3 Sisters 7 Days

I usually spend Thursdays working at home – albeit in fits and starts between assigning the day’s lessons for my four home-schooled children, answering their questions, and watching Olivia work. I’m not kidding. Olivia likes her “teacher” – whether it’s me, her father, or one of her older siblings – to sit beside her while she completes her math and language arts “home work” and reads. I usually confine my earnest “watching” to the first 20-30 minutes after I finish reading the paper, and before I head into my office to begin my day.

Today, though, I was facing a 5 PM deadline for a grant application. Meeting it was likely to require frequent and repeated interactions with my Co-PIs (”Principle Investigators,” for the uninitiated), our administrative staff, and proposed project collaborators. Consequently, I was up early and had finished a 6-mile run and my first cup of coffee long before Olivia even woke up around 8:30 AM. I did manage to pull myself away from my work long enough to fix Olivia a no-cooking-required breakfast of milk, apple juice, and Cheerios and park her on the couch to watch one of her Scholastic books CDs. No, I don’t recall which, but it must not have been very interesting because Olivia was gone before it was over.

I hadn’t heard the door chime, so I assumed she was somewhere in the house, happily occupied, and – more importantly – quiet. I continued working.

Sometime between then and “early lunch” – you know, when the kids first start asking if they can have something to eat because they’re hungry, their stomachs are growling, and it’s SO CLOSE to lunchtime anyway – Olivia joined me in my office and asked me to tie her cleats. Yep, she was decked out in full soccer garb. Mind you, she’s never actually played soccer and it’s unlikely she remembers her siblings playing when she was much younger. But there she was with ponytails she fixed herself, wearing a pair of Reiley’s old soccer or basketball shorts, a t-shirt with a soccer ball screen print, soccer socks, shin guards, and cleats.

“Mommy, will you open the [sliding] glass door so I can play soccer?”

“Sure…” I said, as I opened the door, and out she went.

A few minutes later, Olivia was banging on the door. I knew she wouldn’t be able to hear me if I tried talking to her through the glass, so I got up, walked across the family room and kitchen, to open the door. “Yes?” I asked.

“Mommy, Roxie is out of her kennel…Can I play with Roxie?”

“Hmm…” I thought. Roxie is an Australian Shepherd mix who is at least 15 years old. Once a menace to our neighborhood’s small animal population, she now has to be coaxed up and off of the pillow she sleeps on, and guided out of her kennel into the yard. I couldn’t imagine Roxie “playing” with Olivia. Still…

“Okay, I guess so,” I told Olivia.

“Yeah!”

I closed the door and returned to my office. It was a while before I heard from Olivia again…She came running into my office (nope, no idea who let her in or what prompted them to do so)…

“Mommy, I winned! I really did. I winned Roxie.”

“Great!” I said, and paused.

“Mommy, can I have one of your trophies?”

“Hon…” I said, “I’d love to give you one of my trophies, but the truth is, they were thrown away a long time ago.”

“Oh,” she said, and paused…”Then can I have one of Reiley’s?”

“Sweetheart,” I began, “You usually get a trophy because your team played better than all the other teams, and you won A LOT of games.” I refrained from adding that beating a geriatric dog is generally not considered worthy of a trophy.

“Did Reiley win a lot of games?”

“Well…yes…some of her teams did…”

“Oh…Mommy, can you help me take my cleats off?” And Olivia was on to something else.

But I was left thinking about the truth…As just about any parent would guess at this juncture, no, Reiley did n ot earn most of her trophies by playing well; rather, like the majority of children playing organized sports today, she was awarded them simply for participating. And much as I support rewarding children for having fun, learning new skills, cooperating with their teammates, good sportsmanship, etc. I hate the currently commonplace “participation trophy.

Rich Tierney has it right: “The participation trophy is one of the most misused and irrelevant pieces of hardware sitting on your child’s shelf. A trophy should represent an accomplishment of some sort, but there is no true accomplishment in participating, at least by the standards of most participation trophies.”

I can bet that’s not what Reiley thinks…there was no way she’d give Olivia one of her prized trophies – and certainly not for beating the dog at backyard soccer.

My day yesterday confirme the theory of the busier you are the more you get done (because you have to), opposed to having a completely free day to “catch up.”  Those free days usually end up being spent on the couch catching up on the latest “Real Housewives of ANY CITY,” and nothing gets done.

I started the day off at 5:30 am as usual, and got Maz out the door for work at 6am. Then I got myself ready for work and off I went to drop Sammy at the groomers.  I worked until a little after 1pm, then went to Sunflower Market to get stuff for dinner- a roast- yes, a roast…I think my second roast of all time.  Then I went back to get Sammy and was off to Starbucks to meet with a friend and some much needed caffeine.  I think I ended up at home around 3:15 pm and rushed to get the roast in the oven so I could get Sammy out for a quick walk because it was starting to snow.  Got the roast, potatoes, and carrots in the oven and out the door I went.  Sammy’s 45 minute walk turned out to be wet, I didn’t beat the snow! I’m just tired by the time we returned.  I still had to clean up the kitchen and do laundry.  I think I actually sat down at 6:30 pm.

Okay, I know I may sound like a baby her,e but seriously I did so much yesterday- for me anyway.

Today’s agenda: Run, lunch with friends, and finish cleaning the house.  Okay, now I sound like a baby.

Until this past Sunday, we have had ONLY ONE couch in our living room. Because ther are only two of us, I thought one couch would be plenty…not so much.

Just to bring you up to speed, we have had a “couch problem” for the past few years. The tan couch is actually our 3rd couch in two years. We had to return a couch, love seat, and chase combo TWICE before ending up with that one.  It turns out that couches aren’t really meant to hold a 6′3″ male weighing in at 225.

Add to that, we have family visit all too often and we occasionally have visitors (usually my brother) that end up on the floor.  Most importantly, Maz does not always enjoy sharing the couch with me. See, we can’t both lay down on the couch at the same time and I win 90% of the time.  My solution was to get a big comfy chair or a chase in a matching color. His was new couch. Period. He was determined to get something that would accommodate his frame and fit in our living room – color choice wasn’t a top priority.

Guess who won?

Now we have a WHITE sleeper sofa (which the delivery guys insisted on telling us was the ONLY white sleeper sofa they have ever delivered) to go with our tan couch.  Huh? White doesn’t go with everything. I am working on getting some pillows or blankets to pull it together or I may just have to rearrange the setting.

Note to self: I should have called the shots two years ago, and insisted on the quality sectional that matched and been done with it.

It’s all downhill after Wednesdays around here. Although none of my children have class, I teach, which means they’re at home “alone” for a good chunk of the day. I’m sure they’d enjoy this IF they didn’t have to babysit five-year-old Olivia.

While I’m on campus, my two “biggest” kids take turns home-schooling their little sister. As junior instructors, they find reading to be particularly challenging – no doubt due, in part, to Olivia’s tendency to read the pictures rather than the words. Today, Quentin became so frustrated with Olivia’s refusal to sound out the words in favor of telling her own, much more engaging, story based on the pictures that he apparently told her, “Fine! Then just read to  yourself, ” which she did.

When I got home, Olivia greeted me with a hug and a heartfelt “I missed you, Mommy.” Having so duly warmed me up, Olivia proceeded to spin  her own version of the day’s reading lesson. “Mommy! I read inside my my head quietly because the cats were sleeping.”

Uh huh…right…just like Dr. Seusscan read with his eyes shut.

This picture was taken of Maz learning how to snowboard. It was his second time using a board in almost FOUR years.  He actually didn’t do too bad; we just need to keep him out of the powder.  He’s 6′3″ and I have no idea how he got out of this mess or in it.   I guess I need to rephrase the term “weight on your back foot” because someone didn’t get it!

He’ll get it one day OR he’ll welcome back his long lost friends, the ski. 

Side-note: I don’t think I would be as pleasant as he looks- what a sport!

Today’s snowboarding trip nearly ended early – and potentially expensively – when I lost my car key … in the snow. I didn’t wear the fleece top I usually do, the one with the little iPod pocket where I always stash my key, so I just put it in my jacket pocket, and failed to zip it up completely. None of this would have been a problem, if I hadn’t chosen today to master turns. I must have fallen half a dozen times before I realized the key was gone.

In a moment of almost Buddha-like clarity that almost never obtains in such circumstances, I did not worry. According to the Dala Lama, “if there is a solution to a problem, there is no need to worry. And if there is no solution, there is no need to worry.” Instead,  I quickly assessed the situation and realized that although finding my key in the snow was highly unlikely, the alternative would be finding a phone with reception and calling my loving spouse to bring the spare key to me. I really wasn’t sure if his fury or the time-consuming process of replacing the key would be worse. I decided to, at least, try to find the key.

Of course, this mission would require reinforcements, so I parked myself at the bottom of the slopes where my “big kids” were riding. After locating, and stopping, my eldest son, Quentin, and instructing him to rally his sibs, I headed up the bunny slope where I had been practicing – on foot. The kids had just passed over me on the chairlift up (to ride down, slowly, in search of the missing key), when a woman skied past and asked if I was looking for a key?! She’d just seen one of the instructors pick a key up out of the snow. I headed straight for the ski school.

It took a few minutes to find the right instructor, but he had indeed found my keys, and my Burt’s Bees chapstick.

Considering the key is a symbol of power and wealth that represents openings to knowledge and understanding as well as the much more mundane car door, I’m feeling pretty good.  I not only saved my spouse from an unwelcome trip to the mountains during evening rush hour, but also moved just one step closer to my goal. Which? I’m not sure; however, if snow also holds some meaning, I may have found a key to avoiding trouble and hardship.

This is Tiffany & Co.'stack for achieving economic and social rebirth on a global scale. After all, “What better way to symbolize the opening of doors and new potential than with a key?”

We were nearly home today when Olivia asked me where babies come from. Hoping to avoid piquing the interest of her older, puberty-addled siblings, who can’t help laughing about anything related to sex – much like pre-schoolers who favor potty humor – I replied simply, “from mommies.”

“No…Mom…Where do they come from?”

“Oh, so she’s after an anatomical response,” I thought. Fantastic. Not a big deal, just far from what I was feeling up to during our mad dash to beat the piano teacher to our house. So I tried “daddies,” hoping for a laugh.

“No, Mom,” Olivia said. “Where do babies come from? Which bird?”

“Bird?” I thought…Okay, “You mean stork?”

“Yeah, stork!” Olivia said before going on to explain the entire process. “They get the egg in the nest. And then when they find the baby [human as opposed to the anticipated immature stork] there, they put it in a basket and take to a home.”

Got it.

For future reference, if you need a refresher on human reproduction, just go ask Olivia.

Unlike Brenda Spencer, the San Diego high school student featured in “I Don’t Like Mondays,” by the Boomtown Rats, I do like Mondays – almost entirely because my loving spouse is home to help with the kids … and fix dinner

This morning was more hectic than it’s been in a while because we couldn’t go snowboarding. (although there’s still a lot of snow in our local mountains, neither of our vehicles have 4-wheel drive, and I don’t mess with chains). Consequently, I wouldn’t be taking the kids along to campus with me so that we could head for the slopes after class, and had to pull together their lesson plans for the day before leaving.

Reiley and Parker were easy because both had already started working on their lesson plans for the week. My role there consisted of reminding  Reiley to write her essay on “how the world affects me” and assigning her Algebra problems, and adding “review of Island of the Blue Dolphins” to Parker’s language arts assignment.

Olivia’s plan for the day was more involved because although she’s nearly finished the kindergarten math textbook and can read Level 1 books, she refuses to memorize her math facts or demonstrate that she knows the site words we’ve covered so far. Maybe I’m the one being difficult, but it seems reasonable to expect mastery of kindergarten math and beginning readers before moving onto first grade math and more difficult texts. So…I located some “big girl” math worksheets and color-coded lists of site words online and instructed my spouse to encourage Olivia as strongly as he could to select and complete a worksheet without manipulatives, and to help her make flashcards for the “yellow” site words. I explained that while these stimulating activities with Daddy would be enough, it would be great if he could also read with Olivia, supervise her journaling, and engage in age-appropriate (for her) conversation about the national affiliations of the athletes participating in the current Winter Olympics.

(Note: they were arguing before I got of the house, which I have to admit was just a tiny bit gratifying; it’s good to know that Olivia is a challenging student for someone other than me.)

Although (Quentin, who takes my MWF course) and I had hoped to substitute rock-climbing for snowboarding after class…and after meeting a student to discuss his honors research project, we scootered over to campus just so I could update my collaborators on a research project and drop off receipts from my trip to New Orleans for reimbursement. Over two hours later, we were finally on our way to the rock-climbing gym. By then, we had just over an hour to climb before dashing to the Post Office before it closed and getting home for dinner with the family.

Dinner is where it’s at on Mondays, really. Every other weekday, the kids and I have an  hour, at most, to prepare, serve, and consume dinner, and clean up the kitchen between school and other daytime activities and walking the dog and other nighttime activities. With the exception of crock-pot meals, we’re looking at pasta, quesadillas, or “breakfast” for dinner most evenings.

But tonight, it was tossed salad with poppy seed dressing, white clams linguini, bread hot from the oven with butter, and glass of wine.

Yeah, I like Mondays – a lot.

I had a wonderfully decadent breakfast of beignets with my cafe au lait this morning, entirely thanks to the kindness of a diminutive server at Cafe du Monde in New Orleans, LA.

My breakfast was on the table in front of  me before I realized that I’d left my cash – just over the $5.60 total for my meal I’d saved just for this morning – in my hotel. Cafe du Monde does not accept ATM or credit cards. My server suggested that I finish my meal and then go across the street to the ATM machine for cash.

Note this was the second time during this trip when satisfying my hunger depended on the kindness of a stranger. On Wednesday, the bartender at Gordon Biersch Brewery laughed with me when I pulled out my Auto Club card to pay for dinner. (Yep, I picked up the wrong credit card holder when I ran out – literally, I ran – for a quick meal.) Then he poured me a beer to go “on the house,” and waited for me to return with my Visa.

Just think: until now, I’d believed that only the Canadians were this nice.

Now, I’m sure that there are similarly accommodating Americans; however, I have yet to meet them. I recently had my brows threaded at a local salon I’ve frequented for more than a year, but which no longer accepts ATM cards. I had to call my son, who was elsewhere in the mall, to come and get my ATM card, go to the bank to withdraw cash, and return to the salon so that I could pay.

Thank goodness he was there; otherwise, who knows how long it would have taken to work off that $13 treatment?

A few weeks ago, Maz put a hole in his slippers by “grilling” them. I couldn’t have been more pleased. I mean, these things were hideous. They looked like a beat up ballet slipper!  They fit  tight and I think that if he really tried, he probably could have done a plie (if he was a tiny, tiny bit coordinated). With his old slippers, he enjoyed talking about his ”grilling slippers” all the time.  “Let me just put my grilling slippers on”…EVERY SINGLE TIME.  If I had a dollar every time I heard that statement, I would be on the beach in Bora Bora right no, thanking his grilling slippers for the wonderful vacation.  Goodbye holy slippers, you will be missed.

Last week, I ran across a new pair of slippers, what I call “old man slippers” and I knew they would be perfect for Maz.  He absolutely loves them! When he gets home at night, they are the first things on his feet.  He now turned the “grilling slippers” into the everything slippers.  “Sure, I’ll feed Sammy; let me just get my slippers on”…”I can cook, now that I have my slippers on,” and “Man, these slippers keep my feet warm; now, I can go out to the garage.” This goes on and on and on and on.

Good news is,  he has become more active and engaging in the household activities now that he has the proper footwear…because for some reason, nothing can get done inside or outside the house without his slippers.  I just laugh and take it all in.