she's just saying...

Let me be perfectly clear

Have you ever played that team-building game where you have to give someone verbal instructions on how to do something to see if you're communicating each step clearly? Oh. Well, I have. The reason never became so clear to me as earlier this fall when Henry wanted to go to a fair in town.

He was planning to bike there to meet his friends and needed cash for the games and junk food. I only had a twenty dollar bill so gave it to him with these words:

"OK, you can go, but first go down to the corner store and get change."

Twenty minutes later and no Henry, I started to get concerned. I went outside and asked another neighborhood kid if he had seen Henry. "Yeah, he went to the store and then rode down to the Fall Fair."

With my twenty dollars in carefully counted change, which he then spent, treating his friends to all the cotton candy they could stand.

I couldn't even get mad at him - he did exactly what I told him to do.

Flipping out

This is what Henry has been obsessed with lately:

 

Flipping through the air. On a trampoline, off electrical boxes, into the foam pit. I've been driving him to gyms (and paying fees) several times a week so he can do this over and over.

I've been struggling with this. First, that he's going to break his neck or other body part. He just sprained his ankle trying to land and it's been a pain in the butt. Mostly because I have to walk the dog morning AND evening and take out the garbage and bring him tea while he rests on the couch. It's all I do. But I digress...

The other reason I am not wild about flipping is more complicated. I don't understand the point of it. He doesn't want to take gymnastics (too structured) and he's not interested in diving. He hasn't learned to land except a simple back flip from a platform, and that turned into an accident. So where are we going with this?

"I just like to fly through the air!" he says, and I try to be okay with that. Life should really be that simple.

Now that's how to treat a woman

Scene: The front porch. Robin and Melissa have just arrived from a restaurant.
Melissa leans in the door and calls to her son.

Melissa: Henry! It's Robin's birthday! Come out here and wish her a happy birthday!

Robin: It's my birthday, Henry! I want a song and dance!

Henry: Okay, let me get my shoes.

 

That's my boy!

Little pitchers have big ears, and mouths

from Fun and Nonsense by Willard Bonte, 1904 by H.M. Caldwell Company

When you have a school child, there are no secrets. But there are always teaching moments...

Driving up to school today, this is what I learned: "There's Rupert*. His mom had him when she was like fifteen. And it happened with his grandma too - she's like in her thirties."  Opportunity to discuss teenage pregnancy here.

And last night I heard: "William had to move into an apartment - the bank stole his house." So we got to talk about mortgages, loans, and repaying your debts.

And then this: "Michael's brother is a crack addict - the police came and took him away last week." Insert drug abuse lecture here.

So what are the other parents hearing about me, I have to wonder?

*Names changed to maintain some shred of any privacy left...

You'll never sleep alone...

I'm single, yes, but I don't sleep alone. On any given night, there are one or more other sentient beings sharing my not-big-enough queen-sized bed. These can range from a 10-pound cat to a 100-pound Henry. This morning five of us ended up there together, everybody sleeping peacefully except the owner of the bed herself. Tonight I'm locking the door.

Who could say no to this face?

Skating into the teens

What happened to my baby boy? Today I dropped him and his shadow (Gavin) off at the Mt. Bachelor Shuttle bus to head to the mountain for the day. With no adult supervision. If you've ever taken a kid skiing, you'll appreciate what an enormous breakthrough this is. They got there, went skiing, ate, found the bathrooms, didn't lose any gloves, didn't get lost in a tree-well, caught the bus back and walked home. All by themselves. At least that's what they said.

Then, this evening, they wanted to meet their friends at Open Skate at the indoor rollerskating rink. I don't know what I was expecting, but not what I found. It was basically a middle-school rave on skates.  I had flashbacks to Studio 54 and Area in NYC in the 80's. Though hopefully without the substances that made those places so, um, 80's. Without a backward glance, the boys swam into the scene and were swallowed up, presumably by precocious young teen babes.

But he's only eleven! (for two more weeks) He still sleeps with a blankie! Oh, whoops - don't tell him I told you that part.

Fri. night Open Skate: photo is not from tonight, though it could be.

remote child management

It's one of those days parents dread: it's a school day off and you have to work. At least now Henry is old enough to stay home alone - no daycare arrangements needed. However, even at this stage it's not easy. So, for parents who are approaching that point in life, here are brief instructions on:

How to manage your child remotely (when you've forgotten to leave money at home)

1. Have phone discussion about whether son and friend can go to Green Hornet movie by themselves on bikes (maybe)
2. Call theater to make sure kids can show up with Fandango confirmation # and no credit card (yes)
3. Buy tickets on Fandango to movie
4. Take screenshot of Fandango confirmation page
5. Figure out (again) how to print to home printer via internet
6. Explain via phone how to load paper into printer after child removes it by mistake
7. Email screenshot to home printer
8. Make child confirm that he has bike lock and key by rattling it over phone
9. Discuss time to leave house to get to movie
10. Call again to remind them to leave
11. Cross fingers and wait for phone call that something went wrong

Bindi Butt, or, is it Saturday yet?

So far, 2011 has proved to be a record-breaker for me: I have a new exercise regime for which I've gotten out of bed at 5:20 am five out of the last five mornings, a personal best of the last 30 years. This is not the result of a New Year's resolution; it's due to our new (un-housebroken) dog. And it's beating my butt.

Actually, the new regime has already had a positive effect on said body part as I'm walking briskly for about 30 minutes each morning and night. Henry is in charge of running Bindi madly up and down the street; I'm in charge of the long icy walks in the darkness. We're crate-training her in the house but have missed four accidents so far, so we've got some work to do. This was why I didn't get a puppy, I recall.

She's a very happy, loving, silly dog who hasn't grasped the house-pet concept yet. When we're not taking her out, playing with her actively or keeping her in her crate, she gazes at me expectantly with an eager confused look on her face that asks "Now what do we do? Now what? What now?" She hasn't relaxed yet and we have to watch her continuously in the house, so life has been a little hectic this week. Exhausting, really.

Tomorrow I'll start her in the outside run to see if she tries to escape before we begin to use it full-time during the day. Then eventually I'll train her to the invisible fence so she doesn't bolt out of the yard to chase deer (like yesterday at 6 am for example). She'll get there - she's very attuned to us and eager to please. Our wildlife guy at the Museum guessed that she was an outside ranch dog who got lost/abandoned, which is why she's socialized but not trained, which makes sense. She desperately wants to be a pet and a part of our family, and we love her to death already. She cuddles with Henry on his bed at night (more wrestling than cuddling, actually, but they like it) and is showing the cats due respect. The rest will come, I'm sure, and I'll get back in shape at the same time! What's not to love? Other than pitch-black, icy walks at 5:30 am?

I have no photo today as it's too damn dark. Maybe this weekend.

 

 

The vacation that would never end

Due to the beautiful and magical Christmas Day snowstorm here in the North Carolina mountains, we've been stuck delayed here three days longer than planned, logging in our ninth day in residence today. We are confirmed to fly out tomorrow at 6 am God willing and the creek don't rise as they say here in the colorful Smokies. Or they should, if they don't.

After the requisite five hours on the phone on hold with various travel entities, we gave up and settled in. Me to knitting, eating and drinking, Henry to cartoons and endless video game devices. We ventured out to shop for shoes a few times as consolation. We miss our cats and home, but we're certainly getting visiting time in which is nice. MyBigBro was with us until yesterday which added good diversion and also a lot of noise. I come from a family of loud talkers, I should add. With six extremely verbal family members around the table growing up, you had to talk loud or keep quiet. I was the keep-quiet one.

This trip, we talked a lot about throwing up. BigBro fondly reminisced about how I got carsick all the time as a child; the times we had to pull over to let me get out on the way home from church; or not pulling over soon enough, etc. Henry was fascinated of course. For some unknown reason, Henry and I both had "intestinal upsets" this visit. Mine occurred all Christmas Eve night - thanks, Santa! Kept me from eating all the Christmas cookies at least.

Home Sick

Today's the first day back after the school's Thanksgiving week off, and Henry stayed home sick. He complained of a headache and sore throat yesterday, enough that he didn't want to go to a movie. And this morning he begged to stay home.

At one point he had a temp that hit 101 deg., the "official" level at which you're supposed to keep kids home, but it subsided after Tylenol. He also complained that his abdomen hurt, which immediately set off the appendicitis alarms in me. Though within an hour, he was up eating Top Ramen and asking if he could watch TV. My rule is if you decide to stay home sick, you don't get TV, video games or the computer. That way malingering is not rewarded.

I'm never sure if Henry's really sick or if he just doesn't want to go to school. Given the choice, he'd stay home, as we all would, frankly. In the absence of clear signs of illness, I'm suspicious. It's mainly because I used to fake being sick to avoid school occasionally. How occasionally I'm not going to say as my mom does read my blog. (Sorry, Mom!)

Is it fair to question Henry's motives based on my own past behavior? He doesn't do this often so I tend to believe it that he doesn't feel well, but he also always seems to bounce back by mid-morning. This time he fell back asleep for several hours, woke up and read, and did his homework. Yep, definitely sick.

This is clearly not a real child.

Memories of Flash

Everyone who knew Flash said he was the smartest dog they'd ever met. He knew over 30 words and a dozen hand gestures that he mostly taught himself. He knew ball vs. frisbee, various people's names, left vs. right, "back up" as well as all the usual commands. He even started to recognize spelled words so that didn't work anymore.

Being such a smart and energetic border collie and with no sheep to work, he needed lots of games and activities to keep him busy. He loved to do his trademark tricks: roll over, spin, "be a bear" (sit up on his haunches and beg), and even "crawl" (which was more like scrambling with his front paws while doing a frog kick with his back ones).

A favorite game (for him, not us) was to look for a ball under the sofa, cabinet or chair and bark and paw frantically to get someone to get it out. You'd get down on the floor and reach for the ball while he watched intently. Then, as soon as he thought you weren't looking, he'd roll it under again with his nose and start the barking pawing routine til you got it out again. He'd do this all evening if he could find a willing sucker player.

Henry and Flash also played the Table Game, explained in more detail in this post. It was ritualized tag in slow motion. Flash would walk around and under the table with his frisbee or ball as Henry would try to catch it. Again, another one he'd do for hours.

He loved balloons, especially helium ones that had begun to lose their buoyancy. He'd bop them with his nose and play volleyball with us. We'd blow up regular ones for him to hold by their knot and carry around the house. Occasionally they'd pop but it never stopped him from wanting more.

He also loved to work at stuffed dog toys, open them up and methodically remove the stuffing. One Christmas when #1 Sister was visiting, she carefully re-stuffed one and sewed it up for him to take apart again while he waited patiently. They both amused themselves with this activity for some time. 

Flash was known throughout the neighborhood as the spinny dog. Since he had an invisible fence, he'd run right up to the edge of the yard and stop to bark at passers-by. As he couldn't run into the street, he'd spin frantically in circles while barking at them. Unfortunately for him, instead of scaring people off, they usually laughed. It got so I'd describe where I lived by saying "I'm on the corner with that dog that spins" and people would immediately know which house.

So many wonderful memories of such a high-spirited and devoted dog. He had a complex personality, with clear likes and dislikes, full of doggy determination. We're not planning to get another dog in the near future. I can't imagine one without Flash's sensibility and communication skills. Just a regular dog wouldn't do.

And thank you all for the comments, hugs, notes on Facebook, remembrances and kind thoughts. Every pet owner knows this time will inevitably come, much as we try to deny it. And when it does, I hope you can each have the warm, peaceful, loving experience we had, heartbreaking as it was.

 

Photo finish

Cascade Middle School 6th grade boys XC meet, 10/21/10. First two finishers.

Afterward, Henry said: "I could have passed him at the end, but I thought it would be kinda mean 'cause he was right ahead of me the whole time."

Sweet and kind attitude. But that doesn't get you a full ride to U of O... *sigh*  I love my boy.

first day of sixth grade

first day sixth grade, originally uploaded by Meltrier.

The traffic jam to get to the school drop off was about the worst I've encountered in fifteen years in Bend, so Henry ditched me in a parking lot and went overland. So far, middle school makes elementary seem lame and is awesome, so here's hoping it stays that way for awhile at least...

Top Ten Tues: back to school countdown

Lockers!

Henry's starting middle school in two weeks, and he and his classmates are very excited. Lockers are a big part of it for some reason. The challenge facing both of us is that middle school starts at 7:45 am, about the time he was getting up for the last six years. It's going to be a major shock to both our systems and I'm trying to ease us into it over the next two weeks.

While he's enjoying his last carefree summer days, I've got to get in gear and make the parental stuff happen. So, top ten things I need to do to get ready for middle school.

1. Start getting up earlier
2. Get soccer shoes (size 10 mens - anyone have any?)
3. Buy glue sticks: new year, new glue sticks
4. Plan a few more s'mores roasts
5. Start going to bed earlier
6. Find H's desk under last year's papers and folders and crap mementos
7. Drag him to the dentist, the doctor and the barber
8. Restart his computer from scratch and lock out Cartoon Network
9. Replace his long pants that mysteriously shrunk over the summer
10. Have The Talk we've both been avoiding.

What's on your list for the last two weeks of summer?

Sunday morning mowdown

A momentous day today: Henry mowed the lawn.

Not all of it, and not quite in the pattern I would choose, but hey, it's a great start.

I'm beginning to see the possible benefits of this whole kid thing.

This is the effect we're working towards. Maybe next year.

a bald eagle kind of evening

For further proof that I'm not always a sloth, Henry and Dana and I loaded up the canoe yesterday at 5 pm and headed to Sparks Lake for an evening picnic. It was a perfect little excursion.

Henry showed off his mad canoeing skillz and Dana and I went along for the ride.

And to top it all off, we watched a bald eagle watching over the lake all evening. 

The drive (26 miles one way) was so lovely that we did it twice, as somebody forgot his water shoes at the boat ramp and we had to go back and get them. We did the math in the car and yes, that was 104 miles. Very peaceful wilderness miles, but still...

We're all cry cry around here

Seriously, I wasn't crying. It was allergies.

Henry graduated from elementary school today. Three different fifth grades lined up and celebrated the occasion with an anthem, valedictorians, diplomas, and of course the requisite music video.

I got there in time to thank the administrators and Henry's special ed counselor, check the lost and found bin and get a seat in the gym. Tina and I were a little taken aback by the usual overly-involved parents who pushed in front of the rest of the audience to get the critical photos, encouraging their kids to grandstand and pose. It's the fifth grade. Really. Kinda setting these kids up to be really obnoxious later on.

Though I'll admit I'm overly emotional these days, it was this weekend's late-blooming pollen that caused my red, drippy eyes. We're all sniffling, sneezing, itching and rubbing our eyes around here. Calling Dr. Benedryl.

Henry won "most improved student" in his class. Voted on by the other students and teachers. I'm kind of  proud, but it's kind of a backhanded compliment, isn't it? Anyway, on to the next phase. Puberty and middle school. Can't wait!

Did your principal play the electric guitar? No, mine neither.

Multi-tasking while doing nothing

Our school year was just cut by two days as of immediately, and it just hit me that I need to produce year-end gifts for Henry's wonderful teachers by Tuesday a.m. The great Mr. G. will probably get a giftcard with a personal note. Miss T., who's been Henry's advocate, cheerleader, biggest fan and confidante, needs something extra-special. So of course I picked up the needles and cast on. Goal: finish a market string bag in the next two days.

I picked pattern, yarn and needles already on hand and am knitting furiously while watching the World Cup.  That background whining horn sound during the game is driving me crazy though, so I'm watching the game on mute and listening to the Phillies/Red Sox game on the computer while knitting a lace pattern at the same time. I can't attest to the final result.

(It's a vuvuzela and according to Wikopedia is "associated with permanent noise-induced hearing loss, cited as a possible safety risk when spectators can't hear evacuation announcements, and potentially spreads colds and flu germs on a greater scale than coughing or shouting.") Not the pleasant summer murmur of baseball, for sure. More like an approaching swarm of killer bees.

Anyway, everything's on hold while I finish this project. Parents out there, weigh in on year-end teacher gifts: pro or con?  Suggestions?  Favorites? Discuss, while I knit on.

 

It's not a Wheaties box, yet...

The line for autographs starts at the right.

PS: That's Jen's girl, Chloe, with the Mona Lisa smile in the back.

Just a little something to nosh

Whew. Busy weekend doing nothing. A new friend came to visit - more on that to come if the stars align. Meanwhile, Henry keeps growing. And eating. Here's this morning's order:

Courses from the foreground back:

Buttermilk biscuit with country sausage gravy (notice the apple was not touched),

Two eggs sunny-side up with two pieces of bacon

Topped off by a huge pancake, with a scoop of butter and half cup of syrup.

The waiter placed it all in front of him and declared: "Mission: Eat!"

And he did. He started slowing down by the second egg and the last half of the pancake, but since that one pancake equaled three normal ones, we decided it was Mission Accomplished.