Unplugged

Child 3 is experimenting. This sentence has sent a frisson down the back of all adults who know Child 3, so I want to clarify at once:

1) The experiment is ON ITSELF
2) It does not involve any explosives at all. None
3) Nor does it involve fire, projectiles, spinning things or combustion engines
4) Except incidentally

What happened was last week some time Child 3 looked up with innocent blue eyes and began to muse about modern life (you know, as you do) and electronics in general and specifically its own reliance on these electronic devices. I provided my usual high level of parental support and interest (non-committal grunting and, every third paragraph, a short comment demonstrating ongoing awareness of the general gist of the conversation) and somehow, by the end of the evening, It had decided it was going to try going for a week without any electronics at all. That meant no cell phone, land phone, computer, iPod, television, video game, keyboard or electric guitar.

We did iron out a few things, such as giving Its friends and family a bit of warning so It wouldn't suddenly disappear off the electric grid, and deciding NOT to impose Its experiment upon others. It also decided that the one exception to the electronics rule would be five minutes or so at the end of each day when it would records Its thoughts on the experience. Then Child 3 laid down the iPod, backed away from the keyboard and logged off the computer.

I have to admit that while I was entirely supportive of Child 3, and intrigued by the idea (and Its plan of documenting the whole thing), I was also comfortably sure that it wasn't going to cause ME any difficulties.

However, when you have one member of the family who can't sit down for the evening brain rot of choice you suddenly realize just how often the television is actually on, and how frequently 'doing something together' is really just 'watching Buffy/The Good Life/ Top Gear etc.' While Child 3 has been learning a lot about time and distraction and focus and other things I have, unintentionally, been seeing a great deal about family choices and my own habits. Although Child 3 has been charming about the whole thing, and has never once complained if someone wanted to watch a movie meaning Child 3 often went back to its own room to play acoustic guitar or read alone, it was a stark reminder that just being in the same room isn't being together if everyone is gape-mouthed before the television.

Granted, as a family we do have the irritating habit of talking through shows which means there is a constant conversation happening which is fun and healthy, but when one person suddenly cannot be there for that conversation it rather points out just how much time is spent on that one kind of activity (or... okay, INactivity). So a few days ago we all sat down together to play a game (and I LOATHE games as a rule, but hey, it was with my favorite people so some things are worth the struggle) and yesterday we all went snow-shoeing (FANTASTIC) and took down the Christmas tree (which had been up until Child 1 returned to have a bit of Christmas with us) and rearranged the living-room WITHOUT a television/movie background. And it didn't hurt, not even a little bit.

Mind you, Child 3 is now talking about trying the experiment for a full 4 weeks.

I'm pretty sure a month in Its room won't kill It...

Two

Child 2 had a rather significant birthday this last weekend.

Not one of those slightly quirky personal Important Birthdays (for me that would include 6 [favorite number as a child], 11 [far cooler than 10 which for some reason didn't impress me at all, 16 [Age of Official Dateableness - thank you Mormon upbringing] and 24 [I have no idea why, none at all, really, just something about that number... it even sounds a little sexy... tweeeeeentee fouuuuuuuuuuur]), an actual, real, official Very Significant Birthday.

The one that means, technically, it can no longer be called Child 2 at all (but of course it still will be. It's going to be seventy-leven some day and STILL be called Child 2, poor thing).

Maybe the fact that this birthday was looming did something to the Child's little brain - set off some amazing neural storm somewhere. Because something happened to this Child, somewhere between one blink and another, and before I knew where I was it was talking about career options - about how it wants to do something meaningful, something that will make a difference. More than that though, it had calmly sat itself down and worked out how to make such a plan work. It sat an entrance exam and didn't just do well, didn't just excel - it got the highest possible score. Then it scheduled itself a far more difficult exam (a language battery) and walked out with a bit of paper noting that it had gotten 48 points above the lowest minimum requirement and 33 points above the highest requirement. There are currently several people literally begging this Child to deign to consider allowing them to offer it a dream job complete with signing bonus.

At the same time it has ceased (mostly) poking it's sibling's buttons, has decided to allow its admiring and loving relatives to (now and then) hug it, and has become the Agony Aunt and Relationship Guidance Counselor for most of its circle of friends (apparently it listens to the problem, calmly says something like, "you're an idiot. Cut it out," then pats the friend kindly on the head).

In other words, somehow this Child has managed to do the almost unachievable. It not only became an adult, it also grew up.

I've never been more proud.

Happy Birthday Child 2

Seeing the Turtle

There's a graffiti artist around where I work who does its thing entirely in stencils. I have mixed feelings about this. I'm rather opposed to graffiti in general on the grounds that destruction of another's property is Not Right. I do recognize that there are some amazing artists out there doing remarkable work - and sometimes on derelict buildings which considerably softens my aforementioned stance. However, this person is using stencils, which is cheating just a little (except it's possible these are hand-cut stencils which adds a few points in the positive column). What's more, they're really not terribly artistic stencils in general - this morning's was a unicorn; a few months ago "Thank Heavens for Little Girls" was sprayed over the pavement with a little halo over one of the words.

Some time last year my boss and I were out on the morning coffee hunt and, hunt successful, were heading back to our building when she pointed out a green splodge on the wall.

"I like that one," she said, sipping her overly-hot pinon coffee.

"Really?" I looked at it carefully and back at her. It wasn't the best effort I'd seen. It had taken me a week just to work out what it was. It certainly wasn't her usual sort of thing.

"Oh yes," she said. "I like turtles!"

I looked again. It could be a turtle. Maybe. If you really, really tried. And sort of squinted. The gun turret could be a sort of wonky, skinny head and the treads could be splodgy feet maybe. The body was a bit angular too, seeing as it was a tank. I pointed this out to her and she stopped completely to stare at the green splodge.

"Is not," she declared firmly. We stood there for a minute while she studied the wall seriously. "Oh. Oh, I see now. I don't want it to be a tank! I like turtles. I'm going to see a turtle."

I went to bed last night with the beginnings of a cold and it's no better this morning. I can't be sick this week no matter what since there are seventy-leven projects which all have major fiddling to do on them. The ignition on the Scootah is acting up and won't accept the key no matter how much I cajole. Driving in to work this morning some idiot very nearly almost totally ran into me and I'm going to be very, very late getting home since I had to park miles away from work and will have to walk back and THEN wrestle with rush-hour traffic.

But yesterday Child 2 & Child 3 and I hiked fourteen miles, getting all the way to the peak (well, A peak anyway) and taking 15 minutes off our previous best time. The Children leaped and scrambled and worked their way into impossible crevices in the rock and rather than offer to help extract them I laughed and took pictures. It was a beautiful day and a wonderful hike and when we got back we collapsed for a bit and then watched Dr Who. Child 2 and I bustled over to Child 1's work to keep it company over its break and generally cheer it up (it's been working rather too hard these days). When it came home, totally excited, it told us that it had that very evening made coffee for and chatted with one of its major childhood heroes.

I think I'll remember yesterday instead of grousing about this morning. I think I'll try at least for today to see the turtle, not the tank.

It's the best thing to do on a blue Monday.

Enlightenment

On today's hike:

Child 1: Hmmm... the trail forks here.

Me: Yes, but see that one goes that way and this one goes this way. [slight pause for thought] That is the Way of the Trail.

Child 1: [with deep respect] You are wise in the Way of the Trail!

Child 2: [disgusted as we snort] You are just so weird.

Hike I

Hiking used to be important. Very important. Hiking was one of The Important Things when I met Kirk. It was a passion with him - he spent most weekends up one mountain or another. He and his friends had a New Girlfriend Test that involved taking the poor hapless girl up the side of the mountain to see if she a) knew how to dress for a hike b) whinged and c) looked halfway decent after being dragged 15 miles up a rock face. I nearly didn't pass thanks to the fact that I Do Not Do Heat but was given extra points for not complaining and still completing the hike.

Kirk knew the hiking trails around this city intimately. He had his favorites for different times of the years or different activities. There were places that were excellent for day hiking, trails good if you only had an hour or so in the afternoon and hidden bits, off the track that let you pack in a tent, large amounts of food and a frisbee - all the necessities to stay a night or two.

When the Children and I moved back here we weren't living very close to the mountains. It made it easier to make excuses for not making the effort, for not doing this or really any of the other things that had been so very important.

Then we moved a little closer, the Sandias sitting not in our backyard but far more reachable somehow than they had been when we were eight miles further away. They are part of the great Rocky Mountain chain that ripples right through the Southwest - great blue masses (at least at a little distance) craggy and pointed and young. There they were, turning brilliant pink in the sunset to earn their name (Sandia is Spanish for watermelon), collecting the clouds on the few rainy days and reluctantly sharing the moisture. But it was the summer and, you know, I Do Not Do Heat, so that was where they stayed.

Except.

It seems hiking is still very important - to Children who take survival classes for dangled prospect of an overnight camp, who come home full of busy plans when various group leaders lose their minds just enough to decide they are willing to take a van-full of teenagers up one set of hills or another, to an overly busy Child who needed to find a bit of space to just breathe for a little while. And it isn't summer any more.

So this weekend two of the Children and I headed up to the base of the mountain and hiked into Embudo Canyon.

In case you think I exaggerate about the area I live in, this is near the base of the trail where the vegetation is rather lusher than other regions

And much of the plant life is warm and welcoming - practically demanding a cuddle:

Notice in particular the rosy glow on the two inch spikes of doom:

However just a mile or two you find yourself in the canyon where there is just enough shade and just enough trickling water to allow some cottonwoods to grow while the cliff walls reach up in fantastic rock formations (excellent for photography but I will not inflict my Granite Series I [ooh! With lichen!] upon you) which is perfect for sproinking:

Which I couldn't join in as I had saddled myself with a massive camera bag. I pack camera bags like some women pack overnight luggage. I might NEED that lens! However the children did an excellent mountain goat impression over both sides of the canyon:

Until one of them had enough leaving the other to sproink alone:

While it found a warm rock to sit on and contemplate its excellent boots.

It was a good day.

NOTE: In a spirit of political unity I would like it noted that both parties were equally represented in today's only slightly modified Children photographs.

Child 3

October first was Child 3's 16th birthday - which makes me about 1,478 in parent years (parent years are like dog years only sliiiightly more intense). It dithered for weeks about telling us what it wanted for gift type things and what it would like to do and only very late in the game did it admit (roundaboutly) that it didn't want to put anyone out or make anyone do anything they didn't want to do. I rather loudly pointed out that we LIKE IT and it is OUR CHILD 3 and IT WAS GOING TO HAVE A BIRTHDAY OR ELSE at which point it decided that maybe it could agree to at least a dinner and things without the world coming to an end.

Because, it turns out, that's what it really wanted to do - just have dinner with its family. So my father (who was temporarily abandoned by my mother who had sibling type things to do) came over to have baba ganoush and dolmas while we had gyros and then we all enjoyed Non Fat Birthday Brownies and a choice of mint chocolate chip ice cream or fat free sorbet. We did NOT have candles since 16 candles plus 70 candles makes rather a lot of candles and our slightly elderly fire detector might not have survived the experience.

Yes, 70 candles as well as 16 because Child 3 shares its birthday. It's due to me realizing wisely that if one is going to inflict a husband and 2.5 children on one's loving parents one should make darn sure that when the .5 child hatches into full personhood it does so on one of said parent's birthdays. So Child 3, whenever it's convenient, shares its birthday with its grandfather which, I think, says a great deal about the style and sophistication of both of them.

I gave Child 3 an electric guitar for its birthday. It seemed a goodish sort of 16th present, and I'd like to say it was mostly due to Child 3's excellent musical ear but that's only partly true. Actually I knew it would love it AND it came with its own amp which has a plug in spot for headphones. Granted, we don't currently have an adapter dingus that will allow Child 3 to play all be-headphoned, but if I ever get over to the guitar shop near my work we COULD and that's what's important.

Child 3 picked up its new guitar and completely irritated its siblings by promptly learning and playing (by ear alone) four or so popular songs. It general foodles around a bit, then announces "Hey! Listen to what I figured out!" and rips out the first eight bars or so with admirable nonchalance. Child 1 put up with this for two weeks and then gritted its teeth and bought itself an ACOUSTIC guitar which it is already learning to strum out power chords on. This, of course, totally negates the whole brilliance of the amp-with-headphones thing, but it means Child 3 is happily acting as tutor - only two steps ahead of the student - and they both seem quite content.

This has been a year of challenge for Child 3. Not that it has had a hard or horrible year, it has simply opted for every difficult thing that has crossed its path. This summer it signed up for four camps - and not the kum-bah-ya singing, let's macrame a toaster and then do some interpretive dance: you can be "Lightning Struck Pine Tree" and I'll be "Spirit of Nature Overwhelmed by Selfish and Evil Human Kind!" sort - these were more, hey let's get up at 5 in the morning and run five miles! It has also signed up for every last honors or AP course(Advanced Placement for the non-American folks - if you do well enough on the test you can get college credit and earn your way out of some of the boring freshman stuff!).

A few weeks ago it asked to be dropped off at the foot of the mountain so it could just climb for a bit - away from the people and the school and the seventy-bajillion things it had fighting for space in its head. It climbed for 5 miles, and up about 2,000 feet (we sit at about... I don't know... 5,500 feet at our house? Something like that) and it found what it was looking for on a mountain top. What's really amazing though is that a couple of weeks later it peeled open that alone space and asked me to come along too. So I climbed with it (regretfully opting out of the sproinking mountain goat part of the program - I simply watched and admired) and we sat up on that rock and looked down over the valley alone together.

This weekend the siblings are coming along too, with the enthusiastic support of Child 3. It had found perfect solitude and because that solitude was so perfect it wanted to share it with us. Because it loves us.

Happy birthday Child 3.

ETA: This evening Child 3 found itself in sole command of the one working television in the house AND the game system. Its homework done, its parent busy with a print ad that has an unfortunate deadline, it was offered its choice of movie, tv or video game. It was waffling a bit when I happened to mention the presidential debates were on. Its deranged little eyes lit up - lit up I tell you - and it flung itself at the television, because, and I quote, "I like to figure out what they're really saying." I refuse to consider what this says about Child 3 but I do admit to feeling a little - just a little - smug that it picked this over our extensive DVD collection OR the chance to drive a digital car at unrealistic speeds around city streets that have walls that bizarrely do not crunch said digital car into oblivion when they are driven into at 100 mph. It is still watching. I'm beginning to be a little afraid...

ETA II: I admit that I am working furiously on said print ad (and I am nearly blind btw with the need to be original, eye-catching and sincere in a doggone 1/3 page vertical!!) with the door closed AND a bit of music on (which I hardly ever do because I get distracted by the music) simply so I don't hear said presidential debate. It's cowardly. It's wrong. But I would rather read it calmly and coldly in the morning and NOT shout at (often both) candidates when they say something inane. Or the question askers. Or the commenters. Or probably the innercent little watching-type people either. I admit to being a bit het-up about this here election.

Unique

Child 3: *clucking noise with tongue*

Me: Um

3: Yes? [innocent blue eyes combined with slight fogginess of a cold]

Me: Do you think you could stop that?

3: ... I think so ... [ponders for a while] yes, yes I can.

Me: Thanks.

...

Me: You know, I think that you are probably the only person in the world clucking the Russian National Anthem.

3: Yah... except I'm not doing it any more.

...
3: *clucking noise with tongue*

Should never have gotten it that damn frenectomy.

Shape

I am in shape!

Well.

A shape.

I am in a shape that is mine.

But I have sadly learned that just because one was once really, really active and thus in pretty darn good physical condition it does not mean one is frozen there at the peak and can then sort of... stop...

Yes.

See, Kirk and I used to run every night. We would head down our little street, down two blocks, loop around, back over and up the street, loop again, head UUUUUUUUUUP the hill to the dead-end and back to the house. I have no idea how far the run was but Kirk always claimed it was about three or four miles depending on how many dead end circles we went around. Could be. Then on the weekends we biked 20 miles or so each day (with the Children, and the shouted reminder as we rode along the crumbling Nor-Cal cliffs to FALL LEFT!!).

Of course then it happened, and he was gone, and we moved to this place of NO OXYGEN AT ALL and I kind of sort of stopped. Everything. All the active stuff. I mean, the bike has a flat tire, and running up here gives me activity induced asthma and it's too hot and it's too icky and... and... and...

But I still think of myself as active and healthy and all of that which is why it was so terribly annoying to have found myself out of breath when hiking with the Children a while back. Not that I did anything about it. I just reminded myself that I walked at LEAST 3/4 of a mile to work EVERY DAY which was totally valid exercise. Besides it got too hot to hike after that so problem solved!

Except those darn Children kept joining in things that involved stretching and leaping and doing muscley thing with their arms. And that even more darned Child 2 said it wanted to tone itself up and be healthier and as a Good Mother I had to support it which meant facing up to the hypocrisy of nagging a Child to do push ups while sitting on the couch watching Top Gear.

So for several weeks now Child 2 and I have been walking together - down the bike path, over the bridge and twice around the park (which, according to the entirely reliable Child 3 is about 3/4 of a mile around). I have rather longer legs than the Child which means that there is a slight inequity of stride. Child claims that it shouldn't have to keep up with me because of the leg issue. I claim that as I'm OLD and it is YOUNG there are to be no excuses. Finally we have compromised by staying together on the way to the park and then parting ways. Child 3 has even begun tagging along and showing us both up by loping around the track and then wheezing dramatically all the way home.

It's good though. It's good to remember how nice it feels to be in a body that likes to work. It's good to spend quality time talking with the Children about absolutely nothing.

It's good to be moving again.

On Nothing

Child 2 said today that it cannot blog properly because - and this is the good part - unlike me it does not have a day that produces blog fodder. Unlike me.

So, for Child 2 I present my super-fantastic, blogolistic day.

5:00 reluctantly awake. At least I didn't wake up at 3 and then 3:30 and then 4 and then 4:30 as I usually do. On the other hand I didn't wake up before the alarm and have the satisfaction of going back to sleep again. Not sure if I resent that or not; it's too early to make these vital decisions. If I don't get up now though I won't be awake enough to be any use by the time work actually starts. Out of bed.

6:00 out the door. Morning commute is better than afternoon - less sun, less heat, the coarser edges on the streets less visible in the half-light. I'm still half asleep and the stream of consciousness in my head is just at the point where it seems utterly brilliant but I'm aware enough to be grateful I probably won't remember any of it. I snag the shady parking spot and walk the mile or so into the office, purposefully speeding up the pace this morning what with the Olympics and all that. We all have to do what we can.

7:00 in the office. I hate waking up early but it's worth it for the start-of-day putter I can do with no one else around. Someone brought in dried lavender and the smell is just under my awareness unless I think about it and then I enjoy the crispness. My computer is still not talking to the email program but everything else seems to be working - even the mouse is accepting its proper mouse pad now. I check the news (BBC) and think about setting up my Pandora account for this computer but I've forgotten the password by now so I'll have to start from scratch and it's still early enough that this feels like an enormous amount of work. I potter down the hall instead to fill my water bottle.

to work. Someone needs an ad (2.5" X 2"), deadline today and they only told me about it last Wednesday. Also they want it to include two totally different programs... right. Talk them down to one program, simple, one pre-existing graphic and a couple of words. Still have to do three versions since the text they submitted would have to be set at 4.5 pt to fit in which is, frankly, ridiculous. Spend far too much time fiddling with the existing icon - live trace only does so much - and then doing the same for the organization mandated logo. Think viciously that the guidelines only say I have to include the logo somewhere, not what size it has to be. Yes, it does look a little like a deranged lady bug at the only size that really fits but lady bugs are beautiful creatures and probably bring great advertising luck.

interrupted for the daily coffee run. We swoop up everyone who wants to head out and toddle over to the SUB. French Roast for one, Pinon for another (confusing the coffee ladies who are used to a half decaf, half pinon order but hey, sometimes you've got to mix it up like that). I carefully wipe down the cream cart because if you leave those dairy dribbles they get crusty on the edges and that's just gross. They used to give me a hard time about this but I've noticed they're all nicely trained now and I hardly ever have to grab a napkin myself. Why can I train co-workers but not Children? Discouraging. Back to the ad.

ad done, on to the next. I notice that the website that was not going to need any more updates, no really, promise, this is it, now needs several more updates. At least the poster (featuring the Male Child in silhouette) is pretty much finished and no one is asking me to make the figure "more androgynous" which was considered for a while leaving me extremely confused about how to androgynize my own very male Child.

meetings about meetings. Natter on a bit with co workers about vital things such as: when to meet to discuss the massive ginormous unbelievably complex database project we were just landed with; how best to confront HR with the need to give us the staff support we need in order to do the THREE jobs I'm now trying to do (seriously contemplated asking extra people to come in and bustle around looking frantic and chaotic. We could offer them bagels - that almost always works); how people, in general, often suck.

emails and general housekeeping. blerg. There's nothing remotely interesting to say about this particularly as several emails are to restate the same thing I said last time that apparently didn't sink in.

commute home. Could be worse, could be hotter, could be... erg. I hate this commute home! I could turn on the radio but every time I do it's Red Hot Chili Peppers and I really can't stand those guys. Besides their songs last forever. Worse it might be System of a Down and I loathe them.

walk in the door to a phone message from Child 3's friend saying Child 3 is in need of a ride and is waiting at a bus stop. I suppose I like Child 3 enough to pick it up but I do wonder where its phone is and why its friend is calling instead. Quick drive down to the school and back and no sign of Child 3 until I turn down our street and see a familiar back heading towards the house after running home. Let Child 3 in and don't wince much as it sits and sweats on the furniture - thank goodness for the blanket folded over the back of the chair.

spend several hours doing tedious but essential work on a file. Listen to Child 2 whine and complain about being forced to eat vegetables (part of Let's Try Healthy For A Change campaign. Child 2 is suffering terribly). Listen to Child 3 virtuously claim that it LOVES vegetables which is hardly fair as Child 3 loves food. Period. I finally get Child 2 to choke down its veggies with a combination of threats (me) and bribes (Child 1 and its copy of Breaking Dawn).

settle down to the Olympics. Beach volleyball still looks way too glamourous to be an Olympic event but is, at least in my tiny little mind, a leetle more sport-like than synchronized swimming or rhythmic gymnastics. Child 2 sits directly in front of the television and loses itself totally in its book, looking up ten seconds after every cheer or comment to say, "eh? What? What happened." We all refuse to fill it in because we are wickedly cruel.

trying to decide if I can stand watching Michael Phelps try for his third gold because it would just be so dang cool if he got it. It can't be worse than gymnastics where I spend the whole time hiding my face so I don't see anyone fall off anything. I decide to blog with most of my brain and half-watch with the rest.

and just to round off the excitement I think I'll brush my teeth and head to bed. Maybe, just maybe, with a truly exciting book about WWI.

And there you are, Child 2. It's not about having an exciting day, its about waffling on about it relentlessly.

NB: HE DID IT!!

glamour

Child 2 squozed itself onto my comfy chair at the bookstore. Fortunately it was a wide comfy chair and we are not wide people. However Its head was rather closer to my face than it normally is and I couldn't help but notice that It has particularly attractive hair.

Which I mentioned.

Child 2 is practicing accepting compliments so it did not reject the comment. It harrumphed a bit then brightened up and said, "oh! You too mom!" Which shows how wise Child 2 is becoming.

We agreed that basically we represented a chair full of fabulousness.

People might even slip in it as they walk by.

Yes, Child 2 says, it's pooling around us, all oozy.

Hmmmm I say, sort of like a slug, only gorgeous?

Definitely.

Performance

Child 1 has a Very Important Job which involves a large amount of caffeine and quite a lot of sugar. That means its siblings are surprisingly willing to visit it during work hours. Since this Very Important Job is also surrounded by Large Quantities of Books we have all pretty much decided that Child 1 must work this job until it dies.

Out of the kindness of our over-sized hearts (and not at all because we were bored) Child 2 and I toddled over to The Work Place yesterday to brighten Child 1's afternoon. We figure just the fact that we're in the same building will somehow make it sing a happy little song as it frapps and twizzles and chants the mysterious incantations that produce a Super Grande Latte-O-Cino with whipped cream and sprinkles. Child 2 was even selfless enough NOT to order the most-difficult-to-make-drink and was content with something caramelly and espressoish. With cream.

We did time it just right so that we could see the Child AND look over a few books and things before the store closed although that meant we were left forlorn outside while Child and its coworkers went through the Closing Up Rituals.

Naturally we stationed ourselves outside the large windows so we could make faces at it. And dance the Chicken Dance (that was Child 2's idea. I loath the Chicken Dance. But I did do a few motions just because of solidarity). And maybe make a few rude gestures because Child? Didn't look up. Not even once. It mopped with concentration, it wiped and shifted and generally did all the things it forgets to do at home and it didn't notice us at all.

Next time we're bringing the tap shoes, the top hats and the sound track. We need appreciation dammit.

Fly By

At about 5 in the afternoon there was a fsssssshhhhhWHOOOM noise.

A suitcase crater appeared in the living room with a five yard debris field of socks, t-shirts and unmentionables.

Five bagels, four hot dogs, a bag of cereal, half a gallon of milk, a pint of ice-cream, sundry bits of toast, fruit, vegetables, lunch-meat, cream cheese etc disappeared from their usual haunts.

a large cello case surfaced directly in front of the front door in ideal tripping location.

A steady hum of talk was heard, punctuated by "look at this!" and "but the best bit was" and "guess what my ring tone is?" until late into the evening*.

Come 4:20 in the morning peace descended again.

The Male Child is off to camp number 2.

*At which point I had to say "AUGH! You are. not. packed. I am getting up at 4 to take you to the airport. I am leaving the room now." I'm pretty sure the talk went on, but as my door was closed I was blissfully unaware.

Hush

The male child is away - left yesterday morning.

It has ended up with five weeks of camps this summer using the simple technique of signing every piece of paper that passed under its nose. It spent the first few weeks after school got out lolling on the couch in the mornings and then spinning things all afternoon (and playing hide and seek. And wrestling. and doing other "team building" activities). But no more. It's leadership camps and ground school for the rest of the summer.

The refrigerator has remained stocked for an entire day. There was no percussive clapping or random thumping on surfaces. No one took the broom/hammer/shower rod out to the back yard and left it there to be watered by the sprinklers. Socks have not sprouted like mushrooms under the ottoman or the curtain.* We have not been serenaded at odd hours with choice bits of Sweeney Todd and no one has pulled out a cello to see if they can pick out the Band of Brothers theme song. The Highly Reactive Sibling has gone un-harassed, its buttons remaining un-pushed, its personal space pristine.

It's not like home at all.

*That's not entirely true. The sprouting has slowed considerably, and is no longer a dingy grey and crunchy. Now it's all red with polka dots or blue with little stripes.

Conclusions

Child 2 and I had an involved and intelligent discussion yesterday about romantic archetypes in literature and popular culture - you know, as you do.

Because it was Child 2 and me this discussion was naturally extremely erudite and thoughtful. We brought up examples, made comparisons and supported our arguments with brilliance. Finally we reached a firm and undeniable conclusion.

Ms. Piggy totally didn't deserve Kermit the Frog.

Commencing

I like that we use "commencement" when we talk about graduation from high school. I like that it's more about beginning than ending.

There were over 460 seniors in Child 1's class this year. Over 460 red gowns and red mortar boards dutifully trailed down the steep concrete sides of the huge college gym (many of the girls managing it in teetery high heels which I found most impressive). Over 460 of them sat patiently and listened to speeches and songs, really only wanting to walk through that line, hold on to that small, red folder and be told they could move their tassels from left to right.

Only one of them was Child 1.

The child who isn't a child any more. The cautious, careful, concerned child who has become a confident, beautiful, talented adult.

Whom I am infinitely proud of.

Who has been patient all year with being an "it," but who asked me to share this with you, who have read and emailed and commented.

This is Child 1.


And she is beginning something wonderful.

Superhero

The male child has a super power.

Well, it has several along the lines of Constant and Irritating Noise and Eating By Means of Total Devastation of All Foodstuffs and things like that but most males its age have those. No, it has a special super power, one it has always had. It is a pedant.

Like: PEDant Man! (musical theme riff, spiffy costume of orange tights with "P" emblazoned on chest).

I used to say he acted in support of pedantism to which Kirk would reply, "that's pedantry I think." Gee, I wonder where Male Child got it?

However it is an ism with this Child. It's a full-on, emotionally charged belief system. That belief system goes something like: Things Should Be Correct! And I Know What Is Correct.

It even has a catch phrase. It goes, "Well, but actually..."

There are a couple of minor problems with this.

First, the Male Child, while totally convinced of its own erudition and wisdom is, dare I say it, not always right.

Second, even in total and complete ignorance the Male Child is happy to state absolutely and with assurance that Thus Is So.

Fortunately it (whom we often refer to as Pedanto) is also happy to learn the real truth (as opposed to The Definitively But Ignorantly Stated "Truth") even if it does take bar charts, PowerPoint presentations and judicious application of hefty blunt objects to get the point across.

Pedanto, a few things I would really like you to learn:

A. Concussed persons should not climb. Nor should they spin things. Nor should they bounce on the furniture.

B. When the mother of the concussed person tells it to eat something very simple first to see if it is going to throw up, the concussed person should not wolf down a cinnamon-raisin bagel while waiting for said simple food to heat up. This, oddly enough, defeats the purpose.

C. If a person has been recently, if mildly, concussed, it should make an effort not to run into anything with its head for a few days.

And finally, well loved Male Child of mine, when reading over this simple list a sensible person desiring of continuing in reasonable, if slightly concussed, health should not turn to it's mother and say, "Well, but actually..."

B.A.C.K.

They're back! They survived! A whole weekend without ONE SINGLE NAG and they made it. I'm sure it was a close thing though.

When I came home on Friday after spending the morning carefully collecting and packing food and other interesting items so Child 2 would be The Most Prepared Camper Ever I found a loving note sitting on the table... and Child 2's ginormous sleeping bag right in the middle of the hall. Where you would trip over it. Say if you were packing up to go and trying to make sure not to forget anything important.

I asked it what it slept in and it said, "oh, my coat and another coat and the fireplace." Ah. Well, that's good then.

However I was VINDICATED because one of the first things that happened was the leader going into the port-o-john and coming out all concerned saying, "uh, guys, there's no toilet paper in there..." and Child 2 was able to triumphantly produce its roll of tp BECAUSE IT'S MOTHER IS JUST THAT GOOD. I hope it gave me full credit.

But.

That wasn't the most important thing that happened this weekend.

The most important thing was that Children 1 and 3 went to a buffet restaurant with their team for dinner and a man sat down near them and leaned over to one of their friends and said, "hey, is that good steak? You gonna finish that steak?" The guy shook his head and this man said, "Great! Because I really want that steak for my dog." Then he reached over, took that steak

and put it in his sock.

His sock.

He put the steak in his sock.

And I know at that moment my Children were so thrilled because they knew - this, THIS is why my mother has a blog.

A.L.O.N.E.

Somehow I have no Children this weekend.

I shouldn't be surprised. I knew about it all theoretically. I was aware of it, sort of individually. It's the collective result that's a little surprising.

I have no Children this weekend.

As in none.

Zeeeeero.

This whole weekend.

Starting....staaaaarting this morning actually when I dropped them all off at school.

Children 1 and 3 went by bus to Colorado where they will... I don't know march a little and run some and maybe wave a few things aimlessly. Oh and I think they shout quite a bit - things like: THE HONORABLE GEORGE W. BUSH MA'AM (only they aren't NEARLY as good at shouting as two people in the group. One shouts like there's a lonely goat herder perched up in a mountain far, far away, like that goat herder's whole life depends on contact being made and the only thing this boy has is his voice. It's that good. The other one is a girl who shouts in the most amazingly high register I've ever heard. Bats congregate just out of curiosity. My Children are nothing in comparison - they don't even begin to compete).

Child 2 on the other hand leaves this afternoon before I get home to go camping up somewhere with a lot of rocks. And much sun. And probably prickly vegetation that waits to ambush the unwary (I've never been there it's just that this describes 90% of the state).

Because I'm a loving mother I not only purchased and packed up camp-appropriate food, I also included an enormous tube of sun screen which Child 2 will forget about until it's already sizzled itself a delicious shade of pink, a spare roll of toilet paper (because YOU NEVER KNOW), and enough ingredients to make s'mores for a small army of Girl's Scouts. I feel I have done earned myself a Preparedness Award of Awesomeness or something.

Or maybe just a lovely, quiet, tidy weekend alone.

Ahhhhhhhhhh.

Inappropriate

You know you've achieved something as a parent when you can sit around with your two female Children and laugh until you cry because of the inappropriate conversation you've been having.

I love you guys.

And Male Child? Probably just as well you weren't around.

Parenting Sin

Yesterday I found myself at Ssssssoooopah Target picking up ice cream

You see, I had casually mentioned that it's entirely possible frozen dairy products will never again defile our freezer if I keep having to come home to a living room full of dirty socks and un-cleared water cups. My head might have spun around a little bit and it's possible there was a small amount of laser burning from my eyes but I'm all better now.

Then a miracle happened.

All week, the entire week long, I have left a clean and tidy house and I have returned to a clean and tidy house. The dishes are done, the counters clear, the living room furniture is where it should be and not shoved up against the wall so the Children can do Romanian gymnastic pretzel practice or whatever it is they do.

So yesterday, in full belief that I would again see a sparkling house when I walked in the door, I picked up not one, but two cartons of ice cream AND a bottle of fudge sauce.

Am I bribing my Children to do what they should do anyway? You bet your bippy. And it works.

Just wait until next week though when they realize it's going to extend to include THE BATHROOM... oh the humanity.