow.  Andrew starts the following week and Porter the Tuesday after.  Will is excited to start 2nd grade and is not put out at all by the fact that his brothers get an extra week off.  He will begin his first season of flag football and his second year with the Fiddling Lions.  His goal is to get his name of the principal's list displayed in the school hallway.  We think the way to do this is straight As.  He got straight As last year but for some reason they don't include 1st graders.  His plan to help anyone feeling left out is to simply ask, "Want to play?"  I figured cementing a catch-phrase in their brains to reach out to others is better than long lectures on kindness.  At this stage, playing together is the cure-all.

Porter will start Kindergarten at Pines Presbyterian Preschool rather than joining Will at BHE.  It is a shorter day running from 9-1 and will give him more time to slow down and be little.  There will only be 10 other kids in the class and he will have two teachers.  He has become very fascinated with Will's violin and is eligible to enroll in the BHE violin program with Will, so, against my lazy inclinations, he will participate in that, too.  It will be a pain for me, but I am hoping that I am striking while the iron is hot musically.  I think it will be a wonderful year for him.  I am glad I figured out a way to win back that extra time that his April birthday steals, even if only for one year, since he will finish high school with all the other 2010 babies.  For this year, at least, we get to a few extra hours at home where he can play with Claire and make Charlie smile and be part of the at-home orbit.  

Andrew is officially old to me now.  I am cheating time in two ways here:  first, his late birthday puts him behind a school year (when I was his age I was entering 5th) and second, the sweet nature of his all-boys school keeps him that much more innocent.  But all my cheats notwithstanding, he is still over half-way on his years at home.  I feel like the word "years" is itself a form of deception.  It is not marking off a very long chunk of time, and if it weren't for the fact that it is how long it takes the planet to revolve around the sun, I would propose a different measure.

Andrew has agreed after much encouragement to participate in x-country.  He went running with me this summer and was far more capable of the four miles we did than I was.  I am no athlete, but I had a bit of endurance.  My dad was the same way, and it seems like Andrew is, too.  While I am a little nervous that he will hate the sport as applied in Houston in August, he seems proud to announce his anticipated participation so far.

He gave a talk in primary today.  The assigned subject was "Miracles."  I had totally forgotten until this morning, but we sat together and prepared it fairly easily.  I am trying to make everything formulaic for them so they can grasp how to go about things in their lives better.  I always felt so clueless and lost.  After he introduced himself and defined the term, he launched into two family stories illustrating the principle.  One was about George Q Cannon's mission to the Hawaii at age 18, where he experienced the gift of tongues and was blessed to taste as sweet a bitter root he had found disgusting.  The second was the story of my dad's conversion.  He made it sound like he had been raised in the Church but had resisted the Gospel, but the point still came across well.  His whole life he had been firmly atheist.  It is hilarious to think of non-believing little boy, but he really never believed in God or Heaven or life after death.  After my mom joined the church, the missionaries became a fixture in our home and he was eventually baptized.  I had always suspected that he had just joined to support my mom and us, and under the theory that there was no harm in living a Christian life even if the whole thing was silliness.  But when my friend was investigating the church during my high school years, he shared an experience he had had with the missionaries.  He said that during one discussion, the missionary turned to him and said, "Can you not feel the Spirit that is in this room right now?"  My dad could not reply because the Spirit was so strong that he was totally overcome.

That story stunned me.  Up until that point, I really believed my dad was a "no harm in going" kind of member.  I have always been grateful to know of this spiritual experience he had.  We need to know these things about one another.  Sometimes we need to borrow light to keep ours from snuffing out.  I realize that it sounds like just another conversion story, remarkable to the people involved, but not miraculous.  But to me, knowing my dad, knowing how logical his mind was and how skeptical (he once said he didn't really like reading the D&C bc he felt like it was just Joseph Smith telling people what to do), the fact that he felt the Holy Spirit testify of the Gospel in such a way that rendered him speechless, well that is a miracle.  I am grateful for the witness it has provided to me and that it can provide to my kids, who loved him so much.

Andrew did such a great job and I marveled out how much he had grown in the course of a year.  The most coherent part of last year's talk was when he, after mumbling some sentence fragments, crumbled up his sheet of paper and tried (and failed) to make a basket in the trashcan.  He was trying to be funny and funnel away his embarrassment back then, but what a difference from today.  One of his primary leaders asked if she could take a photo of the notes he brought up with him.  I asked him which part she seemed to be interested in and he replied, over his pearler bead project he was making for me, "Probably the end because that was the best part.  Mom."  I had written out the ending for him to read since he had trouble winding it back down.  We are as close to his leaving on his mission as we are to him calling out "Aaami, are you?" and hooking his little arm around my neck when we read books on the floor.

Wherever it is that the time goes, there are some pretty adorable little memories swirling around, too.  I wish I could visit.        

Friday, January 02, 2015

Christmas 2014


I had high hopes of cultivating some new Houston Christmas traditions but alas I was too weary.  We attended Andrew's school production of A Christmas Carol, which was truly extraordinarily well done. I wish I had invited other people because it was probably the best live action rendering I have ever seen.  We sat on rolled up mats in the wrestling room and watched through the open-air windows, since the seating there was superior to our folded chairs on the deck.  Claire repeatedly requested "nursers!", Will and Porter demonstrated their incapacity to sit still for any length of time, and Andrew sat with his classmates in the choir probably not singing and it was perfect.  The night was beautiful and balmy, the play of perfect length (under an hour), capped off with cookies and chocolate milk under the huge great oak, dripping with oversized glowing lights, while kids ran wild in the dark adjoining field.  I loved it.

We took the boys to Toys R Us one night to buy gifts for each other.  Porter couldn't stop shopping for himself.  I can slightly understand, though, since he is the easiest one to shop for.  I couldn't stop shopping for him myself, and ended up having to give one of his presents to Will to even things out when wrapping time came.

The sister missionaries came for Christmas Eve dinner, which brought a lot of cheer, particularly to the boys who went wild with the attention of it all.  Brigham and I spent all day cooking up a feast of mashed potatoes (still in the fridge), fresh french bread, ham, tenderloin and green bean casserole.

After the sisters left, we read Luke 2, opened one present each, pulled out the Christmas pajamas we bought 2 Christmases ago (that would be 2012) and sent the boys to bed.  Then Brigham and I enjoyed my favorite of our traditions:  wrapping all the presents together while watching Its A Wonderful Life.  I kept thinking how we watched this movie in our townhouse when we just had two little tiny boys, and in the basement of our home in McLean.  How happy and especially in love with this man who has given me my own wonderful life--a life that seems to keep increasing in happiness so much that I feel nervous that something is about to befall and rupture this delicate bubble of joy--I feel every time we set to wrapping under the glow of this old movie.

Christmas morning was sweet.  Everyone had one big gift (a lego set for Andrew, a scooter for Will, a Playmobil Dragon Castle set for Porter and a kitchen for Claire (and Porter).  I bought a bunch of book collections at costco, including the Little House series.  I am usually so cheap about stupid stuff and I am glad I got over that to invest in some wonderful children's literature.  We read the Christmas chapter out of Little House on the Prarie and I almost cried.  I want to read a Christmas chapter from her or something similar every year from now on.
 

We got to Skype with Katie on her mission in Ireland, which was a lot of fun.  Brigham has a wonderful family and it brought back a lot of memories from being a missionary in Chile to see her.

Later that night we had Christmas dinner with the Hickman family, our home away from home.  The kids had a wonderful time playing in their playroom, eating their delicious dinner and getting showered with the attention of the Hickman kids, whom even Claire allowed to hold and cuddle her.  The elders were there, which was a lot of fun.  We played a game at the end of the evening and I felt such a happiness looking over and seeing Porter stretched contentedly across the laps of two of the Hickman kids while Andrew and Will raucously and somewhat cluelessly participated in the game.  After one of the elders played a beautiful rendition of a Christmas medley on the piano, I felt our Christmas festivities, though they may not have been all I had hoped to accomplish, were plenty and sufficient.  I am so grateful to families who can open their homes to us when we don't have family here.

I had wanted to inculcate some volunteerism, some hand-made-gifting, some special service into our season but at the end of the day all I managed was loading Will down with Toys for Tots, one hand-made ornament each and a lot of baking and delivering of cookies and bread on Christmas Eve morning (the kids were actually thrilled with this one, at least).  Our cousins had the great idea of the kids hand-making presents for each other and I'd like to attempt that next year.  We squeaked out a Christmas card that probably didn't arrive until after Christmas to 49 people (I wouldn't let Brigham order more bc last year's cards are in my dresser still.)

I was unsatisfied with our photographic recording of our season so today, when we took down the tree,  I forced everyone to pose for me.  Our undecorating efforts will photographically substitute for our decorating ones.  It is great to just let things be good enough.

I have been feeling even more on edge with my over the top unabating nostalgia lately because we are in such a sweet spot with our kids.  Andrew, at 9, is still a little boy, but only just barely.  I think 10 is really wading out into some tween waters.  He is a great kid and as he has gotten older he has shown such wonderful new sides to himself.  Last night he gave a family prayer that had both Brigham and I blinking back tears.  I just am not ready for him to grow up.  Even looking at photos taken just one year ago I can see the changes in their faces and it breaks my heart.  Sometimes it feel just too clear and true that life really is like a vapor that is here in the morning and then disappears.  I feel these years slipping by before I can fully get my bearings and I feel overwhelmed by it all and that's when I just start watching tv to ignore it a bit and return to it later when I am ready to face it.  In some ways, one of the best parts for me in having another baby is the sense of renewal it brings to me, to my vision of our family.  We aren't done--there is another little guy coming along who hasn't had any Christmases or traditions or birthdays, yet.  We are still at the beginning of something.

I suppose that is what Christmas, in its own way, might be about, too.  The renewal of life.  This mystical, magical promise of things and people never ending, of ultimate restoration.  These days, these people we love and lose, all of these forgotten moments will all be restored to us and we will all be made whole together, in the end.  So these special years I am treasuring and yet insufficiently appreciating, these years I know I would one day give anything to relive any mundane moment, are not really evaporating when they are done. Somehow they will come back to me.  Maybe that is part of what eternity means.

So that was Christmas!

Sunday, December 21, 2014

It Should Be Like Riding A Bike: A Parenting Confessional

This is my third time parenting a preschooler so I ought to know better.  I have already experienced the remorse and shame of expecting too much of too young a kid, but somehow I tend to forget these lessons.

Porter's class was performing Christmas songs in the chapel for all the parents.  We were told they ought to wear Christmas colors.  I pulled out a red polo for him the night before, let him sleep in a little bit too long the next day, and lost all grasp on preschool reality that morning when Porter had other ideas about what to wear and eat and how quickly to get out the door.

I remember taking far too seriously what Andrew wore at this age.  It reflected on me, I thought.  I wanted him to look groomed and cared for, and he wanted to wear dirty tracksuits.  I died on hills in battles that injured him, too.  I felt so bad about this and thought I had reformed but I guess when it comes to a program with photos involved I slip back into old ways.

Porter wanted to wear his Marine Corps t-shirt.  Its red.  I deployed some reasonable tactics to dissuade him but none worked.  We were going to be late so I gave up and told him to wear whatever he wanted, I did not care, and I didn't anymore.  But I had already planted seeds of doubt:  I had told him everyone else would be dressed up, that he wouldn't look nice stuff like that.  That was ok to do, but I was mad and that made him feel upset.  We got in the car and I spent the drive scolding him for making us late (when I ought to have awakened the four year old kid earlier).  He often looks at the bright side of things, noting that "its better than being dead" about most negative consequences, and tried to do the same here ("at least we won't miss it!") but I was having none of it.  We arrived and I hurried him into the chapel where the program was well underway.  I walked him all the way up to his teachers--he was obviously nervous at this point to be late and in front of a room full of parents, but I just kind of deposited him.

As soon as I sat down with Claire I felt instant regret that I had once again taken something way too seriously.  My typically confident, joyful little crazy man looked a little stooped of shoulder and nervous as he tried to sing with his class.  He wasn't even smiling.  The whole point of all of this is that he have fun and feel a sense of pride and accomplishment and I had made it about me.  All I wanted now was for him to feel good up there, to smile.  So I began acting like a different kind of crazy person, waving  my arms around and even daring to loudly whisper his name to get his attention.  I gave him big smiles and thumbs up, which he returned.  He started to look more confident and happy.

Then another little boy, just turned four and until a month ago the only child in his family, began acting a little silly.  He spotted his mom and all he wanted to do was leave the stage and sit with her.  She wanted him to remain and it turned into a big struggle ending with him crying in her arms while she told him how disappointed she was.  She was right next to me and I wanted so badly to tell her that it didn't matter but I knew I would just sound judgmental rather than so fully empathetic with her plight.  So I stayed out of it, but I wished there was a way I could tell her that we can't expect too much.  That some kids aren't ready to perform for us, that all we want for them is to find security in figuring out who they are.  That its ok if they just want to sit on the sidelines with us, so long as they are happy there.  There will be so many years and opportunities to venture further when they are ready.

Maybe I am wrong.  Maybe its good to have certain expectations in the context of public performances and also to enforce them, and maybe there are lessons kids need to learn that I am failing to see in these situations.  But for me, I know that when I am acting from a place of thinking about what others think of me or my kid or from fulfilling a personal parenting fantasy vision of what I think "ought" to be happening or what the other kids seem able to do, I am generally not going to end up handling my child well and things will probably end up in tears and frustration on both ends rather than laid-back, easy happiness.  One look at Porter's uncertainty and nervousness told me all I needed to know about what really mattered when it came to the preschool singing program.  If we were late, if Porter were wearing the slightly wrong shirt, well, at least we weren't dead.

 

Wednesday, December 10, 2014

How did it get late so soon?

How did it get late so soon?
Its night before its afternoon.
December is here before its June.
How did it get late so soon?

The first line of the above poem was the title of Will's (first ever) violin concert this evening.  It was my reward to take him while Brigham took all the other kids to Andrew's scouting event at church, so it was a relaxing and enjoyable experience for once!  As I ran across the campus to retrieve a bow from the teacher's room, something about the high 60s weather and the early darkness and the loud familiar noises of an elementary school basketball practice filled me with a strong sense of the past.  It struck me earlier today while on the phone in the backyard (to be sure not to rouse Claire from her nap) that it was so strange and surreal that the school secretary was referring to me when she said she had a "mom on the phone" asking about violin practice that day.  I am a mom and everyone else somehow thinks this is normal and natural.  But I feel just like I did when I was ten.  So tonight, walking through the schoolyard alone in that weather, with those timeless noises of elementary school basketball and the feel of the evening I had a few moments to think about how life really does just float by without us always noticing.  

Will did a great job.  It is only his second week of being involved in this violin group so he was pretty out of the loop on what he was supposed to be doing tonight but he just rolled with it in that easy way he has.  He told me tonight that he wants to learn to play the piano and drums, too.  I love his eagerness to delve into everything.    

Today Claire and Porter and I went to have lunch with some other moms from church.  Porter played so nicely with the host's toddler, chasing him and being a sweet big boy playmate to him.  Claire joined in while clutching a huge stuffed snowman and was happy and giggly so long as no one threatened her possession of the toy by looking at it.  I experience thoughts just about every day that my life here is so nice in many ways but it is hard to fully enjoy it bc my sisters and their kids are absent, as are a few of my closest friends and their kids.  The people who populated my days in Virginia.  I am not naturally inclined to spend time with other people, but I am making a goal to go out of my way to go outside of my comfort zone these days.  

Picking Andrew up from Western was another highlight.  While he was playing a dodge-ball-like game they have there, another little boy got really over-emotional and was trying to attack Andrew and other boys.  I loved watching Andrew handle himself in that situation.  He thought it was kind of funny and weird but he didn't get mad back or retaliate.  A few minutes later the kid reacted hysterically to being hit by the ball.  It was hilarious but my favorite part was that Andrew immediately recognized how funny it was and turned automatically to me to laugh together.  None of the other kids really got it or noticed, but I love that Andrew did.  He always has had a sophisticated sense of humor and I love that about him.  He mentioned that he wished he were a 5th grader so he could play school sports and I told him 5th grade would be here sooner than he knew.  It really will.    

So that was our day.    

Tuesday, December 09, 2014

Like Riding a Bike

Porter has once again beaten Will to the punch in mastering a physical feat.  He can now ride a two-wheel bike.  I was raking leaves in the front yard today while Claire and Porter played in the driveway when I looked up to see Porter taking off on the bike.  He had false starts and fell a few times, but every time he got back up again wholly undaunted.  He didn't even need my help.  He was thrilled with himself.  More than being proud of him for mastering the skill, I was so proud that he kept getting back up every time he fell over.  I tried to emphasize to him that the reason he was able to learn so quickly was that he didn't give up.

Claire was pretty jealous and kept screaming "No! Mine! Bike!" variously but gave it up after a while and he claims of ownership turned to "Awesome!" after we ignored her sufficiently.

We had a picnic (or rather "picnic"--can it technically be a meal when very little is eaten?) on the playground out back.  Porter is so sweet with Claire and it occurred to me today as they were swinging side by side and smiling at each other that we will miss Porter a lot next year.  Sometimes I discount how much Claire's days will be altered by his absence since he does spend many solitary hours playing the game where he's Jack.  But I guess that happens more when I am not taking them outside.

Tonight we went as a family to Will's scouting activity at school.  We made a chocolate yule log cake together and he talked me into also making meringue mushrooms to decorate it with.  So glad I did bc they were easy and turned out awesome.  Was glad we once again won no prizes bc that meant we could bring it home.  It was a gorgeous cake and I too way too many photos of it.  All in all a fun and beautiful day.  My only thought today was that I would enjoy everything so much more if I had my family here to live life with.

Monday, December 08, 2014

Thanksgiving 2014

We flew back to Virginia for Thanksgiving this year. Aside from the flights themselves, the trip was wonderful. We flew out on Thursday night (arrive at midnight EST) and returned 10 days later on a 7 am Sat morning flight. During the trip we got to experience some snowfall/sleet-fall, spent lots of time with cousins and visited the zoo on a beautiful fall day and the natural history museum on a chillier one. The Friday after Thanksgiving, we braved the crowds to fulfill our yearly pilgrimage to see the Christmas trains at the Botanical Gardens. Afterwards we headed to the National Gallery of Art where we ate lunch in the Cascade Cafe for a thousand dollars and then dragged the kids away from the gift shop and through the actual exhibits. The boys actually did enjoy some of the war-oriented art and a painting depicting a young man being attacked by a shark while men in a boat attempted rescue. Apparently the painting was based on an actual event (the kid lost a leg). Claire managed to step into one of the fountain displays due to my lack of proper supervision but was pretty stoic about having a drenched leg in jegging. If it had been one of her brothers we would have needed police and ambulance assistance.

Thanksgiving itself was the typical chaotic scene of kids everywhere, parents trying to coax their young into eating, etc. I made two pies: cherry and pecan. The cherry, with its homemade crust and multi-step filling, was a labor of love and did not disappoint. The pecan was good, too, but even I preferred the cherry. Mom's butternut squash soup was delicious but we will never know how to make it since there is more butter and cream in it than she wants to admit. I also made rolls but since we had only one oven and some had to be frozen the night before and baked that day after the turkeys were out they were a bit of a disappointment to me. Katie's beast of a dog Milkshake only managed to eat one when she jumped up on the counter. Small price to pay for the reminder to keep food well out of her broad range. Brigham and I made sure to have the stuffing he loves so much and made enough to last for weeks. It probably got tossed by my carb-avoidant mom after we left. I realized not for the first time that I put way too much stock into how good the food tastes. We forgot to sing any Thanksgiving hymns until later that night (but we did it!) and I found myself thinking that someday when I had kids of my own I would dress them up as pilgrims and Indians. Yep. Maybe it'll be a grandma thing. I will be a great grandma after having practiced on my kids.

I had a few specific goals for our trip back home. I wanted to see friends, which I did; I wanted to eat with Brigham at Coastal Flats, where we both ordered the shrimp and grits; and I wanted to spend time in DC. Overall I would say I felt like we did a decent job of using the time wisely. It was hard to return back to Houston, but I felt a redoubled sense of determination to integrate myself and the kids as fully into our lives here as possible. At the wreath-decorating event the Mc2nd RS held the first Sat morning, I was reminded of how many wonderful people were all around me for so many years and it was so nice to see them again and I wished I had better taken advantage when I lived here. The same is certainly true anywhere, and I hope that it tears our hearts a bit to leave Houston someday, too. I am so grateful to the friendships I have forged over the years and am regretful about the ones I allowed to lapse a bit through inattention. It doesn't take much--a dinner once a year, even--to keep people in your life. Wish I'd figured that out a decade ago.

We arrived back in Houston at 9 am, trekked back to our house and immediately departed for our Christmas tree hunt. I am glad we chopped our trees in the past when we could bc that isn't happening here. We found a nice big one and had a lot of fun starting our Christmas season with getting it up and strung with lights. We have decorated it over intervening days but there are more ornaments and thus opportunities to capture attractive photos of the children with a real, as opposed to a phone, camera.

The one overarching feeling I had during the entire week in Virginia, though, was one of deeply noticing the absence of my dad. Something about returning after being away made me miss him even more. I think he would be really happy to know where we are all in our lives but I think he hates not being here for it. In a way I am glad that the holidays, and trips to DC or McDonalds or morning breakfasts at 7916, have all lost a bit of their savor without him because it keeps him with us a bit more.