Memorial Day Weekend

or "How to Wear Out Your Eldest Child in 10 Simple Steps"

1. Take your eldest child to his 2-hour gymnastics practice on Friday evening where he ends up practicing with the senior team instead of his own level.
2. On Saturday morning, take him to the special senior team practice (because his coach said it would be okay and your child will be extremely chagrined if you do not), where he will have an intense 3-hour workout.
3. After practice, drag him to Sam's before feeding his hungry, energy-depleted body, to pick up a 'few things' (which you would have picked up earlier had you not been shuttling back and forth to the gym.) Don't worry, though, Sam's has plenty of samples to keep his energy up until you get home.
4. Accept an invitation from some friends to go to their house for a cookout and stay much later than you had intended. The pool and trampoline will help wear out your child, in addition to pushing his bedtime back.
5. In the morning, take the kids to the church children's meeting where the eldest will stuff himself chock full of Nilla Wafers (this child, much like the old-man cat, does not self-regulate when it comes to food).
6. After the meeting, go over to some friends' house for lunch.
7. After lunch, invite some of your kids' friends over to play for a couple of hours.
   
8. Hmmm, you note ... he's still not worn out? The next logical step is to accept an impromptu invitation for a sleepover that night. Off he goes. No, you tell his friend's mother, no special instructions or restrictions for him. It does not occur to you that he will NOT SLEEP at the sleepover.
   
9. When the child returns in the morning, glassy-eyed and weepy with fatigue, you march him straight to bed. But you are not done with him yet.
   
10. After 2 hours of sleep you wake the child, because you have previously arranged lunch plans which you are determined NOT to cancel because you have been attempting to get together with these particular friends for at least 6 months. (The boy regains some of his composure and trademark gift of gab in the car ride over.)

How much do you think his teacher is loving us right about now?

Chagrin

cha·grin n
a feeling of vexation or humiliation due to disappointment about something
vt
to frustrate or annoy somebody through disappointed hopes

(Encarta® World English Dictionary © 1999 Microsoft Corporation. All rights reserved. Developed for Microsoft by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc.)

You know, sometimes a word just pops into your mind that is so fitting, so apt. Well, today, in our house, that word is 'chagrin'. We have found the word that sums up our boy.

(Lest you think I am being too hard on the boy, I offer this: The word is not fitting all of the time. Of course. He is a wonderful, sweet boy who I adore. But it does fit sometimes, and to be honest, ofttimes. Often enough, in fact, that when we happened upon it the other day, we, the parents, cried - That's it!)

It's the word 'hopes' in the definition that sealed it. I cannot tell you how many lectures conversations are had in our house about the exceedingly high expectations and hopes this child has. I don't mean expectations pertaining to life goals or aspirations; we're talking about relatively small things.

For example:

Dinner is over. Sweet boy asks, can I have dessert? (I usually provide the kids with some kind of fresh fruit for dessert each evening.) Because of time constraints or lack of fruit on hand or maybe because Mom JUST - DOESN'T - FEEL - LIKE - IT (hey, it happens), the answer is, much to the boy's chagrin, 'No, not tonight.' And here it comes..... The countenance falls (like countenances have never fallen before!) The shoulders slump. The voice transforms into something timid and squeaky. The mood becomes mopey. All over the dashed hopes for a bowl of strawberries.

I have to tell you that this child's real life experience is that his every whim is NOT indulged. I say 'no' all the time. I really do. So when this big dramatic scene plays out, it always takes me by surprise. I'm sure all of your children respond quite pleasantly when they don't get what they want and say something like, That's okay, Mom, thanks for making dinner! It sure was yummy! Can I help you with the dishes? Did I mention that you are the best mom ever?

So, we decided to introduce the word to the boy the other day. He said he didn't know it, but he made a pretty accurate guess as to its meaning. We had him look it up anyway.

And about this - this being chagrined - he said later in the evening with a smile, It's my hobby.

Some kids collect baseball cards, some play soccer. Mine gets chagrined. I love that kid.

The Piano Recital

This past weekend we attended my son's first piano recital. It was really quite delightful. The children were all precious and the music both varied and well-played. And there were Coke-floats at the end. (Mmm. Coke and ice cream - genius.)

I will share with you my top amusement from the event.

During the recital, after playing their selections, each child was to stand from the bench, turn around to face the audience, and bow. From the outset, we could easily see that this was the most painful part of entire recital for most of the kids.

Forget playing Nocturne in E Flat Major - that was a cinch! But now I have to ... to ... [gulp]... bow! ... while everybody is ... [gulp] ... looking at me ... and applauding. I feel nauseous.

I'm sure it didn't help that as the adults all noticed this, the applause was also peppered with amused chuckles meant to convey 'Aw, isn't that cute!' With nearly every child, the dreaded bow went something like this: expression of dismay/embarrassment on the face, eyes cast downward boring a hole into the floor, cursory little bow, and a speedy retreat.

And then there is my son.

If you know my son, then you know he is nothing if not a performer. A boy who relishes the spotlight, to be sure.

After finishing his (rousing) rendition of the theme from Star Wars, he stood and turned to face the applauding audience, his face one big smile, his eyes lifted to the room, and bowed, clearly basking in the warm glow of the accolades. With all the flourish he gave his bow, you would think he had been wearing a fine tuxedo instead of the t-shirt, athletic pants and sandals he actually had on.

Yep. That's my boy.

Conspiring to do good

About a month ago, after witnessing a (not uncommon) raucous bout of bickering over something (insignificant) or another between my little ones, I lectured had a discussion with them about how they needed to learn to work together toward a common goal, be respectful of one another, compromise, yada yada yada ....

A day or so later, we were traveling in the car on a Saturday excursion and I noticed my youngest whispering something to her brother with a sly twinkle in her eye. Not wanting to intrude on this private pow-wow, I restrained myself from doing so.

Later, having inwardly noted how pleasant our little outing had been, I asked the eldest, What did your sister whisper to you in the car?

Oh, he said, She just told me, 'Jared, I have an idea..... Let's not fight.'

When I complimented him on how well they had done, he just answered by saying, Well, we just set a goal.

So easy. So nonchalant. So it's-no-big-deal-Mom.

Two epiphanies:

1 -- They DO (on occasion) listen to our words of wisdom and instruction.
2 -- It IS possible for these little people not to squabble incessantly.

Today I will rant

Ah, central Texas.

Where May feels like July and July feels like, well ... July. Actually, in nearly every month, save January, February, November and December, we are just as likely as not to have at least one day that feels like mid-July. And to be quite honest, neither February nor November deserve to be exempted - the temperature in Austin, Texas reached 87.1 degrees on November 1, 2008 and on February 22, 1996 -- get this -- 99 degrees. February, people. I could even quite reasonably make the argument that January and December don't belong in the list either, but I choose to cling to the delusion that winter does exist.

There is a reason my dear Aunt Liz refuses to come to Texas.

And that reason is this: It's not the heat, it's the humidity.

Or, more accurately: It IS the heat AND the humidity.

Yesterday was one of those days here in central Texas where the heat is just plain, in-your-face oppressive. One of those days where you walk outside and immediately wonder, Why, exactly, did I bother to shower today? The sad thing is, it wasn't even that hot yesterday. Our high was only 84 degrees. You may say, 84 degrees sounds nice. Oh, but you are mistaken. You see, it's the humidity. As I was walking outside, the air was a palpable presence surrounding me, like a heavy, sopping, suffocating blanket. I imagine I could have had a conversation with this pervasive entity, which would have gone something like this:

Me: Get off me!
Air: Ha-ha! Why did you bother to shower today?

The gentle breeze that drifted across my face brought no relief, as it ought, but only more of the thick, damp, warm air.

Today, more of the same.

I think Aunt Liz may be onto something.