The Road to Hana and My Swim

Hana is a small fishing village on the other side of Maui. Oddly enough, the road to Hana is the destination, not Hana, itself. I didn't understand this until we started on the journey and the landscape changed drastically to a tropical rain forest.

We took along with us a CD tour that came from the same place as the snorkel gear, Molikini tour and we were still scheduled for our timeshare presentation the following day. I will admit that this particular CD tour was not up to par. Still, it gave us a good starting point and a lot of laughs. For instance, in one part of the CD, the guide gives us a mile marker post and indicates a general store. We passed a portable trailer. But we learned the history of the mongoose on the island which was to control the rat population. A crate of mongoose arrived and were freed. Unfortunately, the mongoose (mongeese?) and the rats have different sleeping schedules. Now Maui suffers from both rats and mongoose infestation.

Our first interesting stop was a place where the path was blocked off with a concrete wall. This screamed ENTER to me so I climbed atop a side wall and stepped around it. Scott helped me up and cut his hand on the barbed wire. Regardless of the barbed wire, heavy cement wall, I felt pulled to this spot.

"Are you going in?" I asked Scott. He looked at me like I was a lunatic. I mean more than usual. "I'm going in," I announced.

"I'll take pictures," he replied. He didn't really believe I was going in.

It went like this:

So I'm thinking about strategy. How to get to the waterfall? I'm going to have to swim. I don't think about what creatures might be under me and I swim.

The white space above is for the picture that I will not include. This is the undignified climbing up onto the rocks. Scott took a close up of my stance. Mostly it is of my butt. We'll skip that one but be assured that he is laughing on the other side of the pool.

Now we have a problem. The objective was to get to the waterfall. I am stuck on one side and unable to cross. I make attempts for about 5 minutes before I finally fall. 

So I swim across. By now I really am wondering what creatures lurk beneath me. It is not a pleasant place to be in my mind at this moment.

I make it to the other side, climb up and stand under the falls.

I included this picture because it looks like I am readying myself to make a beautiful and graceful dive back into the pool. The reality is that I scooted further down the rock, crouched low then made a very shallow dive.

and swam back - back stroke. It was all in the name of saying I did it.

Am I glowing from accomplishment? I think I'm glowing.

It could just be my pasty complexion but we're calling it glowing.

Would You Like Fries With That Part II (Molikini)

It was our 20th anniversary and we were still on Utah time but in Maui. We easily roused ourselves to get up early and to the harbor for our snorkeling tour. Does it bode well when the boat is named The Minnow and the second mate is referred to as Gilligan? Okay, I made that up. We boarded Frogman, the boat rated for 88 passengers but booked only for 67. I squeezed myself between a very nice and well padded woman from Alaska and some guy from Canada. Scott found an 8" spot to slide one butt cheek and the boat was completely full. But fear not! Three more passengers embarked. It was all I expected and more.

The captain gave his safety tips and took us to Turtle Town first. As you may remember, Slick from the snorkel shop guaranteed we'd see dozens of sea turtles. Before reaching our first destination, the crewmen offered us short wetsuits - for a price. The water is not terribly cold, at least not off a sandy beach. I opted against the suit. It's not like we're at Bear Lake where the water temperature reaches a high 66 degrees on a hot July day. No, this was Hawaii! We were going to see sea turtles and tropical fish!

Admittedly, the water was not frigid by any means but a few degrees colder than the previous day's snorkeling. The fish were beautiful and the water calm. We caught sight of one sea turtle swimming away. Disappointing in that regard, it was still a beautiful swim. Then I got cold and we returned to the boat. Those with wetsuits were able to stay out another 5 minutes before getting called in. We returned to our luxurious accommodations between strangers and I took a half of a Dramamine, just to be safe. I stared longingly at the wetsuits but mostly determined to not be lulled into a false sense of warmth. Instead I was lulled into a semi-conscious state where I might have even started snoring. Love Dramamine.

Once at Molikini we pulled on our masks and flippers and went for another swim. The water was incredibly clear and blue. The fish were beautiful but the most intriguing part of the swim was the sound. Remember that Star Trek movie from the 80's where Captain Kirk and crew go back in time to San Francisco where, in order to save humanity or something on that scale, they had to capture a humpback whale or two and take back to the future? Naturally, Spock could communicate with the whales because it was the logical story line to include. Anyway, the sounds I heard were a lot like the songs of the humpback from the movie. Yes, the humpbacks were spending the winter around the islands, having babies, growing the babies bigger, and copulating for next year's births but could I really be hearing them? We'd seen a number of whales the past few days and even a few on the boat ride. One show off had even jumped straight out of the water the night before off the coast by our condo and arched back for a big splash. It was awesome.

Returning to the boat, we ate our deli lunch. Deli because we had opted for the less expensive tour. Slick had offered an upgrade for only an additional $60 each and we'd have a full barbecue of pork and whatnot. Even on this trip we were offered free *cough* soft drink beverages AND $3 Mai Tais. Fortunately, we had brought our own bottles of water. On the ride back to the harbor, Skipper fascinated us with whale facts (every foot of whale weighs a ton, mama whales produce ten gallons of milk a day, they prefer the shallow and warmer waters between the islands, etc.) and, of course, offered us a whale watching tour for only $50. BUT for a small upgrade fee, we could also be outfitted with a boat that stuck a microphone dealio into the water so we could hear their songs which, incidentally, change every year.

So, yeah. I'd heard the whales communicating with each other.

To top off our anniversary, we returned to the condo, cleaned up, I actually put on make up and real clothes and Scott took me out to a fine dining restaurant called Duke's. It was beyond amazing food. But even fine dining restaurants boasting five stars have no walls. Sitting on the beach and covered by a roof with retractable screens (if a storm blows, I guess), we ate our dinner. Sadly, we had little to talk about. We finally remembered that we have children and called them. Jacob had just returned from scouts and was home alone until his sisters returned from a church activity. He was freaked out by a sound he kept hearing from the backyard. The dog was by his side and not alarmed in the least so we were pretty confident it was an overactive imagination. Then the girls came home and all was well. We hung up and gushed to each other what great kids we have.

I love my husband. He provides me with definition. I still didn't miss the kids so much that I wanted to go home but we had to admit they give us purpose and meaning. And lots of conversation fodder. But a romantic dinner with my husband gave me an excuse to curl my hair, put on make up, and change from a swimming suit into underwear and clothes.

I can hear your thoughts. They are stuck on words like romantic, anniversary, underwear, and clothes. I will validate your thoughts with clear and concise details. All of these factors added up to a beautiful photo op at sunset.

That's what you were thinking, weren't you?

Feeling Completely

I love my job. I've been working in alternative secondary education in one degree or another for my entire career. In fact, I've mentioned to a few people that I have felt like my work is similar to a calling from God. I don't serve perfectly and I don't serve always the way I think I should but overall, I believe I was led to what I do and through Him I've made an impact on some people. As they have on me.

The only constant in life is change and it's been blowing in for awhile. The structure of the school where I am working as a counselor is dramatically changing next year. Something inside of me has also been itching but I've just wanted to swat it away. My work life has been the constant sustaining part of my life when other things have gone south. Not that my job is without politics or problems but I have navigated through those choppy waters and continue to drive to work every day and I like doing it so much. But that tickle has been getting stronger and stronger until I knew something was about to blow through right about the time I was leaving for Maui. His Tender Mercies were such that all was in place as I flew off into the sunrise (it was 4:30 in the morning, you know) and thought about work only long enough to text a colleague to taunt her.

On Saturday morning I was snorkeling and listening to the whale songs. On Sunday morning I was stumbling toward the snow covered car. On Monday morning my boss and I were having a serious discussion. There is a budget set for next year to cover two counselors. We have two and half. I am the half. Kudos to my boss who could have easily pulled rank and told me Aloha. She didn't. She placed the situation in front of me and was willing to transfer our latest hire, Ashley, her former secretary and good friend, and hire another part-time counselor. Her superiors would cock an eyebrow but she would have done it. In the end, I saw the bigger picture and listened to my internal itch and told her I'd transfer. But if she had a say, could she put in a good word to a school closer to my home? Then I continued my denial by talking about Maui, showing her my shark teeth earrings when something sharp jabbed my heart. I stopped, acknowledged it and told her I was going to cry today. I think I'll go home. She teared up and said she would to and told me to go.

I went home. I didn't cry.

Tuesday I went to work. I still didn't cry. There was simply a quiet acceptance in the office of what was happening. We didn't talk about it. But I knew it was lurking and waiting for the most inopportune time to open the floodgates.

Wednesday morning my boss called me. She told me how her meeting went. How former administrators had stepped up and sold my charming personality (omitting my sarcasm and wit) to my new assignment. I'm going to a school very close to home. I thanked her profusely and hung up. I still felt conflicted. I went as far as to drive to the school to introduce myself to the principal but he was in a meeting. Then I called Scott while I drove to work.

Laying it all on the table, the pros and cons, I can make a great argument for the change. But walking into the new school it all became much more real and unsettling. As I talked it through with my pragmatic husband, I finally said the sentence that needed to be uttered in order to rattle open my tear ducts. "I'm not ready to go." One mile from work and I finally have my first big cry. Isn't that how it always goes?

I realized then that it isn't whether or not the change is good or bad or how I feel about moving schools and forging a new career trail. I am grieving the loss of an entity I have loved. It's not the school or the structure but each individual interaction and person over the past 18 years that has been a source of support and consistency. When someone retired, we ordered a cake, had a party, and signed a card. When a couple of people have died, we cried together and grieved deeply. This time, however, I am grieving alone.  I think I will be missed and there will be tears shed by others but then they get to go back to their positions, surrounded by the same people. I am leaving alone.

I did pull myself together long enough to work but I was emotionally exhausted. Once in the car driving home I picked up right where I left off. I cried and felt grief. For a moment I thought of those little blue pills in my medicine cabinet for anxiety. This situation certainly merited it yet I felt a certain amount of comfort from my grief. I wanted to feel it and experience it completely. I want to acknowledge the reality of it, accept it and then, when I'm ready I'll stop crying.

I want to grieve. It means that my heart is breaking. It means that I love enough that it hurts in absence. It brings my priorities into focus and clarifies edges. I realize how lucky I have been. Except I don't really believe in luck. It may not be important to anybody else but my work environment has been important to me and He has been aware of this and watched over me. I was hired a few weeks before I found out I was pregnant with my first child. We opened the school a few weeks later for the very first time and I was running to the bathroom to throw up. Miserably, I wanted to die. Also miserably, my colleagues sometimes had to hear me retch up my toes. That same year, it was determined that staff would be able to use the daycare for a fee. I started the following year with my newborn who wouldn't take a bottle but I was just up the hall. After sixteen years, I no longer need a daycare. It's still onsite but my kids are in school. And now I am leaving. I won't be just up the hall but I will just up the road so when my son remembers he has a NOVA graduation in fifteen minutes, I have the option of going.

I love my job and I love my colleagues. I will miss them terribly. I will grieve for the loss of those relationships. But when I am finished grieving, I will dry my eyes and be grateful that, once again I get to parent my children and work on the side. My work relationships have made it possible that my commute will be cut from 45 minutes every day to 10. The money I save in gas alone will pay for my daughter's computer when we send her off to college next year.

So excuse me while I cry for a bit. Nothing is broken or needs to be fixed. I am simply feeling deeply and living life.

Would You Like Fries With That? Part I

During high school I worked at McDonald's. One of the strategies we were taught was to up-sell. Always suggest another item for the customer to buy. "Would you like a fresh apple pie with that?" or "Would you like to add an order of fries?" became the byline. I don't know why but it really bothered me to try to push a product when the customer already had the menu before him or her. I passive/aggressively refused. One day, the one manager I actually liked had reminded me to up-sell for the third time and I managed, again, to "forget."

"Next time you don't suggest another product, I'm going to write you up," he warned me. Oh, no. I'd be written up at my dead end job as a McDonald's robot. However would I go one in life? The threat was still useless.

Since that time, I have found that up-sells are common but they bug me just the same. I can read. If I wanted a fresh apple pie, I would have ordered one. Better yet, I would not be at McDonald's. I like to emphasize the "fresh." The best place for a lesson in up-sells is Maui. Take a tourist who knows very little about many services offered in a new place, and the ground is fertile for scamming.

First stop - car rental. Scott had reserved a compact car. The line was long and there were representatives at every station. It puzzled me that it was taking so long to get our car. Although I did realize we were now on Maui Time. We reached the friendly and helpful associate who greeted us with an exuberant, "Aloha!" Quickly typing in the information provided, he asked if we wanted to upgrade the insurance to premium or just buy the basic. Fortunately, my husband had already called our sister-in-law before leaving. Rental cars are already included in the policy. No additional insurance. We were then offered a car upgrade. For only $100 more a day, we could get a Corvette. What if he dropped that price in half - only and extra $50 a day? No? Did you plan to drive the Road to Hana? For only an extra $15 a day, we could rent an SUV. A jeep would be very helpful for any off-road driving. That's when I laughed at him. He looked at me strangely but I later explained to Scott that my older sister and her husband had gotten a jeep. It didn't have a top. They rode to the volcano on the island and it snowed on them. In the end we were issued a Chevy Malibu. Because we're cool like that.

First thing the next morning, we were off to rent snorkel gear. I saw the sign in the window. Full snorkel gear for only $9 a week! We entered and requested the gear. Oh, but for that rate we would only get the crappy snorkel gear. The next highest but mildly crappy snorkel gear was $20 a week. BUT for only $5 more, we get the best on the market. READ: Standard Issue.

I fingered the shorty wet suit and mused, "I wonder if I should rent a suit." Mark, who will further be referred to as Slick, strongly encouraged me to do so. He was our best friend. He told us intimate details about himself like that he lived in Utah once. He named a town that was relatively unknown to non-native Utahns but could tell us nothing more about the town. He boasted his kid is going to college in California, has a 3.8 g.p.a.! Slick himself attended college because he was a linebacker on the football team. He had to quit because he kept getting hit in the head. He told that story to us 3 times, each time with the same inflection and pauses, expecting us to laugh at the appropriate times.

"Hey! Did you want to snorkel at Molikini?" Slick asked. "I can get you a screaming great deal on a catamaran."

"How big is the catamaran and how many people will be on it?" I asked. I'd read my travel books.

"It's rated for 88 people but we only book 67," he replied. "I can actually save you more money if you want to listen to a timeshare presentation! All you have to commit is two hours. That's it." Scott looked dubious but I thought it would be a good activity for a down time day. I also rightly held low expectations of the catamaran size and sardine-like quality but we walked out of the store with two snorkel sets and two tickets on a snorkel tour with Slick's absolute confidence that we would see dozens of sea turtles at Turtle Town, a different snorkel site on the tour. Total cost: $13.

We spent a glorious morning and early afternoon on Kapalua, the name of a beach that I can still barely say and closely resembles 100% of all of the names of beaches, towns and mountains on the island. Truly, I demonstrated an incredible amount of restraint when talking to any number of people who would reference a beach, road, mountain, or volcano and they would smoothly spit out a word with a couple l, k, p, or n sounds riddled with far too many vowels. I would stand there staring stupidly, blink once or twice and bite back a laugh and accusation of, "You are SO making that up!" Bottom line is that I really didn't care what they said. I just wanted slather on the sun screen, pull the flippers onto my feet, create a vacuum with my snorkel mask and very ungracefully flop into the surf until a wave knocked me over. That moment determined when I would start snorkeling.

The cost of this activity? Just my dignity. And worth every ounce of it. I'd lose more of it later in the week.

This guy? He kept his dignity throughout the week. Stay tuned.

A Sneak Peek of Where I Have Been Hiding

If a picture is worth a thousand words, here are a few thousand words of my life the past week and half minus the amazing amount of laundry, planning, and farming out the aforementioned children because they were not invited. My dear husband only invited me.

Go ahead. Feel the awe. Be inspired. Be jealous. My own life was far more fun and different than its scheduled programming that I could not disengage. I barely read the latest People magazine but only because Elizabeth Smart married on Oahu.

My own life looked a lot like this only better:

Yes, it has been a rough week plus, having to live in paradise, have hours pass before I look at my husband and muse, "We have children, right?" because I forgot. No counting heads. No checking backpacks. No laundry. That felt so good I will say it again. No laundry. Swimming suits and snorkel gear, looking for sea turtles and listening to the humpback whale songs under the water. Luau with the most amazing fire dancer right on the beach.

Every day was a new adventure and I could not tear myself from NOW to even consider what I might have written on my endless lists I keep when I am at home. I had no lists. Our only set agendas included a Molikini and Turtle Town snorkel tour which set sail on a three hour tour. Not really. It was 5 hours. We also got a great, screaming deal on our snorkel gear for the week which included the snorkel tour in exchange for meeting with Neal for a mere two hour sales pitch for Wyndham time share - THE OPPORTUNITY TO OWN A PIECE OF MAUI REAL ESTATE! Wahoo. He was nice enough and not slick like Mark at Boss Frog's Snorkel Shop. He even apologized before he passed us on to the "Developer." In layman's terms, the Closer who couldn't give a straight answer to save his life but dropped the pitch when we said no thanks. Neal returned to give us one more apology and a woman came to check us out. Our second closer to entice us with another juicy morsel of Wyndham Time Share.

I know it's completely strange but the whole process fascinated me in a sociological manner. I know how much our current timeshare cost with a different company. I know what the maintenance costs are. I also know their overhead and mark-up was outrageous. Scott was getting antsy. I kept trying to disaggregate the incoming data and interpret the part each of the actors played. I finally gave into Scott's need to leave after I got the bottom line. Just so you know, it is well over three times what our Hawaii time share cost when my parents bought it. They sold it at a loss. Timeshares are losing ground. Maintenance fees were well over five times our current maintenance fees.

To me, it was worth it. Snorkel gear, tour to Molikini with two stops, Island breakfast and deli lunch on a crowded boat rated to hold 87 but Boss Frog's only crams 67 on the catamaran. Because there are not 87 places to sit, that's why.Tight quarters but we met some lovely ladies from Alaska who work for DCFS as social workers and one was introduced as a lawyer that represents children. This made me laugh and tell them it's okay to call her a Guardian Ad Lidem. Meet my husband, the social worker. We got to know each other very well, smashed together so tightly. But the snorkeling was truly fabulous.

I think I am in love with Maui my wonderful husband of 20 years. Great anniversary present.

Fair Weather Friends

Laura showed up at my house requesting books to read. I dragged her through my entire house, looking through my stacks until she had my very favorite books. She's a big reader and mentioned she would be having free time soon.

"Their dad got his own place and the kids are spending the WHOLE weekend and leaving me all by myself!" she delightedly informed me.

"Is that the same weekend I am leaving for Hawaii?" I asked. "I mean, since you won't have your kids, you could drive us to the airport!" I tried to use my best cheerleader voice to make it sound enticing.

"What day and time?"

"Sunday morning. We need to leave the house by 4:30. In the morning."

She cackled wickedly and ran out of my house. With my books.

Strike one.

At work I passed the assistant principal's office, a really nice guy. How nice? "Hey Tim! Do you want to take my husband and I to the airport on Sunday?"

He looked up with his usual smile. "Would it get me out of church?"

"Does your church start at 4:30 in the morning?"

"Nope. Good luck with finding someone!" Not that nice.

Strike two.


"My brother said he would take us to airport..." Scott informed me, slightly dragging out the last word of the sentence.

"He agreed to take us to the airport like you agreed to a vasectomy?" I clarified. His procedure agreement came with an elongated "I will..." and the implied, "But...since you're already going to give birth to our last child, don't you think it would be easier to just get your tubes tied then?" I did.

Strike three.


I really need to work on my cheerleader voice.

Sweeping Me Off My Feet

Even though I work, I still feel the pressure to perform traditional homemaking chores. I feel guilty when Scott cleans the kitchen (which he does every night) or sweeps and mops the floor (which he does every week). Somehow I feel like I am a failure as a wife and mother when I realize I don't remember the last time I dusted the piano or the blinds have penciled art on it and I couldn't tell you if it happened yesterday or last spring. When I mentioned my guilt to my husband, he responded, "I just feel guilty that you have to work."

Ah. That's the funny thing. We don't know that I have to work. We've never tried it. I think we could but then my trips to Costco would be limited. Also, finding an identity outside the home provides me with a respite from my guilty conscience every day. My children are not perfect and my house is not perfectly clean so I am not a perfect mother or homemaker. But I am a competent educator who works hard for those hours I am in my office and I greatly enjoy the accolades, especially at graduation time. 

Bottom  line, if I am neurotic now, imagine me without the hobby of working. *Shudder*

So this year, Scott decided to treat me, a poor, underappreciated and overworked, working mother and wife to a 6 day trip to Maui for our anniversary. Maybe just because he wants to go, maybe to calm his guilty conscience because his wife "has to" work. Either way, I'm not going to tip my hand. I like to work. I like to be home when the kids come home from school. I like that he cleans the kitchen and mops the floors. I like all the nice little things he does for me but I am loving this big thing he's doing for me. 

I'll go ahead and let him sweep me off my feet again. Because I'm nice like that.

Blogging Tips and Faux Pas

I found a great list of simple blogging tips on Casual Blogger. I have a few to add. More like blogging faux pas. What not to post on your blog. These are all hypothetical blogging opportunities.

1. Pictures of your sons peeing in the toilet at the same time. Cutest and best picture of all time. If you do post it, don't tell your sons. Ever.
2. Your daughter's first kiss. Especially if your husband tells you specifically it would be bad form.
3. Where you found your first gray hair.
4. That when your husband suggested Maui for your 20th anniversary, you went to a tanning joint because you didn't want to be sunburned and carefully only scheduled it for 7 minutes, laid down, then scooted further down and your butt and back created a vacuum with a horrible sucking noise when lifted.
5. When you realized your son hadn't gone to the bathroom before going to bed and you got him up to go, he was so disoriented that he took off towards the bathroom but then disappeared. You found him standing naked in the laundry room with absolutely no idea how he got there or where his clothes were.

This is a public service to you and completely hypothetical.

You are welcome.

The Epiphany

I thought it was my parenting skills or lack thereof but I think it's more widespread than just my poor parenting skills. It's a family dynamic that somehow keeps everything else in and out of balance. The symbiosis of parent/child relationship, particularly in the high strung. It's true that every child is unique and needs more attention at one time or another, but there seems to be a preponderance of families that have one particular child that the other members of the family orbit. The one that dictates whether there will be peace or war. The child that holds the delicate balance within his or her hands and can crush or delight parental spirits and family bonding.

I've long maintained that there is, in nearly every family, one black sheep. If you don't know who it is, it is probably you. I will continue this litany because it makes me laugh when defenses arise, fingers point, and finally hands come up in surrender. But I think the truth is more complex than this.

There is one child that is higher strung, has louder vibrations, and bigger tears but if a tree falls in the forest, does it make any noise? In other words, there is another member of this chemical reaction that is rarely taken into account. One parent is more finely attuned to the subtle changes of that particular child's moods. She watches the child's pupil size, carefully monitors the voice decibels, counts the smiles as opposed to the scowls, and stands on guard at any time to intervene.

Some may call us a Helicopter Mom as we hover and assess. We are always at the ready to feed the child who is susceptible to deviations of blood sugar, guide the child to take a nap, give her a drink of water if we believe the problem is hydration. We ask about stool passing, eating habits, even (gasp!) menstrual cycles because we are trained to be the mediator between our children and the world. Or just between our children.

We stand ready to sacrifice ourselves if called to do so. When the pupils are too dilated, the voice too loud, agitation increasing, we know we will have to jump into the combat zone in order to minimize damage and save the other siblings from bodily harm or emotional insults. Every once in awhile, we are physically assaulted but more often than not, we are verbally slapped. I will admit that I have been told how much I am loathed, hated, and a failure as a parent. In fact, I'll come clean and tell you I've heard it from more than one child. I've heard it enough times that I can actually smile and reply with a perky, "Okay! Thanks for telling me!"

My job description indicates that I am to love my children unconditionally and I do. It does not say, in even the small print, that I have to be loved by them. I also found a loophole that I interpret that I don't always have to like my children. Sometimes one or another bugs the hell out of me. Those are the times when I know I need to disconnect my supersensory skills, allow Dad into the arena, and bow out. Often, it is the change of parent that defuses the impending bomb detonation. He notices the increase of electricity in the air nearly as well as I do but he allows me to play my part as the ears in the forest because it's what I do.

In the past week I've taken note of the mothers and fathers who, in passing, have mentioned that they struggle with one of their children more than the others. One is more needy, anxious, surly, hungry, angry, hormonal, or compulsive. On the other hand, one parent rises to the scale to balance the little universe. Sometimes we are successful. Other times, not so much.

So I may add to my children's woe, but I have the best intentions. I realize now why my dad spent a little more time with me than the other children and why, even though I'm middle age, he frustratingly reminds me every day to get an appointment with the rheumatologist or talks to my doctor at church so he can be more helpful to me. Even though I chewed him out yesterday for crossing ethical lines. Then I apologized. Because I get it. I was the anxious tree falling in the forest and he was the ears. Even though he's now 75% deaf, he still hears my branches creak. It's built into his DNA.

If this blog is still accessible in 30 years, I hope that child I am most attuned to realizes that I love her. And if, in 30 years I am still asking any of my children about their pooping habits, I hereby give them permission to slap me.

There simply must be a statute that limits the amount of mortification a parent can cause a grown child. Until those children are grown, however, we reign supreme.

Sorry, kids.

Insulting the Old Man

"Hey dad! You shaved! You look like a baby with a smooth face...except for all that grey hair."

"Get out and go to school son."

Worldful Wednesday and the best friends

I am asked the ages of my children. I tell them my oldest is sixteen and they give their condolences. I laugh at them because they don't know. This is the girl the other kids gravitate to because she is that wonderful. She's the kid that stays up late on my bed with me working on a crossword puzzle and laughing when her dad tries to casually kick me in a hint that he is trying to sleep. She's the kid who sat at the counter doing her precalculus while I talked to my spices during an organization spree. She "gets" it when I pick up a bottle and asks it, "Now where do you go?"

Contrary to this expression on her brother's face, they are best friends.

She has a lot of those best friends. And a few fans, too.

If I could, I would tell you how to raise them this good but it has nothing to do with me or my parenting skills. I take that back. It is probably her excellent coping skills to her mother that talks to her spices. It's just the way she is.

Getting Pranked

Sometimes they fight. Sometimes they play. Sometimes they prank. This time they pranked. It went sort of like this beginning at dinner on Friday night:
  I'm going to Tom's house after dinner.

 Really. Do you want to rephrase that?
 (Rolls her eyes) Can I go to Tom's house after dinner?
  You're not dating Tom.
 (Looking guilty) Other people are going to be there. (Pause) Erik.
 Do you want me to drive or do you want to drive?
 I don't care. Just decide fast while I go brush my teeth (And she disappears downstairs).
 and  are whispering. They're scheming. They laugh. Suddenly they grab their jackets and run outside.
 I'm ready to go. Am I driving?
 (Yawn) Yeah. Go ahead and drive.

Before I continue this tale, it is only fair to reveal that this brave, young woman is girlishly afraid of the dark. She runs to the car when she leaves at 6:00 a.m. and jumps in so the boogey man doesn't get her. I shudder to imagine how she'd be if she ever saw Sixth Sense and had to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night when the hair on the back of her neck starts to rise. Not that I know anything about being terrified in a dark bathroom or anything... Continuing onto the story.
 (calmly walks out the door and runs like a maniac to the car, whipping open the door, jumping in, and locking the doors. Big sigh. She's safe.)
 {Whispers from back seat} Want some candy, little girl?
(Screams in sheer terror and throws her keys at the whispering perpetrator in her car. Realizing it is her brother, she starts to cry and orders him out of the car. He laughs. He leaves. He comes inside and tells me all about it. Meanwhile, the 16 year old is still shaking, driving slowly and completely freaked out, driving on abandoned country roads to Tom's house.

She turns on the radio to calm her nerves.

She sings at the top of her lungs.

Her legs stop shaking but she's still freaked out by the time she pulls up to Tom's house.

She jumps out of the car and runs to the front door, knocking loudly and praying that whoever is inside will hurry and answer. Someone does. She enters and relaxes.
Meanwhile, back in the car - extricates herself from the floor in the backseat.
 leaves the car and walks up to the door. Rings the doorbell. Tom answers.
"! There's a little you at the door!"
 is confused. She kicked out . Then she sees .
: How did you get here? Where's Mom?
 laughs. "Mom's not here. I was in the car the whole way. By the way, you sing off-key."
 calls . In a shaky voice she says, "I had a stowaway. I was singing in the car. Loud. What do I do with it now?"
: "Play with it?"
: "!"
: "I'll come and pick it up in an hour or so."
: "Why in an hour?"
: "I want a really great blog post."

I feel a little guilty but it was the funniest thing the middle kids have ever done in tandem.
You're a good sport, .