3 Sisters 7 Days

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.

Vibram didn’t create it’s Five Fingers footwear as a conversation piece, but that’s how they’ve worked for me – repeatedly and in nearly every setting where I’ve worn them. Most recently, I wore them on a series of walking tours in New Orleans. In addition to countless looks and whispers on the theme of “Did you see her shoes?” and “Those shoes have toes!” one guy actually got down on his knees outside the Plaza de Espana to examine my shoes and confirm that they really have (Vibram) soles.

Tim Tebow is big news again, after he tackled his mom on a much-anticipated “pro-life” Focus on the Family commercial during the 2010 Super Bowl. Team Tebow made news in 2004 as well when they moved to St. Johns County Florida so that Tim, who was home-schooled, could play football at Allen D. Nease High School. Their relocation was criticized because Tebow arguably took advantage of Florida state law that allows home-schooled children to play on public school athletic teams.

Yeah, I know, even jocks who aren’t home-schooled relocate so that they can play on top-ranked high school teams…which brings me to my point. I can’t help thinking that Tebow’s real advantage was that he could spend more time training because he wasn’t in class up to six hours a day. Like other school-age athletes, child actors, and children who move out of the country or to remote areas here in the United States, he probably spent less time at his desk – or the kitchen table – than his peers.

That’s certainly the case with my children, who usually finish their schoolwork by mid-day, leaving the afternoon and evening “free” for playing or training, as well as traditional after-school activities, including piano lessons, Scouts, etc. In the case of my eldest son, Quentin, who is a 14-year-old high school sophomore, homeschooling has allowed him to work out at the gym four days a week as well as spend a day outside climbing every week during the warmer months (and that’s most of them in California).

His hard work has paid off. Maybe too well, I’m beginning to think. In addition to earning a spot at the American Bouldering Series national championships in Arlington, VA this month, Quentin has managed to give a climbing “spin” to nearly every other aspect of his life. Most recently, it’s World History; the essay he submitted this week on “the impact of wartime technology” is about the creation of nylon ropes, lightweight carabiners, and all-weather clothing, which has been so important to – you guessed it – post World War II rock climbing!

I wonder if football didn’t likewise go to Tebow’s head – literally. Maybe his mom shook her head while reading treatises on football helmet technology and role of the Internet in the sport’s increasing popularity.