Junie B.

While I'm a great fan of books, I've never had much tolerance for children's chapter books--at least not as an adult.  Sure I read them, often enough, to the kids throughout the years, but I did so, mostly, with feigned enthusiasm. 

It comes down to prose.  For me, I'd rather read a beautiful sentence then follow a weak one to a fantastic conclusion.  

So, through the years, when the kids would beg me to read this popular children's author, or that one, I'd counter with classic picture books like Peter Rabbit or The Velveteen Rabbit--both books about rabbits, true enough, but both stories in which the sentences danced from the tip of my tongue, when I read them aloud.

There were others: Charlotte's Web was always a pleasure; and anything Dr. Seuss; Pippi Longstocking--mostly for the nostalgia it inspired (that was my favorite when I was a kid); C.S. Lewis; and..., well, of course, the list goes on, and on, and on.

But, there are so any others books, generally contemporary series-fiction, that I could not stand to read, despite the pleas of my adorable, freshly-bathed, sweet-smelling, soft-cheeked babies-before-bed.  Didn't matter how fascinating the stories were, if the prose was weak, I'd put my foot down, and the book, too.

Then along came Junie B. Jones! Now, there's a girl I could get into.  Didn't matter that her grammar was often as bad as her attitude, I loved Barbara Parks's Junie B. from the get go--which, for me, incidentally, was ten years ago, when Sunshine was a kindergartener. 

It was, I know, her righteous, and oh so flawed, but desperately good, while undeniably naughty,  character that I fell for.

And then, along came The Storm!  And together we revelled for years in some good old Junie B. drama--both on the pages and off. 

We still do!

Penny Wishes

"Nope," they said, to pancakes.  "We want donuts." 

This after the midnight ice cream. 

I can't imagine what else a nine-year-old girl could want, but they assured me there was more to toss pennies and wish for. 

"No pets," I warned, and handed over my copper.

Is it just me, or does that look have pony written all over it?

Musical Beds

Last night each of the girls had a Tweedle over, upping the human count from five to seven, when the upstairs air conditioning went in our house. 

It's July. In Vegas. Not good.

Both Tweedles had just arrived,when I went up to where the kids' rooms are to check on them.  On the top step, the heat hit me like a brick wall.  "What the heck! Why's it so hot up here?" The thermostat read ninety-two degrees.

"We told you!" came three simultaneous voices from opposite directions.

"When?"

"At least ten times," said Sunshine. I knew it must be true, because of the simultaneous voices thing, but I swear I hadn't heard them at all--which concerns me.  But that's for another time.

"Balthazar? You better get up here."

Turns out that the something coils froze, when we hadn't turned off the unit on the previous night, which turned out to be an unusually cool 4th of July. (Happy Belated Independence Day! by the way. I was too busy celebrating to be blogging.)

Fortunately, the solution was simple, we merely needed to turn off the system for eight hours to let the ice melt from the something coils.

But this meant reconfiguring the sleeping arrangements. Several times. All night long. Because, of course, nobody could sleep.

(This was fine for Sunshine and her Tweedle, who were planning a Gossip Girl marathon, and didn't intend to sleep anyway.)

The Storm and her Tweedle started here, downstairs, where the air conditioning was working, in the family room adjoining the kitchen:

     
But there was a slow leak in the air mattress, and the big girls were good enough to treat them to ice cream at midnight! Anyway, it's no wonder that there arrived monsters to scratch at the kitchen cupboards, shortly thereafter.

In the wee hours of morning, they came to find me, where Hollywood and I were sleeping here:

Having never slept under the open stars, we were both pretty excited. And it was fantastic! The air was a wonderful 70-something degrees, the stars were glorious, and the breeze was soft. When I imagined the early settlers sleeping under this same sky, I drifted off feeling peacefully connected to the bigger picture.  But this didn't last long. Shortly before the nine-year-olds arrived, my hips, aching, and the huge moon, having made it's way around to shine almost as bright as the girls' flashlights in my eyes, had me wide awake.

I resettled the girls in The Storm's room, where they felt they'd be safe from scratching monsters, covering them with a light sheet.  This was at one o'clock.

An hour and a half later, having determined it was, indeed, too hot in there (although Sunshine and her Tweedle somehow spent the night in the adjoining sauna) but ready to sleep now that the ice cream had worn off, I moved them downstairs again, where we made a makeshift bed of the couch and the loveseat. 

Hollywood woke me again at five, to tell me the sun had come up, and that he was happy for the experience of sleeping under the stars, but he was vacating the balcony for his bedroom.  I did the same.

Balthazar, well-rested from his night alone in our cool room, woke me again at six to advise that the air condition was fixed and that he was off to work. 

Only now, at ten thirty in the morning, is The Coop beginning to stir in their finally, cooled rooms.

But I've already snapped my pics of them, and this morning's skyline, so I'm ready.

"Pancakes anyone?"

 

Can I Get a Hand?

A week or two ago, when we were crossing a busy road, I grabbed Hollywood's hand.  As large as mine now, but thick with the strength of a man's, his hand was unfamiliar in mine, to remind me that it had been a long time since I last held it.

He looked up, as startled as I was. That's how long it had been!  But, he didn't let go, or shake me off. Instead, he smiled. And it was wonderful!  A rare gift that I'm not likely to get again, or at least not more than a few times, before he finds another hand to hold.

~

There comes a time when our children no longer allow us to smother them with touch.  For some--like The Storm, so concerned with the judgement of her peers--this comes early. When your child pulls away to avoid a schoolyard hug, you remember it, like a fist to the gut.

Other times it's more subtle: A few wiggly fingers aside an over the shoulder smile, while she hustles past the threshold of a friend's home, her pillow tucked under her other arm, to let you know it's too early, or too late, for a goodnight kiss.

Other times, it's so gradual that you can't even remember when you last held your son's hand, or even when you stopped. Sixth grade? Fifth grade? Fourth?

~

Before she left for the weekend, I wrapped my arms around Sunshine to say goodbye. In that embrace: relief, love, fear, hope, need, and even my baby girl, so that we stayed that way, pressing on each other's backs, and folding into the other's shoulders for longer than either of us expected to. 

It was a little like the moment in traffic with Hollywood.  Something that surprised us both, but something we both needed.

As they grow to be as tall as we are, or even taller, we settle for smiles and wiggling fingers, maybe a little hair tousling, a pat on the arm or the back--so much less than we need.  Less than they need, too.

"Mom, did you know that it's been proven that holding hands and hugging reduces stress?" (Hollywood, of the app generation, has recently stumbled upon a trivia one.)

"I did know that. But I'd forgotten. Thanks for the reminder, Buddy."

You'd think, since it's such a natural thing, that we'd all know how to hug properly, and certainly there's no wrong way to do it, but the next time you find yourself wrapped in someone's arms, try this: Place both hands flat on your recipient's upper back and press; have them do the same for you. Tell me it doesn't make a difference!

Roots and Wings

This weekend marked the beginning of the end for me; our end; our empty nest. For as long as we've been us, we've vacationed together. But, this weekend, multiple agendas split us up and sent us in opposite directions, so that our small family was spread across three different states.

It smacked of the future. And I do mean smacked--as in hit hard. 

The Storm left first with her best Tweedle, for Utah.

Then Sunshine went south to a rented beachhouse in Cali. In her suitcase: bathing suits for frolicking in the waves and lounging in the sand; and sundresses for patio dining.  She sent texts--Today we're going to the beach and last night we played games till like 11. I won btw :) im having a great time--to assure me it was good she was spreading her wings. Then she attached pictures like these, as if to hit me over the head with her fast coming flight.

  

Hollywood nabbed some floor space in a Tweedle's bedroom to honor an acting commitment that would keep him in Vegas.  His texts, when I inquired, were of the one word variety--Cool; Yep; Great. Then, just when I could barely stand it: Love U.  

As for Balthazar and me, having situated the other two, we also took to the highway, to catch up with The Storm. 

There's some pretty awesome scenery between Vegas and Utah, so I snapped about a million pics of so much ancient rock.

.

Then, once arrived, we did an assortment of outdoorsy things. All at 11,000 feet! In Brianhead, Utah.

After the horseback riding, the rock climbing exercise, the ziplining, some swimming, ATV-ing, grilling, and long conversations over wine, plus smores, we retired to rest up for a morning hike that would put everything into perspective.

Cedar Breaks National Park has a glorious limestone canyon of more than 50 colors and a depth of 2500 feet.  It's said that if Cedar Breaks were located anywhere else, but the southwest, it would be considered one of the greatest scenic wonders of the world.  But since it is so close to 3 other world renound national parks (Zion National Park, Bryce Canyon, and the North Rim of the Grand Canyon) it is often forgotten.

You see, it's all relative....

At the top of Cedar Breaks, we chanced upon this beautiful Bristol Cone Pine.

And then we happened upon a Park Ranger, who told us that she, the tree, was 1,676 years old.

And I couldn't help but envision how deep into the canyon her roots dug; and all the rings that mark the old tree's interior trunk.

And there before me: layer upon layer of sediment in the ancient stone. 

In the mirror, all the time, new lines on my face.  

And The Storm lost another tooth last week.

So, of course, they'll leave.  And, of course, it will come too soon.

Of course.    

Our course. 

The Name Game

We have a dinner game we like to play at our house.  Well, actually, we have many. But the one I'm referring to is called Table Topics, the family edition. Balthazar's mother gave it to us one Christmas, and we drag it out every so often, when we remember to.

Each card poses a question and every family member gets a turn to answer it.  Some of the questions are serious: What do you like best and least about your life?  Some are thought-provoking: When are old things better than new things? Some are fun: What's the best birthday party you can imagine? Some are silly: If you could, would you rather live in a boat house or a tree house?

The point, of course, is to encourage conversation amongst the coop, and to help us to continue to know each other as we grow and change with the years.  Quite often, I can predict the answers I'll hear, but every now and then, they'll surprise me. 

I love when a question invites us to consider something that we might not have before: What personality trait has gotten you into the most trouble? was an especially good one for me and The Storm. Balthazar, too, if I recall.

Is it better for parents to stay together or to separate if they're unhappy? prompted a long family discussion, and broadened everyone's perspective--mine included.

Anyway, communicating, and learning, and growing is all well and good, but nothing beats a good, old-fashioned, fall-out-of-your-chair-holding-your-stomach-to-roll-around-on-the-floor-under-the-table laugh, at the family meal. And this game inspires that, too.

It was in 2010, shortly after its release, that the coop had seen The Sorcerer's Apprentice (Did I mention Balthazar's a nerd, and he loves science fiction and fantasy movies about as much as I can't stand them?)  As predicted my husband loved it. And I hated it, which prompted him to go on and on about it for days, partly for my benefit, and partly because he truly is a nerd. 

"Just call me Balthazar Blake," he said, repeatedly, and for days--referring to Nicholas Cage's character, a sorcerer in modern-day Manhatten, fighting the forces of evil.

Then we pulled out the Table Topics: Who is one of your heroes?

"Balthazar," said my nerdy husband.

I groaned.

The kids laughed.

Next: What nickname would you like?

"Balthazar."

More laughing

If you could rename yourself what name would you choose? 

This time the laughs drowned out his answer, which, of course, was Balthazar.

That was two years ago, and we'd all but forgotten about it, until several weeks ago, when I announced that I was going to be Mommy Blogging, and everyone would need a pseudonym.

A grin crept across my sweet nerd's face until he couldn't contain it any longer: "Balthazar."

And we rolled on the floor some more.    

  

Anyway, two points here:

1. If you were thinking of another Balthazar, you are mistaken.

2.  I highly recommend Table Topics. Here's a link where you can get yours: http://www.tabletopics.com/questions_cubes/Family-Edition-Cube

Enter The Heedles

It all started with the fudge.  Sunshine saw me taking pictures to post here, then she snapped a few of her own to share with her Tweedles. (See definitions below and right.)  While I was still writing yesterday's post, "Oh, Fudge!," she asked if a certain Tweedle could come over. This certain Tweedle is of the opposite sex.  Let's call him a Heedle.

Sunshine is 15. She has, and has always had, many Tweedles.  Ever since I can remember our home has had countless kids coming and going; hiding-and-seeking in our closets; performing skits in masks and capes and tutus from our exploding costume box; draped across our couches to watch movies; and staggering down for pancakes after a sleepover. But, not since she was 7, has Sunshine invited over a Heedle.

"To try our fudge," she said.

I looked up from the screen, cocked my head and bit my lip to give her question the weight it deserved.  She's a good kid. She's 15. I'm home. "Sure," I said.

"Really?" she said.

"Sure."

"No going to your room," I added.

"I understand," she said, already texting an invitation.

Before I'd yet to press Publish, the doorbell rang.

I've met this particular Heedle on three previous occasions and he is easily the most polite and respectful Tweedle I've ever come across: "Hello, Mrs. Corcoran. Would you like me to take off my shoes?"

A half hour later, when Sunshine, the Heedle and The Storm were gathered around a plate of fudge, well into their third round of crazy eights, it was time for me to head out with Hollywood for his lacrosse camp.

"Your father will be home in twenty minutes. Make good choices." I didn't point a stern finger, but my eyes, locked on Sunshine's, did.

Then we left.  Only fifteen minutes later, did it occur to me to warn Balthazar.

"What?" he said, from somewhere deep in traffic, after his long day.

"Honey, she's 15. They're playing crazy eights with the kid sister. Be cool."

When I finally returned, hours later, Balthazar and The Storm were sitting together, watching sci-fi reruns, the way he and Sunshine often did. (His plan, since the beginning, has been to grow them nerdy, in order to ward off Heedles. It obviously isn't working.) I grabbed a slice of cold pizza from the open box on the counter.

"Where's Sunshine?"

"They went for ice cream."

"They?"

"Yep."

"He stayed for dinner?"

"Yep," he said. Stone cold.

"How was it?"

He looked up from the screen. "It was awful."

"He's a nice boy," I said.

"I know," he said. "But this can't go on. It's not right." There was agony in his voice and in his eyes.

This is how I imagine Blathazar still sees Sunshine.

"She's 15, now. It's actually absolutely right."

Returning to the screen, and settling deeper into the sofa, he said. "I don't like it."

"Of course, you don't."

I imagined how the evening must have played out. I know they would have roped him into a few games of cards. Sunshine would have suggested the pizza. The meal Balthazar would have preferred was still in the fridge: Three potatoes wrapped in foil for baking, filets wrapped in butcher block, and asparagus still banded in rubber. He would have been cordial on the outside, seething and suffering internally.  He would have played his cards without conviction.  I hoped the Heedle was polite enough to lose the game, but I didn't dare ask.   

"You're a good dad," I said, and I kissed Balthazar's beautiful forehead.

"Yep."