Forget the stupid TV Show!

Money Girl, Kenneth Davis

I used one of the worst kid swears that a parent can use and I used it in anger and frustration. I said stupid.

Sumner outgrew his bike this morning, at least that is when Philip's mom realized that it was too small and that she'd like to do something about it. When had been planning to go shopping and so we added a bike to the list of boxer shorts and school uniforms and bathroom stool.

A few hours later, we finished lunch and struggled to get out the door. Sumner had already had some "screen time" on the computer and Ramona had just finished watching a show on PBS. She forgot to turn it off and Sumner, in a daze, wondered into the living room and plopped down in front of the TV minutes before I wanted to get him into the car. When I asked him to flip off the TV so we could go get A BRIGHT SHINING NEW BIKE, he wimpered and whined. I could not believe it. This was pathetic! I remeber vividly getting my 5-speed-blue-banana-seat bike (second hand) and a few years later the Christmas morning when I got another blue Schwin, this time a 10-speed with the upside down handlebars. Those were two great days and today was going to be another one of those days. Sumner wanted to watch Clifford.

I was pissed (mainly at other things) and I wanted Sumner to be pumped for this experience. He sighed and said he didn't want to go. That's when I said, not in a friendly-fun-sarcastic way but in an annoyed-mocking-seething-pissed way, "Forget the stupid TV show. You are getting a new bike today. Get your shoes on."

We got over this swear. I calmed; he got excited. We got school uniforms. We got boxers. We found an egg timer I had been wanting. No bathroom stool, but you can't win them all.

With several missions accomplished, we headed to the most hateful store on earth: Toys R Us. Going there is the pits. Going with your kids is hell. I would rather go to the beach without a lunch and deal with my kids while they wilt into a hungry mess than take them to Toys R Us with me. Most of the toys suck and the people who work there know less about the toys than my kids do. The store, like most stores (except for Target and Nordstrum's) is too full of stuff. But sometimes, there are times when they have the thing you need and you just have to suffer through it. So, we entered this hell.

They were having a 50%-off green tag sale. The bike are in the far corner of the store, but just across the threshold are a display of Bionicles (a Lego product boys of the 1970s just can't respect) and some Lego stuff. Sumner got stuck here and Ramona started to trying to learn to skateboard. My mother-in-law spotted Ramona and I started to move Sumner to the bikes. He could have cared less. A BRIGHT SHINING NEW BIKE? No, he asked if he could have a Bionicle. I said, "No, let's go checkout the BRIGHT SHINING NEW BIKE." No, he wanted to skip the bike and get the Bionicle, which was on sale for $ 3.99. "No, we're not here for this," I said, while finding myself roped into this excellent deal and plotting to buy some for birthday presents. So, my mother-in-law corraled the kids to the bikes and I saved myself some money by buying $20.00 of toys (regluarly priced at $ 40.00). I realize this is a ridiculous statement.

I found them in the bike section at the mercy of an employee who takes no pride in his job (probably because he gets not benefits, minimum wage, and shit from his manager). Why am I helping this company oppress him?, I thought. I pressed on. Sumner was trying 20in bikes, but his was barely tolerating it. 16in was too small. Then I saw that they have a few 18in bikes. Perfect fit. I asked Sumner what he thought. "Could I use some of the money I have saved, $ 3.03, to buy Toa Matau?," he asked. We were having different converations, possibly in different languages. I deduced that Toa Matau is a Bionicle. I could have screamed, "Forget the stupid Bionicle! We're buying you a BRIGHT SHINING NEW BIKE and it has flames on it. Get over yourself."

But I didn't. I realized that this is Sumner. He likes to ride his bike, but he REALLY likes to build things and he wants more pieces, more possiblities. So, I said, "Sure, you can pay me when we get home. Do you like this bike?" He smiled at me. He looked at the bike, able to focus on it for the first time. "Yeah," he said.

I picked up some training wheels and a pink basket to dress Sumner's old bike up for Ramona. Then I informed the underpaid employee I had been abrupt with already that they carried both of these items since he had just told me they didn't sell either.

We made it. Sumner loved Toa Matau. He build him in 2 minutes as soon as we got home. Ramona was a pleased a punch to get on the old bike with a new basket and bell and ride it before dinner. Sumner talked to his new creation in the living room by himself.

A dinner, Sumner mentioned casually to Phil that he'd like to try his bike first thing in the morning. I hope so, because it is A BRIGHT SHINING NEW BIKE!

Going to Movies By Myself

Comer y Dormir, Not sure the artist--just on Phil's iTunes

I love going to the movies by myself and here is why:

I don't have to consider someone else's preferences or opinion.
I don't have to coordinate my schedule with anyone else's.
I don't have to listen to their impressions afterwards.
I don't have to pay a babysitter.
I can get popcorn or get nothing, but I won't have to share.
I like to escape into the almost darkness and be almost invisible.
I can let down and let go.
I can forget about my life and its pressures.

And so, I am refreshed. I leave the movies considering the art or the story. I connect it to me. I now have the time and space to think about my life and its pressures with some perspective.

So I went to the movies by myself for my birthday. It was great.

What's the Worst Thing That Could Happen?

I have been blogging less over the last week because of some minor ailments. My hip has been hurting when I sit too much, a little ----rhea, a plugged ear—nothing to write home about. But, of course, I called my mom anyway and enumerated all the things that were slowing me down. No one in my immediate family really had the patience to listen to me complain, so I had to dial Grannabelle.

But my mom loves to discuss infirmity. She has told me (about seven times) that her parents took her to a lot of funerals as a child. She tells me this in a casual and authoritative voice, as if her parents loaded her into the car each week and dropped by a couple of wakes just to expose her to a little death. She follows this funeral parade revelation with the suggestion that these little death tours may explain her fascination with sickness and death. Could be.

Once, when she was driving me to the airport for a return trip to college she suddenly turned to me. With urgency she stated, "I have been wanting to tell you something. Eat lots of fruits and vegetables. They prevent cancer." She had not just read a double-blind study in the AMA about a link to cancer and one of the four food groups. She had "seen something somewhere". This kind of urgent advice, which often has undertones of warning, comes frequently. Ramona got a mosquito bit? Is it West Nile? You are feeling tired? Mono? Chronic Fatigue Syndrome? My mom, like most, has a tendency to care, thus, she worries.

My mom also believes that if you are sick, you should go to the doctor. They are the experts. This is generally good advice. She taught me to listen to my body and take care of it. (I still push it too hard sometimes) I am thankful to have this legacy, but I could do without the worry. I do accept worry as a fact of life.

My kids spend more time than me being examined in doctors' offices and I sit and wait and talk to doctors. Obviously, I have the easy job between the three of us. Sometimes I find myself worrying. When I worry, I pray. I pray for health and healing. I pray for peace. I pray for the ability to take care of my family in the best possible way.

In the waiting rooms and examining rooms of our lives, I am confident and trusting. I believe the doctors will do their best and it will make my children's lives healthier. Yet, when I get home, late at night, when I need a snack and to be in bed an hour ago, I start to let the worry creep in. I pray some more, but sometimes my will to worry is greater than my will to accept God's peace. My mind wonders. I start to forget to trust God.

Here's where confession comes in and I tie everything back to my mom: I have learned, just in the last year, that confession sets me free. I confess all of my worries late at night when I lay on my pillow, but I am not asleep. I name the absolute WORST THING THAT COULD HAPPEN and how it is owning me. I ask God to take it from me. Then I pray for all the stuff I prayed for two paragraphs ago. It usually works. Peace comes. When it doesn't work, it means there is more worry in me that I can't name yet.

My mom articulated this process to me when I was griping about my back. She wanted to check with me and make sure that none of my doctors was missing ovarian cancer, because she heard or read somewhere that ovarian cancer has very few symptoms and one of them can be lower back pain. "Come on, Mom, I don't have cancer," I whined. She interrupted herself to say, "I know. I know. It just helps me to get this information out there. I need to articulate it so that I can get over it."

This is the What's-the-Worst-Thing-That-Could-Happen? Principle or confession. If my mom and I just admit to each other (or, even better, God) our worst case worries, they lessen or even evaporate.

The Saints Are At It Again

The New Orleans Saints are a huge piece of our fall every year. Every Sunday of our fall revolves around their games. They have an uncanny ability to disappoint in very painful ways. Each season Phil choses to believe that possibly the worst team in the NFL will somehow redeem themselves and start winning. He even has a heart-felt belief that if the Saints started winning that the city of New Orleans would "do better and be better". I don't know if this is true, but I know that Phil does better and is better when his team is winning. Their near misses eat him up.

As I write, their preseason game against the Patriots in on the local FOX station here. A televised Saints game is unusual in Boston. During the regular season, Phil usually listens on the internet radio or goes (usually alone) to a sports bar that televises several NFL games and bribes the bartender to show the Saints game. He and the other three Saints fans in Boston find each other (he also knows a handful of Saints fans in London and Oakland) and have their hopes dashed weekly.

I know this because he comes home and retells the whole game to me. I am so uninterested. I tolerate these descriptions because it is important to him, but I just don't get it. So, Phil calls Mitch, his buddy who lives in Austin and they re-live the whole thing together. I am telling you: from the pre-game to the post-game to the Monday-morning quarterbacking I am wore out.

I am worried after tonight's performance. This is a perfect example of the way the Saints love to get your hopes up. Right now their are just a few moments left in the game and they are up by 10 points. This is unusual. They could win it (19 seconds left). This preview, which has no bearing on the regular season, will be something Phil will savor for the next couple weeks. He'll dare to believe that his team can not only beat the Superbowl champs, they could come out of no where and be the Superbowl champs. It is going to be a long fall.

Let's hope--for me and the kids at least--that the Saints suprise us. If they could make the playoffs we'd be happy.

Ramona Calls Her Butt Crack...

"the crack of my butt." We should all adopt this construction.

CHECK out July 10. I just finished it and so it is a new post.

Capital Punishment and the Space Cadet

My mom believes in capital punishment for bad driving, but not for anything else.

Sumner tried to work this whole punishment thing out today.

I was reading him a story in the paper about a map dealer who is accused of stealing maps from some libraries, including some rare maps from the 16th century from the Boston Public Library. Sumner asked what happened to the thief. I told him he was arrested. Sumner asked if that meant that they were going to kill him. I told him that he was just going to jail until they decided if he did in fact steal the maps. Sumner calmly said, "Well, they should kill him." I was aghast, but played it cool, "Why do you think they should kill him?" Sumner pondered it for a minute. Then he pulled a classic parenting move, "What do you think?" I told him that (even for bad driving and map theft) I thought that people deserve to live and that killing someone is just plain wrong. He listened. We talked.

I could tell that this to this little geographer, stealing an old map is a much bigger deal than it is to me. I was also reminded not to worry that he is no space cadet. He is a thinker. As Rosie once said, "He's a little thinker."

The Space Cadet

I lose my keys. I like to sleep with my cheek on a book I fell asleep reading. I forget a lot of the time a lot of things. I think of myself as a little absent minded and I worry (there's that horrible action again) that Sumner is too.

I mean sometimes he seems to forget a simple hello or good-bye when we run into people. Basic eye contact would even be nice. Getting his homework from our kitchen table to his backpack to the van to the school to the homework bin often seemed like the greatest challenge of kindergarten.

I was telling this to a friend and she shot me down. This is that same friend that told me a long time ago that the opposite of worry is trust.

She told me of an enchanting conversation she had with Sumner. She was reminding him of her new daughter's name and he said it sounded like Asia. And she said that Asia was a country. A continent, he corrected. She inquired into the difference between the two and if any countries were continents and he explained the basics of geography to her and that Australia and Antarctica were both countries and continents. Then he gave his dad credit for teaching him these things.

He's focused...she promised. Not spacey. I trust her.

Don't Worry, Sweet Thing

(In the van after a long swim)

SUMNER: Mom.

ME: Yes, Sumner.

SUMNER: If I ever get cut badly...(long pause)...and I need a mechanical arm or leg, will you put it on for me when I am asleep?

ME: Yes, Sumner.

He's worried about these sorts of things. We all worry too much and he's getting going at age six. On vacation last week in Oregon, I told Ramona (who promptly told my mom) that my mother was afraid of everything and so she didn't need to worry about all of the things Grannabelle was very dramatically warning her off of. I don't want me kids to worry so much. Yet, I worry like crazy. I lay awake worrying about being awake and what I should do with my life and if the kids have good nutrition and if October will be a good month. We all worry too much.

All six-year-old Sumner needed was the reassurance that IF he loses a limb, will I make sure putting on the new one doesn't hurt and to insure this, will I put it on when he is unconscious. And I can say, "Yes, Sumner." It will be okay, if this "if" scenario comes to pass. That's all we need to be told, it will be okay if you "if" happens.