3 Sisters 7 Days

The “second” is deliberate. On the “first” day of school, my younger two children (eight-year-old Parker and four-year-old Olivia) had classes at the local Learning Center, making for a “peaceful, easy feeling” at home. My older children (14-year-old Quentin and 12-year-old Reiley) started their assigned reading, The Arabian Nights and Fever 1793, respectively.

So, the second day proved to be a raucous start to the 2009-10 school year, made worse by my spouse’s sick day at home. All I could tell him is that it’s not “usually” this bad.

7:30 AM – I brush my teeth and hair, dress in “work out” clothes, and make my way downstairs to get breakfast for myself and Olivia, who’s still sleeping. Reiley and Parker have been up for an hour or so, already had breakfast, and are watching television. – likely some Disney channel sitcom, but I don’t watch long enough to find out which.

8:00 AM – Olivia is awake now and we sit down for breakfast: a mocha protein shake and granola (for me)/fiber cinnamon pop tart (for Olivia), while I begin making my way through my email. I tell the kids to turn off the television and “get started” on their day.

It’s Reiley’s day for dishes, but she wants to wait until everyone has finished. “Okay, then start reading.” She gets her book, and so does Parker.

8:30 AM – Reiley’s getting restless so I assign the kids’ journal topic (”My first day of school”) and we start arguing about whether she should use today’s date or yesterday’s date. Before we’ve settled this dispute, Parker puts his book down, and joins in. Although it’s today’s assignment, they argue that the entry should be dated for “yesterday” because it’s about yesterday. After all, there was no journaling on the first day of school. “Okay,” I concur, “then you can write TWO entries today.” All of sudden, my way sounds reasonable. They write today’s date in their journals and begin writing.

8:45 AM – I’ve checked all three of my email accounts and responded accordingly. In addition to the writing I already have on my schedule for the day, I have to respond to editor’s questions on a manuscript prior to its imminent publication and finish a report. The last two tasks will keep me busy while I work with the kids. I ask Olivia to get her Bob Books.

9:00 AM – Olivia reads the first three Bob Books quickly, beginning to get stumped or bored or both on the fourth. We put the books away and I ask her what HER day was like yesterday. I write what she tells me in her journal: “I liked it. I liked wearing the pink tutu. There was no whole letter on the rug for me to sit on.” I leave space in between the lines so that I can make “dots” for her to trace.

9:45 AM – While Olivia traces and draws a picture of herself as Cinderella, I assign Reiley problems from the first chapter in her Algebra I book and get Parker started on a math test (he’s completing his third grade math text before beginning the fourth grade text that just arrived for this year).

I begin reviewing my manuscript, which mostly requires clarification of references and meaning.

10:00 AM – Olivia is happy with her picture. We move to math. Addition. Her curriculum hasn’t arrived, so I pull a page from one of Parker’s old texts that consists of columns of math sums up to 20.

Olivia is overwhelmed, so we agree that she’ll complete only the first column. She uses a box of bright red, blue, yellow, and green Lego-like blocks to help her “add four” to a series of numbers; I know she can do this, but she wants me to check each sum as she completes it.

I alternate between this stimulating activity and the manuscript.

10:15 AM – Quentin joins us. He eats breakfast while I catch him up on “where” we are; then he starts reading.

10:30 AM – Quentin, finished with breakfast, closes his book, puts his plate and glass on the sink, and heads out feed the dogs and clean their kennels.

Parker has finished his math and Reiley needs help with hers, so I give them a break.

Reiley heads for the intercom to put some music on and, I am sure, plunk down on the couch. I tell her she has to start the dishes; after all, we’ve all eaten. “You are so bossy,” she tells me. I agree.

I remind Parker to take out the recycling and feed the cats before he goes upstairs.

“I know,” he tells me and continues toward the stairs.

“Parker,” I begin.

“I know!” he hollers, and stomps across the kitchen to get the recycling. I hear the “back” door to the garage open and close, then the beep when the “side” door – from the garage to the side yard – opens, and then a crash. Through my open office window, I hear Parker scream, “That’s it. I am NOT doing this!” Moments later, the back door slams and he rejoins us, head down, red-faced and teary-eyed, with his arms folded across his chest. I send him back to open and close the door properly. On the third try, he succeeds. “The whole trash can fell over and dumped out and I’m not picking it up. I can’t,” he starts in before he’s back in the kitchen again.

And then my spouse comes flying down the stairs. Parker sees him, starts to tell his father about the trash can that fell over (not that he could have missed the first run through, considering he was right upstairs trying to rest), and changes his tune to, “Okay, I’m going…” as he heads for the back door. His dad follows him and I loose what he’s saying once the back door closes again.

10:50 AM – Olivia is finished. I send her upstairs to get dressed and brush her teeth. I return to the manuscript.

11:00 AM  – Reiley finishes the dishes; I remind her to wipe down the counters and sweep floor. Her father comes back in with Parker, so she drops her usual retort: “I don’t know why you always make me do this; it’s just going to get dirty again…”

My spouse tells me that he needs to stay home sick sometimes just to remind himself that he actually gets more sympathy and rest at work! He goes upstairs. I hear our bedroom door close, and lock.

I send Reiley and Parker up to dress, brush their teeth and hair, and straighten their rooms.

Quentin comes in and picks up his book. I give him the journaling assignment.

11:05 AM – Olivia is back. She wants to do something “fun.” I suggest play dough. She gets the play dough; I get the rolling pin, cookie cutters, etc. As she begins opening the cans, I can’t help picking up a piece to hold in my hand, squeeze, and, yes, smell. I close my eyes and smile.

Parker comes back to the table. “Hey, can I play play dough?”

“Sure,” I tell him. “Let me smell your mouth first” (gross, I know, but I don’t trust him). Smells like toothpaste, so I tell him to go ahead.

I go back to that manuscript.

11:30 AM – I’ve finished my responses to the editor. I review my changes, write a quick note to the editor, and send it all off via email. I check my campus email to see if there is anything “there” that has to be done. There isn’t, so I logout.

I tell Parker it’s time to finish up and ask him to write each of his spelling words three times before lunch.

Quentin’s nowhere in sight. I call him, and he responds from upstairs.

I go upstairs to stretch (yoga), breathe (meditate), and wash my face and brush my teeth, etc.

Quentin is watching NCIS and journaling. I turn off the television and ask him to take the first chapter test from his Algebra II textbook as soon as he’s finished.

I stop in Reiley’s room and ask her what she needs help with (re: Algebra I). Fractions and writing equations. We talk and she seems to understand. I ask her to go back to “math” when she’s finished with her room.

I, finally, get back to our room. My spouse is sleeping, so I am very quiet. I roll my mat out, complete three sun salutations, a headstand, a shoulderstand, backbends, balancing poses, and a series of twists before sitting down to breathe and quiet my mind. I stop when my stomach starts growling.

12:15 PM – I head back downstairs. Parker has finished his spelling and is playing with Olivia. Quentin and Reiley have finished their math assignments. I ask everyone to be sure any work to be graded is put away correctly in their folders so that I can find it tonight. I ask the “big kids” to help clean up while I make quesadillas.

Quentin and Parker help Olivia put the play dough away. Reiley gets everyone something to drink.

While they’re eating, I go back upstairs to put my make-up on. (In this heat, we’re talking tinted sunscreen and mascara). I take my quesadilla and a glass of water with me.

12:50 PM – The kids have finished lunch. I send Parker to practice Italian and his older siblings to practice Spanish; thanks to Rosetta Stone, I have a bit of quiet time with Olivia. I read “Princess School” to her; when she’s bored, I turn to her children’s Spanish dictionary. She practices saying the names of familiar animals.

1:10 PM – Olivia gets her puzzles out to play. While she’s playing, I work on a report due in a week. I’ve written most of what I have to, and begin incorporating material that others have sent to me. As I realize that I need additional information, I stop and email the appropriate request.

1:45 PM – I can hear the kids talking upstairs and guess that they’re beginning to finish up. (They practice in complete lessons, which vary in length and difficulty.)

2:10 PM – I’ve gotten as far as I’m going to on that report. The kids have finished all of their school work and the house is reasonably tidy. With the exception of Reiley, who stays home with her dad to draw, we get in the car to run errands before Quentin’s climbing practice at 4:30 PM.

3:50 PM – We’ve finished at the bank, the post office, Target, and CM School Supplies (a grade book for Quentin because his high school work has to be very carefully documented in order to count for university pre-requisites, and Bookopoly), and head across town to the climbing gym.

4:15 PM – We stop to talk to the gym’s manager about a class I’m organizing there for my honors students, and to arrange Quentin’s internship.

4:30 PM – Olivia and I leave the boys at the gym. Parker will climb and work out while Olivia and I go to campus.

4:35 PM – Olivia and I park on campus, go to the library to return books, and then to my office. She draws for a bit and then rides a plastic race car up and down the hall while I complete some grade changes and other paperwork.

5:45 PM – Back at the gym, I climb with the kids until Quentin finishes practicing.

My spouse calls to tell me he’s making pasta for dinner.

6:30 PM – Quentin joins us. We have enough time for him to belay me once before we have to go, if we can keep Olivia occupied. I take her rope out of the Gri Gri, and Quentin ties the free end of the rope down so that Olivia is hanging about three feet off the ground. Surely she can bounce off the wall for a few minutes while I climb.

7:15 PM – We return home. Quentin feeds the dogs while I get our dinner on the table. Quentin, Parker, Olivia and I eat pasta. (Reiley and her dad have already finished.)

8:00 PM – Quentin and I leave to take Ayla, our Malamute, for a fast-paced four-mile walk. When we leave, Parker is showering; Reiley is finishing up in the kitchen; and Olivia is putting her pajamas on.

8:50 PM – We make really good time, returning home in less than an hour. Quentin puts Ayla back in her kennel and goes upstairs to shower. I follow him out to be sure that Ayla has plenty of water and tell both dogs, “good night.”

9:00 PM – I kiss Reiley and Parker “good night” (My spouse sent them to bed sometime around 8:30/8:45 PM). Reiley is already asleep; Parker is reading Mrs. Frisby & the Rats of Nimh. He tells me that he’s to the part where the rats are preparing to fight.

I read to Olivia before showering. Four Dr. Suess books. She’s asleep when I get out.

9:30 PM – I kiss Quentin, “good night,” and leave him reading in his room. I have 30 minutes, tops, before my spouse goes to bed.

10:00 PM – My spouse goes to bed and I get back on the computer. I “run” through my email again, culling information I’ll need for the report I’m finishing. Then write for a couple of hours. I close up the house, and go upstairs to read before, quite literally, falling asleep around midnight.

It will be two full days before I realize that we completely forgot about Quentin’s Boy Scout meeting.

Okay. I blew it yesterday. My daughter screamed, “I am peeing myself! I can’t hold it anymore.” And I responded, far more frantic than nurturing, “No! Not in the car.”

In some acrobatic feat I never would have guessed I’m capable of, I reached behind my seat with my left hand to open the passenger door, while simultaneously reaching across myself with my right hand to open my own door. I practically fell out of the car just in time to catch Miss Olivia and stand her beside the rear wheel. She peed on both of us before I had a chance to think about explaining how to squat and pee outside without wetting oneself.

I was entirely unable to fathom why she had to pee as soon as we got in the car, rather than two minutes earlier as we walked past the bathroom at the school where my older son was having his Scout meeting. So, no, I didn’t utter anything close to “it was only an accident, honey.” I just dropped her wet panties and shorts into a Target bag I emptied quickly just for that purpose, and wrapped her from the waist down in a beach towel the kids had left in the car. With an exasperated sigh, I plunked the little princess into her car seat and waited for the others to join us.

You’d think after four children, I’d be able to handle “accidents” with considerably more grace. I only wish.

For the most part, I am grateful. At least, Olivia now TELLS me when she HAS TO go. This wasn’t always the case. Like her older brothers – NOT her sister, who NEVER had an accident outside of the house (which were limited to, maybe, two, anyway) – Olivia used to let it rip. I wouldn’t know she’d had an “accident” until I noticed her wet crotch, legs, and shoes, if not also the puddle under her feet.

I’m a very busy woman, and an increasingly disorganized one. By the time Olivia graced us with her presence, I was way “over” packing diaper bags. When nature took it’s course, Olivia and I went shopping. While I honestly began to believe shopping beat (unnecessary) preparation, Terri surmised that I’d conditioned Olivia’s accidents. Whenever she “peed” herself while we were out, she “earned” new panties, clothes, and sometimes also shoes.

She was right. I grudgingly put a bag containing panties and a change of clothes I wouldn’t miss into the back of the car. Once Olivia realized that accidents would get her some very likely mismatched outfit culled from cast-offs, the accidents stopped.

So, now she tells me when she has to go – often. It seems as if EVERY time we enter a store, she has to go potty! Today presents a case in point. The kids and I thought we’d get in a little school shopping between a meeting on campus and emergency marketing (milk, eggs, bread). We walked into Old Navy, and Olivia started in, “Mommy, I have to go potty.” Now, she had been FINE as we passed Nordstrom’s Rack, the food court, Baby Depot, and any number of such places with public toilets close by. But as soon as we reached our destination, just far enough past the last of these “potties” to make it incredibly inconvenient to go back, Olivia had to GO.

I just don’t think I’m one of those women who can slip into a sing-song voice at will, cheerily drop my shopping bag, and dash to the nearest restroom with a sense of purpose born of motherly devotion. Rather, I took a very deep breath, left our shopping (including the CUTEST pair of skinny jeans for Olivia) with my older children, and walked as quickly as possible BACK to the Baby Depot. Note that I was wearing flip flops with two-inch heels, and Olivia was in red sparkly mules. Success was by no means assured.

I am happy to report that we made it . And my other children managed to stay put at Old Navy, dutifully guarding my shopping until we returned. Whew! (FYI I did get the jeans for Olivia, but I didn’t HAVE TO, if you know what I mean.)

Okay, so our family has grown up with the utmost respect for just about any dessert.  We are ice cream connoisseurs; we only use hot fudge (not the fake syrup). We know how to make a “mean” brownie. There is nothing better than a corner piece of homemade carrot cake, and then there’re homemade cookies…But let’s not forget about stove top pudding!  We were taught to take the time and cook the pudding; the end result is well worth it since you can’t get the top layer with instant, and you certainly do not want the store bought stuff.

For the past few weeks, Maz has been on a pudding dessert kick. I don’t think he can finish a day without his well balanced lunch. Let’s see…A sandwich (sometimes two), a bag of chips, an apple, yogurt, nuts, granola bar, and dessert. It’s just crazy since he only gets 1/2 hour to eat all of it! I don’t know how he does it.

So, back to the dessert. I guess he enjoys pistachio pudding. Until recently, I didn’t even know that flavor existed.  We were “chocolate” kids growing up and we frowned on any green colored dessert, unless it was mint chip ice cream. He had mentioned pistachio pudding a few times, or a few dozen times: “Have you ever had pistachio pudding?”

“No, like I told you the last time you asked.” And this went on for about a week.

He ventured to Target with me, which happens about once a month, to do a quick shopping trip and before we knew it we are standing in front of the boxed pudding section. By now, I have already demonstrated the importance of stove top pudding and he is on board.  It takes about 15 minutes for, Maz to finally select his pudding of choice.  Butterscotch (not my favorite), Pistachio (really not my favorite) and just before he is ready to grab the Tapioca, I intervene and grab the big box of Chocolate (really my favorite). I figured he had two choices and I should at least get one.

Last night, I realized Maz is out of dessert for his lunch and since I don’t want him to shrivel up at work due to an imbalanced lunch, I made his stinking Pistachio Pudding.

I got the pan out, then the the milk. I read the directions, though I practically have them memorized, but you never know – IT IS a new pudding for me. Then I found a quick version on the back. “Huh that’s weird; I didn’t know stove top came in a quick version,” I thought. It turns out we got INSTANT! Uhg. This made the experience even worse.  So, I made the pudding and it was green as ever and I just couldn’t bring myself to taste it. It’s green and instant- two pudding characteristics I am completely opposed to.

I made the pudding and Maz was delighted to finally have his pudding. It’s good he will eat anything because had the instant pudding been my chocolate, it would have been in the trash.

It’s still so incredibly loud. I am sitting at Starbucks “working” – alone, I might add, while the boys climb and the girls help dad with dinner. Although I did consider taking another stab at revising an article on women’s peace activism, it has been too loud to think clearly enough to manage a scholarly revision.

Instead, I’ve checked my email, returned phone calls, which I’ll come back to, and read the final chapters of Stephanie Myer’s Breaking Dawn.

Starbucks is noisy – and this from someone who uses the blender to make “frappuccinos” or smoothies nearly every day. But it’s not just the blenders. The music, while not itself objectionable, is loud. I swear the passersby outside can hear it too. Then there’s the traffic. This particular Starbucks sits at the first light to the right off the 215 freeway in Riverside. I can’t hear the conversations around me, but I CAN hear the trucks roaring by.

I never realized how loud trucks are until my run earlier today. But then, I’ve never taken a long run along such a busy street before: Cajalco between Van Buren and the 15 freeway. Super sized pick-ups tricked out for landscaping duty. The trash trucks so many little boys salivate over riding. Semis. Street-cleaners. Moving vans. FedEx delivery vans. Add to that, chainsaws for heavy-duty “gardening” on one side of the street, air conditioners running overtime behind homes on the other. Even with the volume on my iPod turned all the way up, I couldn’t hear a word of what I was listening too.

So you might say I was “primed” to pick up on the decibel level I am currently experiencing.

Despite the racket, I did manage to leave a half dozen messages successfully. Thank goodness! I had to plug my free ear to converse with the one woman I actually reached – an insurance agent I persuaded to re-run my DMV record now that my “rolling stop” has been dismissed.

I also checked my email…and, of course, read…while the Internet pages loaded, slowly here for some reason.

It seems quiet, if not solitude, is as hard to come by away from home as it is in a full house.

Like Julienne, I am the consummate multi-tasker. Until our brother’s death earlier this year, I could honestly say that I worked “all the time.” Not anymore.

I am still very active – I ride instead of drive as often as I can; I am training for my second marathon this year; I climb a couple of times a week; practice yoga regularly; and walk the dogs daily. But I’m working far less. I took a quarter off from teaching in the spring and I’m currently on a leave of absence from my part time sales position. And every exertion seems to require a nap, even after a full seven to nine hours of sleep the night before.

According to Carol Saudacher’s A Time to Grieve: Meditations for Healing After the Death of a Loved One, “Grief creates exhaustion.” It can actually be a source of chronic fatigue! This complicated disorder is characterized by extreme fatigue that may worsen with physical or mental activity, but doesn’t necessarily improve with rest. 

Bingo! 

It’s not just the kids, training, and heat. I’m grieving a profound loss . I’m supposed to be tired. Grief 101 cites these additional common characteristics of grief, along with some simple suggestions for coping: 

• FORGETFULNESS — So, don’t leave important things to memory. Write things down; develop a check list to review before leaving the house.
• DISORGANIZATION — If it takes longer to finish a task and your time management skills are practically non-existent, be assured you aren’t losing your mind.
• INABILITY TO CONCENTRATE AND RETAIN INFORMATION – It may be impossible to stay focused on a task, causing you to make more mistakes or errors. Routinely double check your work or ask someone to do it for you.
• PREOCCUPATION WITH THE LOSS – Unplanned thoughts of the loss may enter your head at any time or at any place, requiring extra care to prevent accidents. Literally. Grieving drivers run red lights, fail to see brake lights go on and collide, and simply bump into other cars when parking. 
• LOWERED TOLERANCE LEVEL – Your fuse may be shorter and you may lose patience more quickly so that minor irritations become bigger. Try to have patience with those around you and explain to them when you are having a bad day and what you need from them to help you get through it.
• LACK OF INTEREST OR MOTIVATION — It’s normal to feel as if things just don’t matter as much now, to find it difficult to be interested in anything.

How to get recover? In addition to rest, experts suggest simply slowing down, taking time to adjust to the loss. (Check. I have SO slowed down; just ask my sisters.) They also warn against adding to the loss by making major life adjustments like selling my home, moving to another city, or taking a new job. (Again, check. Not moving, and, in this economy, new jobs are hard to come by.)

In addition, I’ve found that an almost overwhelming physical challenge is a terrific antidote. Running – training for my first marathon – was exhausting, and exhilarating. It consumed me, allowed me to flow.Now it’s climbing. Balanced on my toes 30+ feet off the ground, “pinching” the rock, looking for my next hold, there is nothing but the rock in mind.  

Sure, it could be considered an escape of sorts. But I think it’s more accurately a way of waking me up, pushing me to feel again. For a moment, I am able to experience life in its fullest, even though there’s a gaping hole in my gut. I can’t help thinking that’s what healing is supposed to accomplish.

Things to remember on my NEXT camping trip:

A. Make a reservation

B. Sleeping Bags

C. Warmer Clothes

D. Camper Trailer

A. Little did we know that almost ALL campgrounds in CO are full! We learned that the hard way after venturing out Friday evening and finding a single campsite available at 8:45pm…It’s always fun putting up a tent in the dark in the wind. It’s even more fun when Maz forgets to put the stakes in the ground to secure the tent and we find ourselves catching our six person tent in mid air. Add to that, had we made reservations, we would have had a campsite for two nights and we would have been able to put the tent up in day light AND before the wind actually hit, and leave it there for our entire trip. (We moved to another site Saturday night.)

B. You would think sleeping bags would have been in the Pilot already since everything else in our house was; but I decided that it’s August and we should be fine with a blanket or two. Well, I was so wrong. The first night was absolutely horrible. I have never been so cold in my life. I mean, it was August and who knew that a pair of Patagonia cotton yoga bottoms and a fleece wouldn’t keep me warm?  I woke up and it was in the 30’s. I kissed my run out the window because the skort I brought doesn’t exactly cover my legs.

C. Just at night, during the day was warm, like a summer day should be.

D. Practically self explanatory. If we had a camper trailer, then I would have been warmer at night; I would not have had to put up a tent; I probably would not have needed a sleeping bag; and I would not have been as affected by the wind.

It may seem the camping trip was a bust, but it really wasn’t. I think it was a marvelous learning experiment…Next camp trip? Grand Lake in about two weeks…Wish us luck

We are very unlikely to learn anything good from experiences which do not seem to us closely connected to what is interesting and important in the rest of our lives…We are even less likely to learn anything good from coerced experiences, things that others have bribed, threatened, bullied, wheedled, or tricked us into doing.

John Holt, in Deschooling Our Lives


My own educational experiences have strongly influenced my decision to homeschool, yet continue to support – almost unquestionably – the virtues of a college education, until recently. Honestly, I should know better.

Contributors to parenting forums argue that if a child doesn’t want to go college, he is not going to learn, and it will be a waste of money and his or her time. Contrary to popular belief that a college degree amounts to an admission ticket to life, financial experts and public school critics alike point out that investing in a college education does not necessarily pay off in a successful career and prosperous life.

Professors lament over classrooms filled with ill prepared and insufficiently motivated students. Some, on the basis of their own circuitous routes to scholarly success, advocate taking time off to travel or work before attending college. In another forum, Kathleen Hancock shared the particularly apt story of a colleague who “chose rock-climbing instructor as her first career. After injuring her shoulder, which led her to contemplate the longevity of such a career, she went to Columbia where she earned a PhD in English. She now works as a prof and rock-climbs for fun.”

Climbing is an expression of being happy. When I feel inspired, I feel like anything is possible. I will do whatever it takes to climb it. If I’m not pysched, I’m not even going to bother.  It’s hard for me to discipline myself if I don’t have a project.

Chris Sharma

We finally made it to UCLA yesterday. Billed as a “field trip to LA” for our four home-schooled children, the trip could be viewed more accurately as an intervention for Quentin, our 14-year-old rock climbing pro hopeful.

Having failed to convince Quentin that professional rock climbers need a Ph.D., we thought we’d try the whole “Wouldn’t it be cool to go HERE?” approach. And it may have worked.

“Mom, I want to LIVE here!” Quentin said, as we walked past Royce Hall toward Janss Steps. “I’ll major in Architecture because I like it and Computer Engineering so I can make bank.”

Now, I’m not so sure that’s what I want.

Like the "King of Climbing," Chirs Sharma, who chose to climb rather than attend high school, Quentin’s world is dominated by rock-climbing. He can’t spend enough time at the gym and ends everyday with the same question, “Can we go rock climbing tomorrow?”

I want to say, “Yes!” I really do, but…I mean, I’m a professional scholar; it’s hard for me to fathom why ANYONE wouldn’t want to go to college.” How can I NOT force Quentin to prepare to attend college and earn his BA, at least? (To date, my line has been, “although I will support my child’s decision not to attend college, he or she must be capable of acceptance to a major university or reputable liberal arts college.”)

So I did a little research. Santa Cruz, CA native Chris Sharma earned his G.E.D. as a condition for pursuing a professional rock climbing career. Widely regarded as a prodigy, Sharma won the Bouldering Nationals at 14 and completed a 5.14c climb – then the highest rated climb in the American system – a year later. Since then, he has taken time off to take community college courses in in math, writing, and computers, in addition to spending seven months on a pilgrimage to Asia that included Japan’s 108 Buddhist temples.

Even I have to admit, that’s pretty cool.

Quentin’s a really good climber. The kid naturally turns and twists and swings almost effortlessly and certainly fearlessly in ways that I might never be able to – even with non-stop practice. And he’s smart. Easily one of those people who could excel at school, or anything else, later.

Mature enough to be making life decisions? Maybe not.

So, I’m softening. A little. I’ve agreed to another year “at home” that will include eight courses each semester. We’ll revisit the G.E.D. option when Quentin’s actually old enough to take it.

Climb when you want. Climb what you want. Climbing is all mental anyway…

Chris Sharma

What with the kids, training (this time for Nike's San Francisco Marathon in October), and the heat (close to 100 degrees for one too many days running), I can’t seem to get through the day without a nap!

Today started with a mad dash to dance camp with Olivia after corralling her older sibs into chores and other “constructive” activities for the day, followed by an eight-mile run in 93 degree weather, after which I picked Miss Olivia up from dance camp. When I nearly nodded off while she told me about HER morning – a rousing game of “duck, duck, goose,” followed by singing, dancing, dress up (in princess costumes!), foam craft, and snack – over a quick lunch at Carl's Jr., I decided I HAD to get home to rest.

Thank goodness, "Bolt"arrived from Netflix. While the kids watched their movie and finger-knitted beanies (today’s constructive activity of choice…I know, I know, it’s August in So. California?! I don’t get it either…), I slept – and deeply.

What does the afternoon have in store? Writing – I’m working on articles on “gender and peace” and “breast identity” right now – packaging and shipping today’s sales, maybe a run to Ulta for Bare Minerals, dinner (no idea what we’re having), and walking the dogs. With any luck, this “round 2″ will end BEFORE my loving spouse returns from work so that I can get in an episode or two of Weeds.

And, yeah, this IS exactly what I look like at the end of a long, summer day…

Monday. (Yes, I started this post on Monday, which should provide some insight into how hectic my life has been since then.) I did something I almost never do. I took Olivia to dance camp and CAME BACK HOME. In other words, I did not stay out “for the day,” but opted to go out a SECOND time. I earned a very welcome afternoon ALONE.

Maybe it’s the environmentalist in me. Maybe I just can’t stand wasting time. Whatever. I typically plan my days so that I go down and come back up “our hill” (only three miles, but it takes FOREVER and seems to cost A LOT in fuel) once a day, tops. Monday, though, I “ran” Olivia to dance camp in my running clothes, necessitating a trip home to shower and change before my lunch meeting. When I went back out, I left ALONE, leaving my loving spouse to pick Miss Olivia up from camp.

It’s been a REALLY long time since I lunched without having to bring the kids along or “stash” them somewhere nearby to eat during my meeting. I didn’t look at my watch or, worse yet, over my shoulder once!

Afterward, I couldn’t let it go. I headed to campus to – at long last – purchase my MacBook and get my FREE iPod Touch. (Although it’s “my turn” for a new computer, I had to purchase it myself and request reimbursement in order to take advantage of the “buy a Mac for school and get a FREE iPod deal,” and I didn’t have the cash on hand until August 1.)

So, yeah, it’s been hectic here in part because I’ve been setting up my computer, and spending way too much time playing with my new “Touch” .