Ok, we don't go to too many, but in the past calendar year we've been to Anh Samhra, Graham, St. Louis Irish Arts, Branson, Little Rock, and Memphis. It's been an up and down year--I don't think Sophia really knew what she was doing at Graham (she was only dancing three dances back then, back in September--it's amazing how far she's come actually), but Branson and Little Rock were good times. And the title of worst feis ever isn't about how Sophia did, but just the day overall.
Now, on top of everything, Sophia walked away with nothing but a 2nd place medal for her 3-hand dance with two other girls from our school. All I can say about that is I'm so glad I pushed to have her join one (pushed with our school's director, that is). Because otherwise the day would have been simply an exercise in frustration.
Although Gail, whose kids were there too, mentioned after it was all over and we were waiting for last results, that failure teaches us so much more than success. And in this case, I don't think she was meaning Sophia not placing. It was the whole day. My failure and everyone else's.
Some highlights (my mind is not completely clear about this day yet if you couldn't tell):
*We got there at 9:30, having driven from my inlaws down from Cairo. I'm so glad we didn't spring for a hotel room. The drive down was easy and we arrived in plenty of time for the 3-hand, which happens during "figure dances". The woman at the desk estimated 11:00. Sophia and I did her hair and relaxed downstairs. There was no "camping" upstairs in the hotel ballroom hallways, and downstairs was cooler anyway. I felt pretty successful, frankly, having scoped out a good spot where our school's dancers wound up spending much of the morning and early afternoon. I'd brought everything we needed. I'd packed a good lunch.
*At 10:30, it looked like figures would start any minute. One of the girls had just arrived and the three went through the dance. Kind of poorly. I thought: ah well, there are 3 teams. It won't be that hard. We went upstairs, and NOTHING was going on. Memphis runs their feis upside-down. Every other feis I've been to, you have figures first thing, followed by solo dancers (meaning younger and/or less experienced girls). After lunch-ish, then you have champions. Memphis does champions first. They'd breezed through some that morning and we hurried upstairs to see that everyone was standing around.
*We also noted that there was hardly any room in the stage area for seating. Three stages in one shallow room with 6 rows of chairs. We'd have to be quick to grab seats, and I knew I wasn't going to be able to without a second adult.
*At 12:30, they were still working on champions. It wasn't until after 1--well after 1--that our three-hand team went on the stage. They earned 2nd place. It wasn't mystifying. I love team dances--I love watching other schools' versions far more than I like watching other schools' solo dances. Anyway. After figures, they took a lunch break. I redid Sophia's hair after watching how Gail did her daughter's. Much better result than how I'd been taught before. So there was something else good.
*Solo dances started fast and furious. Sophia was suddenly on dance #3 when I noticed a smudge on one of her socks. If I could see it from row 4, the judges could see it too. Costume change before single jig. All of Sophia's dances were jam packed with girls--her largest group had 19 and smallest had 10. By the time treble jigs started, she was pretty discouraged.
*So many dancers meant so many people. She had a hard time making it over to the desk to check in sometimes. It was fire-hazard style crowds. So frustrating.
*In the middle of the treble jigs, one of the judges got up and left. GOT UP AND LEFT. Of course, it was after 4:30 by that time...and she had to catch a flight. The crowd had thinned some--the first feis little kids and the beginner families had cleared out.
*I sat and talked with another experienced mom who critiqued Sophia's dancing for me. It was good to get another perspective. "Sophia spends the whole time on the tips of her toes," she said. "Watch the girl next to her--on the balls of her feet." And: "She needs to turn those ankles out and she'll be set."
*Down to two judges and two stages, treble jigs and hornpipes dragged on forever. Sophia checked in for her hornpipe after an almost tearful moment. She didn't want to dance her traditional set. She was "dancing up" in novice, when she's really an advanced beginner in that dance. They didn't have an adv. beginner section in traditional set. Remember, she placed 1st in her traditional set in Little Rock. It was worth the time, but on the other hand, it was going late into the day and I told her that whatever she wanted to do, I'd do. I told her we could leave right then, or stay, or whatever. The other mom next to me told her she'd been watching and she looked good--she'd be fine.
*Sophia danced her hornpipe against 13 other girls. I sewed Sunbonnet Sues. And when it was over, she didn't head right over to me. She checked in for her traditional set. It's a small thing, but I had never been more proud of her at a feis.
*I talked with an older girl from the Memphis school who admitted, "If it wasn't my school's feis, I wouldn't come back."
*By the time that was over, her mood had turned around. Not placing in anything didn't seem to bother her...there was another girl, from our school, who was obviously disappointed with her 3rd place finish in something and refused to pick up her medal. It wasn't a big tantrum like I've seen some little girls throw, but she was at least 11 or 12 years old. But then again, everyone was so tired.
*We walked out of the hotel and she asked about dinner. I had been given directions to a Starbucks across the interstate. I headed that way, and it shared a parking lot with an Olive Garden. So we went ahead and sat down for dinner and she inhaled everything. I got a coffee on our way out of town and drove the 2 1/2 hours back to Cairo while she watched Batman cartoons on the DVD player and then snoozed.
*Overall, there were several families from our school and we were able to sit and chat and "enjoy" the moment. Sophia is incredibly resilient and compliant, and since I'd left the other two kiddos at my in-laws, I was, for the most part, fine with the day. But it was way too long, way too hot, and I think Sophia was disappointed in the end. We came back to Cairo and she's spent today playing and helping in the kitchen. She hasn't shown anyone her 3-hand medal. She has moved on. And our next feis isn't until late July; I don't think we'll do any others this year except the other local one downtown. And I might get her to Kansas City...her godparents live there and we could take the train. But waiting and seeing.
*On the other hand, she mentioned on the way home that she still wants to join a ceili team...and is looking forward to camp. So who knows? Actually, I do know. It was a bad feis. But it didn't ruin her enjoyment of dancing. She's such a good kid. I worry that Maeve will not enjoy it the way she does. I need to find her some other physical outlets...maybe a martial art. Otherwise she will sit on the couch her whole childhood.
*And, unrelated to the feis, my father-in-law's tractor was expertly stolen from his lot at the edge of town last night. So it's been a great Wissinger weekend all around.
Monday, May 31, 2010
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Today's Maeve Moments
1. Last night at dinner, there were sweet potatoes, left over from last fall (frozen, not like in the cabinet). The girls hate sweet potatoes but really wanted dessert. I usually don't hold food over kids' heads, but the lamentations about sweet potatoes get to be too much. There were bargains struck and so forth. Sophia said, "Do we get dessert after bath?" And Mike told her that if she didn't finish the sweet potatoes on her plate, there would be no dessert. This began a list of things that would revoke dessert: being bad in the tub, being bad to one's sister, etc. And Sophia said, "But I'm innocent!"
So Mike added, "Lying about being innocent gets you no dessert either."
Maeve, with a mouthful of sweet potato, dripping slightly out of one corner of her mouth, said soberly, "I'm not innocent." Yup.
2. Questions from today in the car:
Do cats have hearts? Yes.
How do we know cats have hearts? You can feel them if they're sitting still and your hand is on their chests.
Do cats have cheeks? Yes.
But where are they? They're where ours are. By their mouths, in front of their teeth.
Do cats have freckles? Well, my old cat Wiz had splotches on his skin, sort of like different colors. I don't know about the other cats. Bleys has some little spots by his mouth and nose.
3. They Might Be Giants has a collection of kids songs about science called Here Comes Science. And one of them is about the bloodstream. In it, they cover topics like white blood cells fighting infection and hormones telling us when to go to sleep, when to grow, etc. But the white blood cell part is sung like an army song and goes:
The white blood cells are soldiers
That fight infectious germs
They make the antibodies
Their weapons in the fight
Maeve has decided the lyrics go this way:
the white blood cells are soldiers
Who fight infectious jerks
They make the antique bodies
The weapons in the fight
So tonight at dinner the conversation turned to antique bodies. And jerks.
4. Last night: Mom, I want a gurgle max. What's a gurgle max? You wear it in the water to help you breathe and look at fish. I just let this one go.
So Mike added, "Lying about being innocent gets you no dessert either."
Maeve, with a mouthful of sweet potato, dripping slightly out of one corner of her mouth, said soberly, "I'm not innocent." Yup.
2. Questions from today in the car:
Do cats have hearts? Yes.
How do we know cats have hearts? You can feel them if they're sitting still and your hand is on their chests.
Do cats have cheeks? Yes.
But where are they? They're where ours are. By their mouths, in front of their teeth.
Do cats have freckles? Well, my old cat Wiz had splotches on his skin, sort of like different colors. I don't know about the other cats. Bleys has some little spots by his mouth and nose.
3. They Might Be Giants has a collection of kids songs about science called Here Comes Science. And one of them is about the bloodstream. In it, they cover topics like white blood cells fighting infection and hormones telling us when to go to sleep, when to grow, etc. But the white blood cell part is sung like an army song and goes:
The white blood cells are soldiers
That fight infectious germs
They make the antibodies
Their weapons in the fight
Maeve has decided the lyrics go this way:
the white blood cells are soldiers
Who fight infectious jerks
They make the antique bodies
The weapons in the fight
So tonight at dinner the conversation turned to antique bodies. And jerks.
4. Last night: Mom, I want a gurgle max. What's a gurgle max? You wear it in the water to help you breathe and look at fish. I just let this one go.
Life goes on: dresser, grandmothers, pools
Updates:
So the two neighbors with kids Sophia's age are joining the new Y pool but I'm not plunking down the money. We're going to Maplewood to sign up there this afternoon. I debated just heading to my aunt's house several times a month, but those are never quick easy trips. We would never just swim for an hour and come back home. I figure if we go to the pool 30 times it is more than worth it. Thirty times is a lot, though. I'd really have to make good on my goal to swim laps this summer. Which I must do.
So it begs the question: why don't I just sign up for the Y and then use the gym? I've soured on the Y due to many reasons. I spent a lot of time there when Sophia was a baby, and got into great shape; after Maeve I did it on my bike in the park and on long trails. Now with Leo, I want to be on the bike more, but it involves all these complicated steps to get my car ready for transporting all those bikes and gear. My current plan is to finish that project, and bike in the mornings before Mike leaves for the day, once summer is in full swing. I know getting up at 5:30 will improve my life in numerous ways. It's just that first day I'm dreading. But my goal is to be about 40 pounds lighter by Christmas, and I know I can do it (I did it with Maeve's toddlerhood). So let's get it going.
Other than pool rage and bike complications? I visited my grandmother today, you know, the one I thought was going to die last summer? She didn't, and in fact seems to be doing rather well. She was gardening when we got there, and had a dresser for me (the goal of the visit). It's a Danish modern, in awesome condition, to replace the badly aging one Maeve has been using. The old one is three huge drawers, but one drawer fell apart, and so there's a plastic box sitting there for her shorts and pants. Losers. I looked for new, but they were either very cheap or very expensive; Craigslist was a bust for once. Bevin and I were going to keep hunting, but I knew I didn't want to put a lot of money into this, or time. My mom suggested Penny, since she has, like, 8 of these dressers, identical ones and parts of sets, a headboard, and so forth. I think all her kids used them starting in 1955. It has four smaller drawers and will be perfect for Maeve for the time being--eventually the room will get split into different rooms for all three kids and things will change, but this is perfect for now.
My grandmother told rambling stories and was in good spirits. Leo impressed her to no end. She kept telling me "He's yours, there's not a doubt about that." I look incredibly like my grandfather, like spooky-like, and Leo looks like me. I know what he'll look like when he's 50. That's so weird.
We had to take 7 boxes of old shoes with us, though--heels, in good shape, in their original boxes. It was payment for the dresser. "Maybe you can wear them?" she asked. They were all 7 1/2s. I wear a 10. A big fat 10. But I said that Colleen probably could. Mom took those when she dropped me and the dresser off.
And? Sophia's class is going to Kakao Chocolate for the last field trip of the year. I'm psyched. I am so in love with her teacher. Not that way. He's so unassuming and reserved and good with those kids. Sophia adores him, and this is a 180 degree turn from the beginning of the year ("what, a boy teacher? I don't like boy teachers."). He's one of two teachers in the classroom next year, too, with a Miss Wellinghoff. I keep saying to myself, "Miss Wellinghoff, could you please bring in the scones?" Dork that I am.
Everything else is ok. I'm heading out to Kakao here in a minute. The ants are back (Grr) but not in the kitchen (they're not too bright). The house is a mess but that's tonight's job. AC is on and maybe it won't rain for a few days.
So the two neighbors with kids Sophia's age are joining the new Y pool but I'm not plunking down the money. We're going to Maplewood to sign up there this afternoon. I debated just heading to my aunt's house several times a month, but those are never quick easy trips. We would never just swim for an hour and come back home. I figure if we go to the pool 30 times it is more than worth it. Thirty times is a lot, though. I'd really have to make good on my goal to swim laps this summer. Which I must do.
So it begs the question: why don't I just sign up for the Y and then use the gym? I've soured on the Y due to many reasons. I spent a lot of time there when Sophia was a baby, and got into great shape; after Maeve I did it on my bike in the park and on long trails. Now with Leo, I want to be on the bike more, but it involves all these complicated steps to get my car ready for transporting all those bikes and gear. My current plan is to finish that project, and bike in the mornings before Mike leaves for the day, once summer is in full swing. I know getting up at 5:30 will improve my life in numerous ways. It's just that first day I'm dreading. But my goal is to be about 40 pounds lighter by Christmas, and I know I can do it (I did it with Maeve's toddlerhood). So let's get it going.
Other than pool rage and bike complications? I visited my grandmother today, you know, the one I thought was going to die last summer? She didn't, and in fact seems to be doing rather well. She was gardening when we got there, and had a dresser for me (the goal of the visit). It's a Danish modern, in awesome condition, to replace the badly aging one Maeve has been using. The old one is three huge drawers, but one drawer fell apart, and so there's a plastic box sitting there for her shorts and pants. Losers. I looked for new, but they were either very cheap or very expensive; Craigslist was a bust for once. Bevin and I were going to keep hunting, but I knew I didn't want to put a lot of money into this, or time. My mom suggested Penny, since she has, like, 8 of these dressers, identical ones and parts of sets, a headboard, and so forth. I think all her kids used them starting in 1955. It has four smaller drawers and will be perfect for Maeve for the time being--eventually the room will get split into different rooms for all three kids and things will change, but this is perfect for now.
My grandmother told rambling stories and was in good spirits. Leo impressed her to no end. She kept telling me "He's yours, there's not a doubt about that." I look incredibly like my grandfather, like spooky-like, and Leo looks like me. I know what he'll look like when he's 50. That's so weird.
We had to take 7 boxes of old shoes with us, though--heels, in good shape, in their original boxes. It was payment for the dresser. "Maybe you can wear them?" she asked. They were all 7 1/2s. I wear a 10. A big fat 10. But I said that Colleen probably could. Mom took those when she dropped me and the dresser off.
And? Sophia's class is going to Kakao Chocolate for the last field trip of the year. I'm psyched. I am so in love with her teacher. Not that way. He's so unassuming and reserved and good with those kids. Sophia adores him, and this is a 180 degree turn from the beginning of the year ("what, a boy teacher? I don't like boy teachers."). He's one of two teachers in the classroom next year, too, with a Miss Wellinghoff. I keep saying to myself, "Miss Wellinghoff, could you please bring in the scones?" Dork that I am.
Everything else is ok. I'm heading out to Kakao here in a minute. The ants are back (Grr) but not in the kitchen (they're not too bright). The house is a mess but that's tonight's job. AC is on and maybe it won't rain for a few days.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Take it up with the city
It's hot, and hot weather makes my thoughts, and my children's, turn to pools. We have a galvanized kiddie pool in our backyard, which will get flipped over on Tuesday, and I know I am welcome at my aunt's in-ground, lovely, peaceful, private backyard pool anytime I'd like. Unfortunately she lives in Des Peres, and so that's kind of a hike. But on a lazy summer day, hey.
A public pool, though, is fun and useful. Last year I made a phone call to Maplewood to see how I might join. I knew I was a non-resident and it would be pricey ($300 for the summer) but my kids needed swim lessons and I was done paying for the little Turner's Club on an all-year basis to use the pool in the summer--and the swim lessons were lousy. Well, it turned out that my city ward was included in a special resident rate zone and so the whole summer cost me $120. Well spent.
I called this morning, and the super secret resident zone has shrunk and we're not on the guest list. Disappointing but realistic--our ward is nowhere near that suburb and it was good while it lasted. $300 was going to be a big bite, but we're going on vacation, etc.
And then I thought to myself, maybe I should check out the Carondelet pool. The city ceded park land to the YMCA to build a recreation/pool complex. The original plan as I understood it was for the Y to run it for the city. Now, I have a grudge against the Y due to the South City branch striking out with me 3 times--it was just really poorly managed when we were members. Long story. But standing in my kitchen this morning I thought to myself, let's just see. I checked online. Flashy website. No fee information. Call for details. Maplewood has a pdf you can click on and see, plain as day, how much it'll cost you. Hmm. What's the Y hiding?
But I called. "For city residents, it is $69 per month for a family," she told me. I did the math--more than Maplewood last year but less than this year. Seemed fair. She went on: "And that includes the indoor pool complex and the gym, and--"
"What about the outdoor pool?"
"No, that's separate. If you join the Y for $69 per month, it's an additional $120 for the summer for city residents."
$327.
"Well, what if I'm just interested in the outdoor pool--I don't want to join for the rest, just the pool?"
"That's a one-time fee for the summer of $380."
"Three hundred and eighty?" I repeat. "I can join Maplewood's pool for $300, and that's as a non-resident."
"I don't set the fee schedule," she says like a typical corporate employee.
"So you're saying that we gave up public land--park land--to you and you're going to charge city residents $380 to walk in the door."
"If you have a problem with that you can take it up with the city."
I was so furious. I mean, if it were just the YMCA and they had a pool and it was pricey, so be it. But this whole project was sold to us with the idea that city residents would finally have a pool worth going to, that the Y would run it but it would be ours--I mean, it carved out a huge chunk of Carondelet Park to create it in the first place. Ceding public land to private organizations--even ones that are warm and fuzzy seeming like the YMCA, I mean, how can they be bad, they're the Y--sets a dangerous precedent. And now here we are. $380. Who is going to join for that? Or even the $330? I guess there will be folks who join the Y and add on for the pool. Probably plenty of people and I'm standing alone here with my indignation and yeah, used to that.
So I'm thinking I'm going to be calling my aunt in Des Peres. I mean, I don't need swim lessons this year, with Ackerman for Maeve and Sophia knows what she's doing now (thanks to Ackerman). If I can bring lunch three times a month and have my kids swim (and bring a friend for free, frankly) and sit and chat with my aunt? That's worth it.
Or maybe we'll join Maplewood--I mean, I was going to join it for $300 last summer, and I am truly a non-resident. So there you go. My kids love that pool and it's a great facility.
I do have a problem with it, thank you very much Miss YMCA. I don't know if taking it up with the city is going to be useful, I mean, they're the ones who gave you the damned park land as an option in the first place.
A public pool, though, is fun and useful. Last year I made a phone call to Maplewood to see how I might join. I knew I was a non-resident and it would be pricey ($300 for the summer) but my kids needed swim lessons and I was done paying for the little Turner's Club on an all-year basis to use the pool in the summer--and the swim lessons were lousy. Well, it turned out that my city ward was included in a special resident rate zone and so the whole summer cost me $120. Well spent.
I called this morning, and the super secret resident zone has shrunk and we're not on the guest list. Disappointing but realistic--our ward is nowhere near that suburb and it was good while it lasted. $300 was going to be a big bite, but we're going on vacation, etc.
And then I thought to myself, maybe I should check out the Carondelet pool. The city ceded park land to the YMCA to build a recreation/pool complex. The original plan as I understood it was for the Y to run it for the city. Now, I have a grudge against the Y due to the South City branch striking out with me 3 times--it was just really poorly managed when we were members. Long story. But standing in my kitchen this morning I thought to myself, let's just see. I checked online. Flashy website. No fee information. Call for details. Maplewood has a pdf you can click on and see, plain as day, how much it'll cost you. Hmm. What's the Y hiding?
But I called. "For city residents, it is $69 per month for a family," she told me. I did the math--more than Maplewood last year but less than this year. Seemed fair. She went on: "And that includes the indoor pool complex and the gym, and--"
"What about the outdoor pool?"
"No, that's separate. If you join the Y for $69 per month, it's an additional $120 for the summer for city residents."
$327.
"Well, what if I'm just interested in the outdoor pool--I don't want to join for the rest, just the pool?"
"That's a one-time fee for the summer of $380."
"Three hundred and eighty?" I repeat. "I can join Maplewood's pool for $300, and that's as a non-resident."
"I don't set the fee schedule," she says like a typical corporate employee.
"So you're saying that we gave up public land--park land--to you and you're going to charge city residents $380 to walk in the door."
"If you have a problem with that you can take it up with the city."
I was so furious. I mean, if it were just the YMCA and they had a pool and it was pricey, so be it. But this whole project was sold to us with the idea that city residents would finally have a pool worth going to, that the Y would run it but it would be ours--I mean, it carved out a huge chunk of Carondelet Park to create it in the first place. Ceding public land to private organizations--even ones that are warm and fuzzy seeming like the YMCA, I mean, how can they be bad, they're the Y--sets a dangerous precedent. And now here we are. $380. Who is going to join for that? Or even the $330? I guess there will be folks who join the Y and add on for the pool. Probably plenty of people and I'm standing alone here with my indignation and yeah, used to that.
So I'm thinking I'm going to be calling my aunt in Des Peres. I mean, I don't need swim lessons this year, with Ackerman for Maeve and Sophia knows what she's doing now (thanks to Ackerman). If I can bring lunch three times a month and have my kids swim (and bring a friend for free, frankly) and sit and chat with my aunt? That's worth it.
Or maybe we'll join Maplewood--I mean, I was going to join it for $300 last summer, and I am truly a non-resident. So there you go. My kids love that pool and it's a great facility.
I do have a problem with it, thank you very much Miss YMCA. I don't know if taking it up with the city is going to be useful, I mean, they're the ones who gave you the damned park land as an option in the first place.
Friday, May 21, 2010
Insurance
Memphis feis next weekend. Sophia's in 7 solo dances, including moving up in her traditional set because they don't have advanced beginner. Groups are solid--her smallest dance has 9 girls in it, her biggest has 22. That's her reel, too, and she's been working so hard to correct her stance and I just don't know how it'll go.
So I emailed our school's director. She likes the Memphis feis and used to send 90 competitors every year. But then Memphis was cut out of our district, so things you do there don't count towards the district championships...so this year it's 16 competitors. But this is where she learned how to run a feis and she knows the director well and likes her. Anyway, I asked her if there were enough girls in the under-10 set to do a figure dance, like a 3-hand reel.
There is.
And, depending on how it's recorded, there are either 3 teams, or just one team of 3 in that competition. So that's our insurance. It'll start the afternoon off right and then anything after that will just be extra.
But she really wants to place, at least ribbon, in the reel. And I know this. It's so much harder now that she has goals. But it's good.
And now I have to let it go and know she'll do her best and all that. At the very least, a medal for the three-hand and spend the rest of the weekend at Gran's. Not bad.
So I emailed our school's director. She likes the Memphis feis and used to send 90 competitors every year. But then Memphis was cut out of our district, so things you do there don't count towards the district championships...so this year it's 16 competitors. But this is where she learned how to run a feis and she knows the director well and likes her. Anyway, I asked her if there were enough girls in the under-10 set to do a figure dance, like a 3-hand reel.
There is.
And, depending on how it's recorded, there are either 3 teams, or just one team of 3 in that competition. So that's our insurance. It'll start the afternoon off right and then anything after that will just be extra.
But she really wants to place, at least ribbon, in the reel. And I know this. It's so much harder now that she has goals. But it's good.
And now I have to let it go and know she'll do her best and all that. At the very least, a medal for the three-hand and spend the rest of the weekend at Gran's. Not bad.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Last South City Souvenirs Post
I'm shutting down a blog. I had it over there for a long time and in comparison to my daily-grind blogs like Most Nigh or 32x365, it was seriously neglected and unread. I found it hard to drag myself over there and write something. I never found its niche, which is ironic since it is about niches, really. Or, rather, things in this niche.
But here's the last post, which I thought worked well over here as well. Of course it isn't the last post HERE. Duh. I can't shut up that easily.
I'm still at Utah Vestibule, which has, I think, 6 readers. You really have to want to read it in order to read it. Does that make sense?
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Growing up in South St. Louis, Circa 2010
Sophia, Maeve, and Leo live in South St. Louis. They were born here and they will probably spend their entire childhoods here.
They will have a backyard that is barely 30 feet wide. Room enough for a galvanized pool, a swingset, a hammock, a deck, and a garden. They will have access to an alley through the back gate, and to the front yard and the street through the gangway. Mostly, they will play on the sidewalks in the front, riding bikes and scooters up and down the block all summer long. In the shade of street trees, they will sit on stoops and eat homemade popsicles that drip down their chins.
Their house was built in 1905 of red brick. It is a four-square construction and their bedrooms are tucked into the attic.
They will grow up in a city with one of the best public library systems in the country; the free museums and zoos are far better than a city of this size deserves. They will take public transportation and walk to south Grand to get ice cream. Their school is in a church basement ten blocks north of their house, sticking to its promise of being a neighborhood school. Full of city kids and city parents and everyone is just like them, only more so.
They might not have a yard worth mentioning, but Tower Grove Park is across Grand. And the Missouri Botanical Garden is just a mile or so away.
I thought for a long time I would raise my children in a rural location, homeschooling, going against the grain. But the longer I sit on the stoop here, the more deeply connected I become to my neighbors, the more I realize I'm a city girl. My kids are city kids. And I'm not afraid of that.
When we were looking for a house, Mary, my co-worker who lived on Hartford, whose sister Kate is Maeve's godmother now, whose niece Rachel made me the teacher I am today, said to me, "come join us in South City."
We did. And now those three kids of mine sit in my living room on a wood floor that is 105 years old, playing dominoes and watching a DVD and singing songs about photosynthesis. I feel finally like they, and I, are living an authentic life. We live here. We are here. This is who we are. Geography is destiny. Choose wisely.
But here's the last post, which I thought worked well over here as well. Of course it isn't the last post HERE. Duh. I can't shut up that easily.
I'm still at Utah Vestibule, which has, I think, 6 readers. You really have to want to read it in order to read it. Does that make sense?
0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0
Growing up in South St. Louis, Circa 2010
Sophia, Maeve, and Leo live in South St. Louis. They were born here and they will probably spend their entire childhoods here.
They will have a backyard that is barely 30 feet wide. Room enough for a galvanized pool, a swingset, a hammock, a deck, and a garden. They will have access to an alley through the back gate, and to the front yard and the street through the gangway. Mostly, they will play on the sidewalks in the front, riding bikes and scooters up and down the block all summer long. In the shade of street trees, they will sit on stoops and eat homemade popsicles that drip down their chins.
Their house was built in 1905 of red brick. It is a four-square construction and their bedrooms are tucked into the attic.
They will grow up in a city with one of the best public library systems in the country; the free museums and zoos are far better than a city of this size deserves. They will take public transportation and walk to south Grand to get ice cream. Their school is in a church basement ten blocks north of their house, sticking to its promise of being a neighborhood school. Full of city kids and city parents and everyone is just like them, only more so.
They might not have a yard worth mentioning, but Tower Grove Park is across Grand. And the Missouri Botanical Garden is just a mile or so away.
I thought for a long time I would raise my children in a rural location, homeschooling, going against the grain. But the longer I sit on the stoop here, the more deeply connected I become to my neighbors, the more I realize I'm a city girl. My kids are city kids. And I'm not afraid of that.
When we were looking for a house, Mary, my co-worker who lived on Hartford, whose sister Kate is Maeve's godmother now, whose niece Rachel made me the teacher I am today, said to me, "come join us in South City."
We did. And now those three kids of mine sit in my living room on a wood floor that is 105 years old, playing dominoes and watching a DVD and singing songs about photosynthesis. I feel finally like they, and I, are living an authentic life. We live here. We are here. This is who we are. Geography is destiny. Choose wisely.
Oil Slick
I was reading something on weather underground, which is a great site, by the way, with solid weather information and forecasts and details. I was reading about a huge amount of rainfall that is expected in Haiti this coming week, and thinking, what next? When I noticed that it's probably going to be a La Nina year, which could possibly make it a stronger hurricane season. In the past, the deeper past, La Nina summers have worse and more hurricanes, but since 1998, they have been average. But as an aside, the guy writing the blog entry said "click here to see what the oil spill in the Gulf might do to a hurricane."
Well, I clicked there. And basically, since hurricanes are full-fledged for the most part when they get to the Gulf, the answer is "not much." He said that most hurricanes are Texas-sized (literally, I mean, not like how one might describe a Big Gulp as "Texas sized" or some nonsense like that), and the oil spill is only Delaware-sized.
Delaware-sized.
The oil spill is the size of Delaware. I know, Delaware isn't one of our mightier states, but this gave me a moment of pause. And then I came over here to tell you all.
Well, I clicked there. And basically, since hurricanes are full-fledged for the most part when they get to the Gulf, the answer is "not much." He said that most hurricanes are Texas-sized (literally, I mean, not like how one might describe a Big Gulp as "Texas sized" or some nonsense like that), and the oil spill is only Delaware-sized.
Delaware-sized.
The oil spill is the size of Delaware. I know, Delaware isn't one of our mightier states, but this gave me a moment of pause. And then I came over here to tell you all.
Girl Scout: Looking for bridging ideas
Ok, I know a couple of GS leaders or moms read this. I need some bridging ideas. We're bridging at one of the scout's houses this year instead of in Tower Grove at one of the bridges on an old unused path (which was a great place to do it, but this year won't be happening).
I have 12 girls bridging to juniors. Any thoughts?
Oh, and I have a low tolerance for cheesiness.
I have 12 girls bridging to juniors. Any thoughts?
Oh, and I have a low tolerance for cheesiness.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Girl Scout Court of Awards: Coming Soon
I just went to the GS Shop and spent a shockingly large amount of money. I didn't spend it, for the most part--the troop did. I spent a bit of my own money, yes, but most of it was on the troop's dime. Badges and pins and new sashes (most of the troop is bridging to juniors next week) and patches and all that hoo-ha.
I love all that hoo-ha, frankly. I'm working on what I'll say about several things. I want to give out a few extra awards--I have 5 patches for the girls who have been in the troop from the beginning, for instance, and something for the girl who is the most-improved in camping, although that's not what I'll call the award. Cookies, too, I want to recognize. Even though Cookie Mom's daughter is the top seller, we have several who sold bunches, and I want girls to see that. I'm trying to think about others. I know what stories I want to tell. We've had a good year.
And I'm glad it's over for the most part. Yes, we'll go out and do some archery range visits, and maybe a backyard camping night, but the meetings will be over and done until late September sometime.
Now I have just about a week to iron on all that insignia--my Brownies and their families were a tad clueless about how the uniform gets put together, and so I'm going to get the basics done for them. Leaving space for a troop or patrol crest, of course, which we'll pick next week.
I'm so excited that they're all old enough now to really do stuff.
I love all that hoo-ha, frankly. I'm working on what I'll say about several things. I want to give out a few extra awards--I have 5 patches for the girls who have been in the troop from the beginning, for instance, and something for the girl who is the most-improved in camping, although that's not what I'll call the award. Cookies, too, I want to recognize. Even though Cookie Mom's daughter is the top seller, we have several who sold bunches, and I want girls to see that. I'm trying to think about others. I know what stories I want to tell. We've had a good year.
And I'm glad it's over for the most part. Yes, we'll go out and do some archery range visits, and maybe a backyard camping night, but the meetings will be over and done until late September sometime.
Now I have just about a week to iron on all that insignia--my Brownies and their families were a tad clueless about how the uniform gets put together, and so I'm going to get the basics done for them. Leaving space for a troop or patrol crest, of course, which we'll pick next week.
I'm so excited that they're all old enough now to really do stuff.
Monday, May 17, 2010
I love my car. I have problems, though
I have a Mazda 5. I love this car. It makes me feel smart. I know: dork city. But it's not quite a minivan and not quite a station wagon and certainly not just a car. I call it a microvan. It fits us for now--when Leo is 5, it'll start getting too small. He'll be in the third seat and the two girls in the middle, but it'll be a tight squeeze. But by then Mike's plain-label Saturn sedan will be overdue for retirement (it's a 1999 and when Leo is 5, it'll be 15 years old and certainly we can't expect it to go much longer than that). And at that point we can decide on a bigger car if we need to. But I really like this car.
The problem is that we're a bike family. With the minivan, this meant two bikes and a trail-a-bike (a kid's tandem that hooks onto Mike's bike for Sophia), with the kid's bike trailer in the back of the van. Alas, things are more complicated. For one, Sophia rides a bike that is almost full-sized. And mine is a Motobecane Grand Touring Mixte from 1974ish--I am inordinately fond of this bicycle, by the way--but the mixte frame makes it difficult to get on a bike rack even in the best of situations. So now we have three bikes (one difficult), a trail-a-bike, and a trailer. And a smaller car.
Our hitch can handle a hitch-mount bike rack for 2 bikes. Or, I might be able to get three bikes on the roof if we get a roof rack and the bike components needed. Or...I just don't know. Today I took the trail-a-bike apart (it folds). I folded up the bike toddler trailer and got them both into the car next to where Maeve sits. Now, if I can get two on the back and one on top, or some other combination, it will work.
Because it HAS TO work. I have to bike this summer. I have thyroid and baby weight I must shed or die trying. It worked in 2006, it can work again this year. Right?? And yes, we could go bike in Tower Grove Park, going around and around and around. Zzzzz. I need something more.
The problem is that we're a bike family. With the minivan, this meant two bikes and a trail-a-bike (a kid's tandem that hooks onto Mike's bike for Sophia), with the kid's bike trailer in the back of the van. Alas, things are more complicated. For one, Sophia rides a bike that is almost full-sized. And mine is a Motobecane Grand Touring Mixte from 1974ish--I am inordinately fond of this bicycle, by the way--but the mixte frame makes it difficult to get on a bike rack even in the best of situations. So now we have three bikes (one difficult), a trail-a-bike, and a trailer. And a smaller car.
Our hitch can handle a hitch-mount bike rack for 2 bikes. Or, I might be able to get three bikes on the roof if we get a roof rack and the bike components needed. Or...I just don't know. Today I took the trail-a-bike apart (it folds). I folded up the bike toddler trailer and got them both into the car next to where Maeve sits. Now, if I can get two on the back and one on top, or some other combination, it will work.
Because it HAS TO work. I have to bike this summer. I have thyroid and baby weight I must shed or die trying. It worked in 2006, it can work again this year. Right?? And yes, we could go bike in Tower Grove Park, going around and around and around. Zzzzz. I need something more.
Cookie mom moments from camp
She drove. And when I got there to the parking lot, 15 minutes late (of course), she was there. She gave me a hug. Something about this really bugs me. It's not the hugging, it's the...assumption that I really would like to hug her. It's a weird thing, she comes at me with her arms open and there's no dodging it. Anyway. She says, "I was the second one here!" because oftentimes she's the last. And that's great.
Except she had no gas in her car.
And she had to use the bathroom.
Of course, I'd forgotten my wallet at home, so I suggested she put gas in her car and meet at my house, where she could use my bathroom. "Oh, good, so I don't have to take all 4 girls into the Quik Trip bathroom with me!"
(Later, one of the girls, who was one of the archery enthusiasts, asked me who was driving home and could she not be in Cookie Mom's car....but I reassured her that she wasn't driving home).
She lets me know, too, that she can't drive, and that she'll be at a graduation party in St. Charles when we're done (I changed our plans at the last minute and didn't get a hold of her, mostly because I'm totally passive-aggressive with this woman now and didn't want to listen to this story TWICE since I knew there'd be a problem and a story--there's always a problem and a story). She goes into the beginning of an elaborate (I'm sure) story about the party and its location and what to do...I say her daughter can stay the night at my house. Really. No big thing. She says that's probably what's going to have to happen. Then someone suggests we drop the daughter off on our way home. She doesn't have the address but I have her cell phone number and...ten minutes later we're off to my house for the facilities.
We leave my house and all is well. She beats us to camp and--you know, some of the things she does aren't bad. They're just not my style. I don't point out every spiderweb and explain how the "environmental toilet" works in exquisite detail. I'm sort of on a need-to-know basis. If girls feel like they need to know, I'll tell them. But the false enthusiasm makes me tired. It isn't my style. And I don't yell at girls for minor infractions, like running down a path in excitement. Come on.
She stays too long. Way too long. And eventually she's standing there--the girls are getting dinner out (we brown-bagged it, smart!!) and apologizes that she has to leave. But she has to. Really. But then she beckons for me to come over to her, closer, and I do, wondering what she's going to say or do.
She starts: "Carmen has a problem." Carmen is another girl in my troop. And she says this the way that I might start a conversation about a girl who has wet her pants, or hasn't brought a sleeping bag, or has brought her Ipod. You know--something that needs to be dealt with. Fast. And so she has my attention. Carmen is a tough one in my group. She has a problem with entitlement--she expects that exceptions will be made for her to be more special than anyone else. This rarely works for her, in scouts or at school (at least--I don't know about home, but her parents are really nice and normal-seeming, so I doubt it). She's nice and there are genuine good moments, but she's the one, when we pulled up at the unit, who exclaims, "I hate outdoor camping!" You know? So I'm thinking, CRAP, Carmen has a problem and what the heck am I going to do...
And then she tells me: Carmen has stinky feet. She says that. "Her feet stink." I nod at her, wondering if this is going anywhere--did the other girls make fun of her? But surely Carmen wouldn't have kept quiet about that...no. "And my daughter used to have stinky feet, so I know it's a problem."
I'm just nodding at her, trying to make sense about this.
"They really stink."
"Ok?"
"And so I told all the girls in her tent that everyone needed to stay on her own bed. I didn't want her to put her feet on any of the other girls' stuff."
Holy Cow how badly can one girl's feet smell? Seriously?
"Ok," I tell her. "I'll make sure to reiterate that, just stay in your own spot kind of thing."
"I think that would be best. Stinky."
And so she leaves with that as my last impression. Well then.
I of course say nothing to Carmen or her tentmates. No one complains about stinky feet and when I go in there later to make sure everyone is warm enough, there is no evidence of such stink. So whatever.
I have one more moment with Cookie Mom before she becomes Clarity's problem. Clarity seems to handle her better than I do--of course, she hasn't had to handle the missing $1000. She'll still be there for camping and field trips and whatnot but I won't have the meetings with her in the background talking over me to tell the girls things they don't care about. And I cannot wait.
Except she had no gas in her car.
And she had to use the bathroom.
Of course, I'd forgotten my wallet at home, so I suggested she put gas in her car and meet at my house, where she could use my bathroom. "Oh, good, so I don't have to take all 4 girls into the Quik Trip bathroom with me!"
(Later, one of the girls, who was one of the archery enthusiasts, asked me who was driving home and could she not be in Cookie Mom's car....but I reassured her that she wasn't driving home).
She lets me know, too, that she can't drive, and that she'll be at a graduation party in St. Charles when we're done (I changed our plans at the last minute and didn't get a hold of her, mostly because I'm totally passive-aggressive with this woman now and didn't want to listen to this story TWICE since I knew there'd be a problem and a story--there's always a problem and a story). She goes into the beginning of an elaborate (I'm sure) story about the party and its location and what to do...I say her daughter can stay the night at my house. Really. No big thing. She says that's probably what's going to have to happen. Then someone suggests we drop the daughter off on our way home. She doesn't have the address but I have her cell phone number and...ten minutes later we're off to my house for the facilities.
We leave my house and all is well. She beats us to camp and--you know, some of the things she does aren't bad. They're just not my style. I don't point out every spiderweb and explain how the "environmental toilet" works in exquisite detail. I'm sort of on a need-to-know basis. If girls feel like they need to know, I'll tell them. But the false enthusiasm makes me tired. It isn't my style. And I don't yell at girls for minor infractions, like running down a path in excitement. Come on.
She stays too long. Way too long. And eventually she's standing there--the girls are getting dinner out (we brown-bagged it, smart!!) and apologizes that she has to leave. But she has to. Really. But then she beckons for me to come over to her, closer, and I do, wondering what she's going to say or do.
She starts: "Carmen has a problem." Carmen is another girl in my troop. And she says this the way that I might start a conversation about a girl who has wet her pants, or hasn't brought a sleeping bag, or has brought her Ipod. You know--something that needs to be dealt with. Fast. And so she has my attention. Carmen is a tough one in my group. She has a problem with entitlement--she expects that exceptions will be made for her to be more special than anyone else. This rarely works for her, in scouts or at school (at least--I don't know about home, but her parents are really nice and normal-seeming, so I doubt it). She's nice and there are genuine good moments, but she's the one, when we pulled up at the unit, who exclaims, "I hate outdoor camping!" You know? So I'm thinking, CRAP, Carmen has a problem and what the heck am I going to do...
And then she tells me: Carmen has stinky feet. She says that. "Her feet stink." I nod at her, wondering if this is going anywhere--did the other girls make fun of her? But surely Carmen wouldn't have kept quiet about that...no. "And my daughter used to have stinky feet, so I know it's a problem."
I'm just nodding at her, trying to make sense about this.
"They really stink."
"Ok?"
"And so I told all the girls in her tent that everyone needed to stay on her own bed. I didn't want her to put her feet on any of the other girls' stuff."
Holy Cow how badly can one girl's feet smell? Seriously?
"Ok," I tell her. "I'll make sure to reiterate that, just stay in your own spot kind of thing."
"I think that would be best. Stinky."
And so she leaves with that as my last impression. Well then.
I of course say nothing to Carmen or her tentmates. No one complains about stinky feet and when I go in there later to make sure everyone is warm enough, there is no evidence of such stink. So whatever.
I have one more moment with Cookie Mom before she becomes Clarity's problem. Clarity seems to handle her better than I do--of course, she hasn't had to handle the missing $1000. She'll still be there for camping and field trips and whatnot but I won't have the meetings with her in the background talking over me to tell the girls things they don't care about. And I cannot wait.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Tuckaho!
We camped.
Only 9 girls, with Mary, Clarity, and myself as leaders. We made the prudent decision to stay one night and all day Saturday, checking out at 7 p.m. and getting back to St. Louis at bedtime. That way they had the full day but we didn't do another night in the rain and clean up in a rush in the morning.
This sort of worked. First, the bad part: check out. We had a new camp supervisor, getting trained that weekend, and so when she showed up to check us out, it wasn't ANYTHING like my troop camp training "check out" or like our actual check out experience at Cedarledge in December. Both of those were about 10-15 minutes in length. Pick up a few stray pieces of trash. Wipe down a bench. Blah blah blah. Nothing. No big deal. Honest mistakes and they corrected them. But this gal, she started at tent #1 and worked her way around the whole place, having girls tie and retie knots, flip over mattresses, sweep out tents we hadn't even been in, pick up hole-punch pieces in the sopping wet gravel path. And on and on and on. They must have spent 10 minutes alone at the trash bin. It was crazy. And 45 minutes after they arrived, they gave us grim smiles and told us to "have a nice evening."
Clarity, who has been my coleader from the beginning and will be the patrol leader for the parish patrol (we're splitting next year into two patrols, at least for a year or two, but you probably already know all that), who has been through it all with me and these kids and is so positive and enthusiastic, turned to Mary and said, "I'm never doing this again."
And I think I agree with her, frankly. Which is too bad because our council's three camps are lovely and wonderful. But if the last thing girls do when they leave camp is go through a punishing inspection akin to getting your apartment deposit back, well, guess what the first thing they're going to tell people about is going to be? And we had too good a time the rest of the day and night before to have that happen. Really. It SUCKED. SUCKED.
So while I think about other options for camping and overnights and outdoor activities, let me tell you what was good.
At the Friday night meeting, I mentioned that we'd like to do archery. Well, three other junior troop leaders asked if I'd be willing to run the range for them as well. Since I only had 3 juniors with me (brownies do not do archery--they have 2 weeks till they bridge...), I said that the troop of 11 could just join us. And then, sure, I'd run the range for the other two troops by themselves (11 and 14 girls) if AND ONLY IF my girls, all of my girls, would be a priority at the canoes. Canoeing is run by volunteers like me, too, and if I'm going to leave my troop alone for 2 hours and put up with other girls, then I want them to get on the other list, you know? It's all agreed and we're ready for the weekend.
So I get home from the meeting to our permanent tent site and they're gone. Clarity and Mary took them on a night hike and did a whole big thing on constellations and rods vs cones in your eye and phases of the moon and all sorts of stuff. I was impressed. I met up with them on the road and we got back in time to let them know about the plan for Saturday and to get to bed.
We had one tent of 5 night-owls and one tent of 4 early-birds. Of course. In bed after midnight and up before 6:30. But that's ok. It was good sleeping weather--cool and breezy. The rain started at 6:45....
Early Birds and the adults made breakfast (Sausage, biscuits, and fruit) and then we walked down to the lake. Girls canoed. Wore themselves out. Mary and I sat in the shelter and watched. We got back for lunch (girls changed out of wet, wet clothes while Mary and I set out lunch, because, frankly, they were exhausted. And wet). After lunch, Clarity and I took the juniors over to the archery range and Mary took the other girls to the Nature Center. Which, by the way, was not as useful as she might have liked...and so they took a short hike and headed back.
Archery. Tuckaho's archery "equipment" was in very bad shape. Mental note: always borrow from our district, or start investing in our own equipment. I set things up, gave a little spiel on the steps of shooting, as well as safety rules and common sense things, and we went down to the range.
Steep learning curve. That first group didn't do so well. It was a combination of many things, mostly fear and bad aim. But they had a good time and were nice. Walking back, one girl felt like she'd come a long way but wasn't sure she liked it; the other two wanted to go back with me when I went to supervise in the afternoon. I love that.
The afternoon was spent (our girls are such wonderful dorks this way) making new sit-upons (it is two squares of vinyl, lashed together with lanyard to make a ravioli-like object (well, thinner than that) with a 3 or 4 layer fleece or felt "filling"--and then you "sit upon" it to keep your rear end dry). Seriously--they spent 2 leisurely hours working on that and playing in the tents while the rain came and went. I left at 3 to go to the range with the two juniors and met up with another nice troop of juniors with no experience.
But I knew better what I was doing, and they soaked it in faster--or something. Their adults came down to the range with us. I put them in groups of 3 and had them rotate in and out (I had 5 good bows...). They learned faster, and 80% left having hit paper (meaning, maybe not the circles on the target, but at least near the circles). Not bad, frankly, with the weather and the equipment and the inexperience put together. And they stayed until 4:15 because my second group was late.
[side note: I used the other troop's radio at 4:10 or so to ask the camp supervisor where the next group was--when Mary, back at camp, heard "archery range to camp supervisor" come over her radio, she got all nervous and worried that something horrible had happened: "And then it was just about scheduling!"]
The second group got there soon after my radio transmission. There were 10 girls. Two lefties. I only had one bow that would easily convert to left-handed, so they were a pair. Not happy about this, they refused to share the glove (I also had only 5 gloves--they could share or use the confusing tab thingies we had in the camp box). The whole group sort of refused to listen to my first explanations because "we've done this in school already." They said this not with the excitement my troop might have displayed about already being experienced, but in a "shut up lady you're wasting our time" way. I was not impressed.
Down at the range, their experiences at school did not prepare them for what we had. Our bows were lighter and didn't have guides for arrows. FRustration set in fast. So we backed up and started over, which was met with impatient sighs. A girl stepped over the line, 6 feet over the line, to retrieve an arrow during the middle of firing. Another girl lost an arrow (shot over the targets) and asked a fellow troop member to help her. The response? "Sorry, I already found my arrows." I couldn't believe how rude this troop was to each other and to me and to the adults they were with. When they weren't shooting, they played in the mud behind the range, even when told to stop by me or their leaders. So when 5:00 came along and they'd each shot, say, 6 arrows, I was done. There was no way I was going to let them continue. They left without thanking me or putting the arm guards away--I was putting arrows in a bucket in the closet and turned around and saw the mess they left. But by that point, you know?
I went back to our unit just so angry, although mixed with gratitude that I wasn't their leader. And I got to the kitchen shelter where girls were coloring or working on the sit-upons, and declared in a shaky voice, "If any of you girls ever, EVER treat someone who is serving you the way that troop just now treated me," and I just shook my head. I calmed down. "I know that you won't."
I told the story, some of it at least, and several girls pointed out ways that it could have gone better (things like "they could have said..."). And we got ready for dinner and cleaned up and I already told you about check out....
There were a couple of cookie mom moments earlier, on Friday, but that will be for later.
Overall, it was a good trip. The two archery juniors marveled that there isn't an archery badge (But there's one called "It's important to me!" which just baffles me). But I told them we'd find a way, if they were interested. I figured I'd have them earn a Boy Scout Archery Merit Badge, but once I was home I found 5 councils who have their "own council's badge" for archery, complete with requirements. Those two girls are already 3/4 of the way there. And for many of the girls, it was the first time in a canoe. Cooking outside, sleeping outside, many new things and good.
But check out sucked. Did I mention that?
Only 9 girls, with Mary, Clarity, and myself as leaders. We made the prudent decision to stay one night and all day Saturday, checking out at 7 p.m. and getting back to St. Louis at bedtime. That way they had the full day but we didn't do another night in the rain and clean up in a rush in the morning.
This sort of worked. First, the bad part: check out. We had a new camp supervisor, getting trained that weekend, and so when she showed up to check us out, it wasn't ANYTHING like my troop camp training "check out" or like our actual check out experience at Cedarledge in December. Both of those were about 10-15 minutes in length. Pick up a few stray pieces of trash. Wipe down a bench. Blah blah blah. Nothing. No big deal. Honest mistakes and they corrected them. But this gal, she started at tent #1 and worked her way around the whole place, having girls tie and retie knots, flip over mattresses, sweep out tents we hadn't even been in, pick up hole-punch pieces in the sopping wet gravel path. And on and on and on. They must have spent 10 minutes alone at the trash bin. It was crazy. And 45 minutes after they arrived, they gave us grim smiles and told us to "have a nice evening."
Clarity, who has been my coleader from the beginning and will be the patrol leader for the parish patrol (we're splitting next year into two patrols, at least for a year or two, but you probably already know all that), who has been through it all with me and these kids and is so positive and enthusiastic, turned to Mary and said, "I'm never doing this again."
And I think I agree with her, frankly. Which is too bad because our council's three camps are lovely and wonderful. But if the last thing girls do when they leave camp is go through a punishing inspection akin to getting your apartment deposit back, well, guess what the first thing they're going to tell people about is going to be? And we had too good a time the rest of the day and night before to have that happen. Really. It SUCKED. SUCKED.
So while I think about other options for camping and overnights and outdoor activities, let me tell you what was good.
At the Friday night meeting, I mentioned that we'd like to do archery. Well, three other junior troop leaders asked if I'd be willing to run the range for them as well. Since I only had 3 juniors with me (brownies do not do archery--they have 2 weeks till they bridge...), I said that the troop of 11 could just join us. And then, sure, I'd run the range for the other two troops by themselves (11 and 14 girls) if AND ONLY IF my girls, all of my girls, would be a priority at the canoes. Canoeing is run by volunteers like me, too, and if I'm going to leave my troop alone for 2 hours and put up with other girls, then I want them to get on the other list, you know? It's all agreed and we're ready for the weekend.
So I get home from the meeting to our permanent tent site and they're gone. Clarity and Mary took them on a night hike and did a whole big thing on constellations and rods vs cones in your eye and phases of the moon and all sorts of stuff. I was impressed. I met up with them on the road and we got back in time to let them know about the plan for Saturday and to get to bed.
We had one tent of 5 night-owls and one tent of 4 early-birds. Of course. In bed after midnight and up before 6:30. But that's ok. It was good sleeping weather--cool and breezy. The rain started at 6:45....
Early Birds and the adults made breakfast (Sausage, biscuits, and fruit) and then we walked down to the lake. Girls canoed. Wore themselves out. Mary and I sat in the shelter and watched. We got back for lunch (girls changed out of wet, wet clothes while Mary and I set out lunch, because, frankly, they were exhausted. And wet). After lunch, Clarity and I took the juniors over to the archery range and Mary took the other girls to the Nature Center. Which, by the way, was not as useful as she might have liked...and so they took a short hike and headed back.
Archery. Tuckaho's archery "equipment" was in very bad shape. Mental note: always borrow from our district, or start investing in our own equipment. I set things up, gave a little spiel on the steps of shooting, as well as safety rules and common sense things, and we went down to the range.
Steep learning curve. That first group didn't do so well. It was a combination of many things, mostly fear and bad aim. But they had a good time and were nice. Walking back, one girl felt like she'd come a long way but wasn't sure she liked it; the other two wanted to go back with me when I went to supervise in the afternoon. I love that.
The afternoon was spent (our girls are such wonderful dorks this way) making new sit-upons (it is two squares of vinyl, lashed together with lanyard to make a ravioli-like object (well, thinner than that) with a 3 or 4 layer fleece or felt "filling"--and then you "sit upon" it to keep your rear end dry). Seriously--they spent 2 leisurely hours working on that and playing in the tents while the rain came and went. I left at 3 to go to the range with the two juniors and met up with another nice troop of juniors with no experience.
But I knew better what I was doing, and they soaked it in faster--or something. Their adults came down to the range with us. I put them in groups of 3 and had them rotate in and out (I had 5 good bows...). They learned faster, and 80% left having hit paper (meaning, maybe not the circles on the target, but at least near the circles). Not bad, frankly, with the weather and the equipment and the inexperience put together. And they stayed until 4:15 because my second group was late.
[side note: I used the other troop's radio at 4:10 or so to ask the camp supervisor where the next group was--when Mary, back at camp, heard "archery range to camp supervisor" come over her radio, she got all nervous and worried that something horrible had happened: "And then it was just about scheduling!"]
The second group got there soon after my radio transmission. There were 10 girls. Two lefties. I only had one bow that would easily convert to left-handed, so they were a pair. Not happy about this, they refused to share the glove (I also had only 5 gloves--they could share or use the confusing tab thingies we had in the camp box). The whole group sort of refused to listen to my first explanations because "we've done this in school already." They said this not with the excitement my troop might have displayed about already being experienced, but in a "shut up lady you're wasting our time" way. I was not impressed.
Down at the range, their experiences at school did not prepare them for what we had. Our bows were lighter and didn't have guides for arrows. FRustration set in fast. So we backed up and started over, which was met with impatient sighs. A girl stepped over the line, 6 feet over the line, to retrieve an arrow during the middle of firing. Another girl lost an arrow (shot over the targets) and asked a fellow troop member to help her. The response? "Sorry, I already found my arrows." I couldn't believe how rude this troop was to each other and to me and to the adults they were with. When they weren't shooting, they played in the mud behind the range, even when told to stop by me or their leaders. So when 5:00 came along and they'd each shot, say, 6 arrows, I was done. There was no way I was going to let them continue. They left without thanking me or putting the arm guards away--I was putting arrows in a bucket in the closet and turned around and saw the mess they left. But by that point, you know?
I went back to our unit just so angry, although mixed with gratitude that I wasn't their leader. And I got to the kitchen shelter where girls were coloring or working on the sit-upons, and declared in a shaky voice, "If any of you girls ever, EVER treat someone who is serving you the way that troop just now treated me," and I just shook my head. I calmed down. "I know that you won't."
I told the story, some of it at least, and several girls pointed out ways that it could have gone better (things like "they could have said..."). And we got ready for dinner and cleaned up and I already told you about check out....
There were a couple of cookie mom moments earlier, on Friday, but that will be for later.
Overall, it was a good trip. The two archery juniors marveled that there isn't an archery badge (But there's one called "It's important to me!" which just baffles me). But I told them we'd find a way, if they were interested. I figured I'd have them earn a Boy Scout Archery Merit Badge, but once I was home I found 5 councils who have their "own council's badge" for archery, complete with requirements. Those two girls are already 3/4 of the way there. And for many of the girls, it was the first time in a canoe. Cooking outside, sleeping outside, many new things and good.
But check out sucked. Did I mention that?
Friday, May 14, 2010
Cray. See.
We're going camping. It's down to 9 girls, obviously not the smart ones at this point. 50% chance of rain and thunderstorms the whole weekend. At what point does one just say "Let's not" and have girls enjoy a sleepover in the attic?
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Ten on Thursday (just to mix it up): 10 Things I'm Tired of Saying
1. Are your shoes on? We're leaving!
2. The door is locked. I'm in the bathroom. Stop trying to open it. You can wait.
3. I'm not your tour director.
4. Where is your lunch box? The one from yesterday. Not this one. Did you leave it at school?
5. Find something to do that doesn't involve a screen.
6. We have fruit, or there are crackers. That's all until dinner.
7. It's time to get up. I've been calling up for 10 minutes.
8. No, I don't know where that is. Did you check your _______? Then check there first.
9. I just know these things. Really. Because I know.
10. I'm not interested in donating money at this time.
2. The door is locked. I'm in the bathroom. Stop trying to open it. You can wait.
3. I'm not your tour director.
4. Where is your lunch box? The one from yesterday. Not this one. Did you leave it at school?
5. Find something to do that doesn't involve a screen.
6. We have fruit, or there are crackers. That's all until dinner.
7. It's time to get up. I've been calling up for 10 minutes.
8. No, I don't know where that is. Did you check your _______? Then check there first.
9. I just know these things. Really. Because I know.
10. I'm not interested in donating money at this time.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Oh, That's Right
Sunday night I went out with Mary and Heidi. We went to a paint-your-own-pottery place and then to the Melting Pot, which is a fondue restaurant. But between the two, we went to a used music store--used to be all vinyl, now still has vinyl but also CDs.
But let me back up. Earlier that weekend, I took all my CDs and put them in alphabetical order. Put the kids' music in its own section. And while I did so, I marveled at how much Mark Knopfler we owned. Kind of a crazy amount. And Robert Earl Keen--although I don't have all of his. But I noted that I only had one Lyle Lovett. And I pondered this. I should fill in that gap sometime soon, I thought.
So back to the used music store. I found 3 Lyle Lovett CDs and picked them up, along with a Hem CD of outtakes and live recordings that I haven't had a chance to listen to yet (it's been a long week).
I noted, though, on the Road to Ensenada, that there was a recording of "That's Right (You're Not From Texas)" included. I knew this song. The last line of the refrain goes "that's right, you're not from Texas; Texas wants you anyway." Which is true, frankly. Northerners, at least in my experience in Houston, who find themselves in Texas and decide it isn't so bad, are grafted onto the Texas family. Like step-kids of in-laws. But still family.
Sitting in the restaurant, which is a date restaurant, frankly, kind of dark and steamy (from the fondue, you see), our waiter came over with the cheese to start us off. We were doing cheese and chocolate only--you can eat A LOT OF FOOD there, but we were hoping to not do that. Anyway, most waiters there specialize in small talk of various kinds, but this guy was either shy or inexperienced at it so it sounded like bad pick up lines: How do you ladies know each other? Where are you from?
I always hesitate at that one. The first is easy: "I went to college with Mary's ex-boyfriend and Mary went to college with Heidi." But Where Are You From? is tricky.
I'm from St. Louis. And I've lived half my life here, contiguously at this point, plus some bonus years from childhood. But I've lived in the California desert and the suburbs of Milwaukee and central Georgia and...
"Texas," I answered.
Oh, that's right, I'm not from Texas, but...I'm not really from here, either. So let's go ahead and just be easy and say it.
Texas, I've always been fond of saying, is a good place to be from.
Far from, Mike always adds.
And I smile and nod, thinking of the worst parts of high school. But I like that I'm from Texas in as much as I am. People have an idea of Texas when you say that, that they don't have when you say, "I'm from Indiana," or "I'm from New Hampshire." Now, it's no Vermont, but it's good to have it on a resume.
Rounds a person out.
But let me back up. Earlier that weekend, I took all my CDs and put them in alphabetical order. Put the kids' music in its own section. And while I did so, I marveled at how much Mark Knopfler we owned. Kind of a crazy amount. And Robert Earl Keen--although I don't have all of his. But I noted that I only had one Lyle Lovett. And I pondered this. I should fill in that gap sometime soon, I thought.
So back to the used music store. I found 3 Lyle Lovett CDs and picked them up, along with a Hem CD of outtakes and live recordings that I haven't had a chance to listen to yet (it's been a long week).
I noted, though, on the Road to Ensenada, that there was a recording of "That's Right (You're Not From Texas)" included. I knew this song. The last line of the refrain goes "that's right, you're not from Texas; Texas wants you anyway." Which is true, frankly. Northerners, at least in my experience in Houston, who find themselves in Texas and decide it isn't so bad, are grafted onto the Texas family. Like step-kids of in-laws. But still family.
Sitting in the restaurant, which is a date restaurant, frankly, kind of dark and steamy (from the fondue, you see), our waiter came over with the cheese to start us off. We were doing cheese and chocolate only--you can eat A LOT OF FOOD there, but we were hoping to not do that. Anyway, most waiters there specialize in small talk of various kinds, but this guy was either shy or inexperienced at it so it sounded like bad pick up lines: How do you ladies know each other? Where are you from?
I always hesitate at that one. The first is easy: "I went to college with Mary's ex-boyfriend and Mary went to college with Heidi." But Where Are You From? is tricky.
I'm from St. Louis. And I've lived half my life here, contiguously at this point, plus some bonus years from childhood. But I've lived in the California desert and the suburbs of Milwaukee and central Georgia and...
"Texas," I answered.
Oh, that's right, I'm not from Texas, but...I'm not really from here, either. So let's go ahead and just be easy and say it.
Texas, I've always been fond of saying, is a good place to be from.
Far from, Mike always adds.
And I smile and nod, thinking of the worst parts of high school. But I like that I'm from Texas in as much as I am. People have an idea of Texas when you say that, that they don't have when you say, "I'm from Indiana," or "I'm from New Hampshire." Now, it's no Vermont, but it's good to have it on a resume.
Rounds a person out.
Too much
Last night was one of those moments when I realized I have bitten off more than I can chew. Again. Why do I always do this? Is this my own form of some kind of mental illness? I don't tend to be depressed or anxious or manic, but wow can I overplan. Things start going pretty well for us and suddenly I think "I can do that too."
And then it takes something like last night to bring me down to earth. Or leave me clinging to a branch I caught on my way down the cliffside, ala Wile E Coyote.
Leo woke up 4 times last night. And I lost it. I rarely wake Mike up in the middle of the night to help with the baby--we have a division of labor in this house and he gets up early and goes and functions in the adult world, while I nurse the baby at night and can always come home after dropping the girls off and snooze with the baby to catch up.
But you never really catch up, you know? The nap is interrupted by a phone call. Or you skip the nap because you have to mop the kitchen and this would be a perfect time.
Things have been going pretty well--the attic is electrified, girl scouts is well-planned, the house is clean (messy but clean--it would take a half hour of tidying to bring it back), the yard is making me happy, etc.
But oftentimes these things seem like a fragile eggshell covering over chaos. Absolute chaos brought on by sleep deprivation and iron deficiency and too many things on the schedule. And last night as I handed Leo to Mike and instantly fell asleep even as Leo screamed as he was removed from my arms, I knew it was not time to increase the workload here.
I hate May.
But this weekend I'm going to girl scout camp. Without Leo. You know it's bad when you look forward to going camping with a group of 4th and 3rd grade girls because you'll probably get more sleep. And, barring life-threatening thunderstorms Saturday night, I probably will.
Now, to take Maeve to Atrium. And go grocery shopping. During which, Leo will probably take a nap. Sigh.
And then it takes something like last night to bring me down to earth. Or leave me clinging to a branch I caught on my way down the cliffside, ala Wile E Coyote.
Leo woke up 4 times last night. And I lost it. I rarely wake Mike up in the middle of the night to help with the baby--we have a division of labor in this house and he gets up early and goes and functions in the adult world, while I nurse the baby at night and can always come home after dropping the girls off and snooze with the baby to catch up.
But you never really catch up, you know? The nap is interrupted by a phone call. Or you skip the nap because you have to mop the kitchen and this would be a perfect time.
Things have been going pretty well--the attic is electrified, girl scouts is well-planned, the house is clean (messy but clean--it would take a half hour of tidying to bring it back), the yard is making me happy, etc.
But oftentimes these things seem like a fragile eggshell covering over chaos. Absolute chaos brought on by sleep deprivation and iron deficiency and too many things on the schedule. And last night as I handed Leo to Mike and instantly fell asleep even as Leo screamed as he was removed from my arms, I knew it was not time to increase the workload here.
I hate May.
But this weekend I'm going to girl scout camp. Without Leo. You know it's bad when you look forward to going camping with a group of 4th and 3rd grade girls because you'll probably get more sleep. And, barring life-threatening thunderstorms Saturday night, I probably will.
Now, to take Maeve to Atrium. And go grocery shopping. During which, Leo will probably take a nap. Sigh.
Monday, May 10, 2010
10 Things That I'm Happy About Right Now
Ok, I'm having one of those days. And so I could write a 6 paragraph rant about baby poop and interpersonal mysteries and Mt. Laundry and credit card snafus, but instead I decided this was a better way. Ten Things that I'm Happy About. Right Now.
1. The yard is really nice for the first time, perhaps ever. I split up my daffodils. We dug a trench to fix the wet basement problem (the gutter dumped too close to the house--now it falls into a buried pipe that dumps out near the sidewalk). The vegetable garden is healthy and happy. Even the cucumbers are still alive. I have a strawberry or two, which isn't bad for the first year (and only two plants this year--I'm taking my time these days).
2. The kids' part of the yard is in good shape. New mulch under the swingset, the hammock is up, the porch is clean. We'll flip over the pool after Memorial Day. Promise.
3. The cats haven't peed in the bathroom since we fixed the litter box problem they disliked.
4. The basement is clean; I have a few things to go to a neighbor's yard sale and the rest has already been hauled away.
5. The attic has electricity. Whee!
6. I spent an hour on a playground with Maeve and Leo and didn't put it off.
7. I think I have summer worked out.
8. I have the girl scout camping weekend planned, permission slipped, and ready except for food (shopping to do) and drivers (trying not to worry yet)
9. I organized all our CDs (yes, we still have CDs) alphabetically and split them A-L and M-Z in two carrying cases.
10. I found my gift certificate to Knitorious (the local yarn shop) and have allowed myself to start considering what it might go for.
11. Oh, and when I visited my mom's house today, I saw both cats. Alive. Whew.
Ok, that helped. Perhaps a little caffeine will finish the job. And then it's over to Irish Dance Evening. Just found out Sophia's feis Memorial Day weekend is filling up. Sigh. A lot of them are unpaid entries--maybe they'll drop. Or maybe she's fixed her toes-out problem and it'll go well. Hmm. But can't borrow trouble from that; I have enough of my own right now.
1. The yard is really nice for the first time, perhaps ever. I split up my daffodils. We dug a trench to fix the wet basement problem (the gutter dumped too close to the house--now it falls into a buried pipe that dumps out near the sidewalk). The vegetable garden is healthy and happy. Even the cucumbers are still alive. I have a strawberry or two, which isn't bad for the first year (and only two plants this year--I'm taking my time these days).
2. The kids' part of the yard is in good shape. New mulch under the swingset, the hammock is up, the porch is clean. We'll flip over the pool after Memorial Day. Promise.
3. The cats haven't peed in the bathroom since we fixed the litter box problem they disliked.
4. The basement is clean; I have a few things to go to a neighbor's yard sale and the rest has already been hauled away.
5. The attic has electricity. Whee!
6. I spent an hour on a playground with Maeve and Leo and didn't put it off.
7. I think I have summer worked out.
8. I have the girl scout camping weekend planned, permission slipped, and ready except for food (shopping to do) and drivers (trying not to worry yet)
9. I organized all our CDs (yes, we still have CDs) alphabetically and split them A-L and M-Z in two carrying cases.
10. I found my gift certificate to Knitorious (the local yarn shop) and have allowed myself to start considering what it might go for.
11. Oh, and when I visited my mom's house today, I saw both cats. Alive. Whew.
Ok, that helped. Perhaps a little caffeine will finish the job. And then it's over to Irish Dance Evening. Just found out Sophia's feis Memorial Day weekend is filling up. Sigh. A lot of them are unpaid entries--maybe they'll drop. Or maybe she's fixed her toes-out problem and it'll go well. Hmm. But can't borrow trouble from that; I have enough of my own right now.
Wednesday, May 05, 2010
meme (my own internet problem)
I hate forwards. But I love memes. And actually, I don't hate forwards. I just hate that they substitute for actual communication. But I still love memes.
Gail, at Tales of Homeschool (in the St. Louis blogs, at right), and whose girls attend the same Irish Dance school mine do, put this one up on her blog recently and I was intrigued because they are a different sort of question than the usual. I don't know the person who originally posted but I'm a sucker for memes and so there you have it. There you have it. It's a question and answer meme and I'm eating a late lunch so I have a typing moment. Leo, of course, is snoozing away.
You see a small kid riding a bike in the street. No helmet. Does that bother you?
How small, and how much bike are we talking about here? If it's a 3 year old on a tricycle, then, no. A 7 year old on a two wheeler with hand brakes, yeah, it kinda does. And I guess the 3 year old on a tricycle in the street would bug me. Yeah. But my family was always that family: we wore seatbelts in the 70s. A symptom of having an ER nurse for a father.
Someone else read your newspaper before you did and mixed it all up and didn't fold it properly. How do you feel?
I don't get the paper, but I get irritated if someone else brings in the mail, so I think this would, too.
You're almost done with the laundry. You're on the last load, which happens to be a load of dark clothes. One of your kids brings in a bunch of white socks. Toss them in with the jeans or put them in the hamper to wash later?
What is this concept of "almost done with the laundry" I'm reading here? But yes, many things get pampered in my house but kids' white socks do not. Heck, I just pulled one of my bras out of a load of playclothes and jeans--and I'm the sort of gal (read: I'm topheavy to the max) that buys $80 bras.
You're out shopping with a relative or a friend. You brought a bottle of water, he did not. When you open it and drink some, he wants to have some, too. Do you hand him the bottle and not drink any more out of it yourself? Share it and drink after each other without a second thought?
Or?
I might look around for another container unless it was one of my kids or husband or sister. Immediate family, fine. Hmm. Of course, if Sophia was asked that question, the answer would be never, ever, nope, yuck, don't even suggest it.
You're out to dinner with a girlfriend and there's a very famous male celebrity seated just two tables over. What do you do, if anything?
I would lean over and say, "what is he doing in St. Louis?" because, well, I think that would be a valid question in any and all cases.
You just found out your 48 year old best friend is pregnant. (oops)
Do you tell her that you're really, really sorry or do you start celebrating immediately and try to make it seem like it's a good thing while inside you're saying 'I am so glad it's not me' ?
I think I would celebrate because she's already going to get all the pity she wants and more. I'd make her a baby quilt.
If you could plant your whole back yard with flowers, what kinds would you choose?
Bulbs. Bulbs and rhizomes. Things that come back and keep coming back. So, pretty much, daffodils and irises.
Do you like chocolate milk?
It is my beverage of choice. Oberweis makes a fine chocolate milk. Mmm. Chocolate milk is so common in our house that my kids call the other kind "white milk" instead of just "milk."
Are you afraid to shop or pay bills online?
I'm not, but maybe I should be. Not the pay bills, I'm fine with that. And for the most part, shopping has gone well. Except those two times with the debit card. Which, by the way, is totally resolved and fine now, but I still don't have a card to use online. Sigh. More on that later, except I'm tired of talking about it.
Are you a cat person? Why or why not?
Indeed I am. I like cats. And I'm not afraid to admit I don't like dogs. I don't like the way they smell or the scattered way they use the entire yard as a toilet. My cats don't smell at all, they like to sit on my lap, they use the litter box, they have nice personalities...I like them. I like them because Wiz, my first cat, loved me unconditionally. My first dog tore the laundry off the line and made my brother trip and cut his head open. You know? I just like cats.
Gail, at Tales of Homeschool (in the St. Louis blogs, at right), and whose girls attend the same Irish Dance school mine do, put this one up on her blog recently and I was intrigued because they are a different sort of question than the usual. I don't know the person who originally posted but I'm a sucker for memes and so there you have it. There you have it. It's a question and answer meme and I'm eating a late lunch so I have a typing moment. Leo, of course, is snoozing away.
You see a small kid riding a bike in the street. No helmet. Does that bother you?
How small, and how much bike are we talking about here? If it's a 3 year old on a tricycle, then, no. A 7 year old on a two wheeler with hand brakes, yeah, it kinda does. And I guess the 3 year old on a tricycle in the street would bug me. Yeah. But my family was always that family: we wore seatbelts in the 70s. A symptom of having an ER nurse for a father.
Someone else read your newspaper before you did and mixed it all up and didn't fold it properly. How do you feel?
I don't get the paper, but I get irritated if someone else brings in the mail, so I think this would, too.
You're almost done with the laundry. You're on the last load, which happens to be a load of dark clothes. One of your kids brings in a bunch of white socks. Toss them in with the jeans or put them in the hamper to wash later?
What is this concept of "almost done with the laundry" I'm reading here? But yes, many things get pampered in my house but kids' white socks do not. Heck, I just pulled one of my bras out of a load of playclothes and jeans--and I'm the sort of gal (read: I'm topheavy to the max) that buys $80 bras.
You're out shopping with a relative or a friend. You brought a bottle of water, he did not. When you open it and drink some, he wants to have some, too. Do you hand him the bottle and not drink any more out of it yourself? Share it and drink after each other without a second thought?
Or?
I might look around for another container unless it was one of my kids or husband or sister. Immediate family, fine. Hmm. Of course, if Sophia was asked that question, the answer would be never, ever, nope, yuck, don't even suggest it.
You're out to dinner with a girlfriend and there's a very famous male celebrity seated just two tables over. What do you do, if anything?
I would lean over and say, "what is he doing in St. Louis?" because, well, I think that would be a valid question in any and all cases.
You just found out your 48 year old best friend is pregnant. (oops)
Do you tell her that you're really, really sorry or do you start celebrating immediately and try to make it seem like it's a good thing while inside you're saying 'I am so glad it's not me' ?
I think I would celebrate because she's already going to get all the pity she wants and more. I'd make her a baby quilt.
If you could plant your whole back yard with flowers, what kinds would you choose?
Bulbs. Bulbs and rhizomes. Things that come back and keep coming back. So, pretty much, daffodils and irises.
Do you like chocolate milk?
It is my beverage of choice. Oberweis makes a fine chocolate milk. Mmm. Chocolate milk is so common in our house that my kids call the other kind "white milk" instead of just "milk."
Are you afraid to shop or pay bills online?
I'm not, but maybe I should be. Not the pay bills, I'm fine with that. And for the most part, shopping has gone well. Except those two times with the debit card. Which, by the way, is totally resolved and fine now, but I still don't have a card to use online. Sigh. More on that later, except I'm tired of talking about it.
Are you a cat person? Why or why not?
Indeed I am. I like cats. And I'm not afraid to admit I don't like dogs. I don't like the way they smell or the scattered way they use the entire yard as a toilet. My cats don't smell at all, they like to sit on my lap, they use the litter box, they have nice personalities...I like them. I like them because Wiz, my first cat, loved me unconditionally. My first dog tore the laundry off the line and made my brother trip and cut his head open. You know? I just like cats.
fwd
I don't mind forwarded emails all the time. Sometimes my mom or dad will send me pictures of cats or my mother-in-law forwards on a story about Sunday school (just as examples). These don't bug me. Because, see, in all those cases, I also get regular mail from them. And phone calls. Occasionally we share a meal. So forwarding something to me that might strike me as funny or worth reading is fine.
I have a cousin who only sends forwarded messages. We used to correspond in a more traditional sense--I used to send and receive updates about kids, houses, family. But about three years ago that stopped and was replaced with Fwd: FW: [FWD: note to all Moms on MOTHER'S DAY] and other such topics. I deleted them at first, and finally I just put a filter on that email address, the one that came with my ISP and I'm phasing out in favor of the gmail address I can check anywhere.
Then about 3 months ago her parents got internet service. They live in some Hillbilly town in Illinois, having escaped Overland for the country. They are folks I see at family gatherings--my parents' Christmas party; if I happen to be in town for Thanksgiving or Christmas; funerals; weddings; baptisms. I like them just fine. When I was growing up they were the relatives voted Most Likely To Be Visited when we were in town. My aunt is actually my dad's aunt but closer to him in age than to my grandmother. Their kids are older than me; one is married with two kids and living the modern day version of Scarlett O'Hara's vow to never go hungry again, and the other is living the charmed life of a personal style consultant in NYC. I like them all just fine.
But now they have teh interwebs.
Remember back when you first had internet access? Do you remember sending folks important sounding email hoaxes and urban legends? No, not you either? But you know what I'm talking about. I made the mistake of giving them my gmail address, the one I can check anywhere. And in a month, they have sent 50 messages to me. Things like:
FW: [Fwd: FW: Fw: Why Arizona passed SB 1070]
FW: [Fwd: FW: null] (they are all null)
FW: Very funny/when u thought all the good ideas were used!!!!
FW: [Fwd: Mature Lady Driver]
FW: [Fwd: Australia - Second Time he has done this]
FW: Please do this - I'd appreciate it
FW: THE LEGO CHURCH
FW: Please let me know you got this... (not likely)
FW: Let me know if you get this....this is neat (sigh)
FW: [Fwd: Fw: I very seldom forward things..but I HAD to forward this (obviously untrue)
FW: The U in Jesus, Beautiful
FW: COLORS
FW: [Fwd: Penny] (I opened this one; my grandmother's name is Penny. I was fooled)
FW: McDonalds - Beef - not a joke, but serious info! (actually, lies, and my dad's sister sent it back to everyone on the fwd list explaining what snopes.com was)
FW: [Fwd: FW: FORWARD THIS AS FAST AS YOU CAN]
FW: Jesus' Death - 60 Seconds to Understand
FW: To see if you read my mail (I don't)
FW: [Fwd: FW: 2 Chron. 7:14, A new format] (tempting....I did open it to see if I could get more mad than usual, and it was a link. To a site that has been removed)
FW: Painting of Christ
FW: Virus (ha ha ha ha ha!)
FW: [Fwd: FW: Police Department Info]
FW: I'm the 2% (of folks with internet access who don't understand hoaxes and urban legends)
FW: [Fwd: FW: How to wash strawberries (bugs in strawberries)]
FW: [Fwd: Fwd: Priceless!!]
And so. This afternoon I created my first gmail filter. No more mail from jlupo1962. I'm done.
I have a cousin who only sends forwarded messages. We used to correspond in a more traditional sense--I used to send and receive updates about kids, houses, family. But about three years ago that stopped and was replaced with Fwd: FW: [FWD: note to all Moms on MOTHER'S DAY] and other such topics. I deleted them at first, and finally I just put a filter on that email address, the one that came with my ISP and I'm phasing out in favor of the gmail address I can check anywhere.
Then about 3 months ago her parents got internet service. They live in some Hillbilly town in Illinois, having escaped Overland for the country. They are folks I see at family gatherings--my parents' Christmas party; if I happen to be in town for Thanksgiving or Christmas; funerals; weddings; baptisms. I like them just fine. When I was growing up they were the relatives voted Most Likely To Be Visited when we were in town. My aunt is actually my dad's aunt but closer to him in age than to my grandmother. Their kids are older than me; one is married with two kids and living the modern day version of Scarlett O'Hara's vow to never go hungry again, and the other is living the charmed life of a personal style consultant in NYC. I like them all just fine.
But now they have teh interwebs.
Remember back when you first had internet access? Do you remember sending folks important sounding email hoaxes and urban legends? No, not you either? But you know what I'm talking about. I made the mistake of giving them my gmail address, the one I can check anywhere. And in a month, they have sent 50 messages to me. Things like:
FW: [Fwd: FW: Fw: Why Arizona passed SB 1070]
FW: [Fwd: FW: null] (they are all null)
FW: Very funny/when u thought all the good ideas were used!!!!
FW: [Fwd: Mature Lady Driver]
FW: [Fwd: Australia - Second Time he has done this]
FW: Please do this - I'd appreciate it
FW: THE LEGO CHURCH
FW: Please let me know you got this... (not likely)
FW: Let me know if you get this....this is neat (sigh)
FW: [Fwd: Fw: I very seldom forward things..but I HAD to forward this (obviously untrue)
FW: The U in Jesus, Beautiful
FW: COLORS
FW: [Fwd: Penny] (I opened this one; my grandmother's name is Penny. I was fooled)
FW: McDonalds - Beef - not a joke, but serious info! (actually, lies, and my dad's sister sent it back to everyone on the fwd list explaining what snopes.com was)
FW: [Fwd: FW: FORWARD THIS AS FAST AS YOU CAN]
FW: Jesus' Death - 60 Seconds to Understand
FW: To see if you read my mail (I don't)
FW: [Fwd: FW: 2 Chron. 7:14, A new format] (tempting....I did open it to see if I could get more mad than usual, and it was a link. To a site that has been removed)
FW: Painting of Christ
FW: Virus (ha ha ha ha ha!)
FW: [Fwd: FW: Police Department Info]
FW: I'm the 2% (of folks with internet access who don't understand hoaxes and urban legends)
FW: [Fwd: FW: How to wash strawberries (bugs in strawberries)]
FW: [Fwd: Fwd: Priceless!!]
And so. This afternoon I created my first gmail filter. No more mail from jlupo1962. I'm done.
Monday, May 03, 2010
Archery Correspondence Course
Correspondence courses are great. But not really for hands-on tasks like, say, learning to shoot a bow and arrow.
No, I did not sign up for a correspondence archery course. But that's practically what I got.
See, I'm a Girl Scout. And I'm making it my aim to have the Girl Scouts train me in everything I can. Once I got through the punishing "Introduction to Girl Scouting" and other mickey-mouse courses that are mostly about filling out paperwork, I took Troop Camp B. The first part of this course was seatwork in a church basement, but the culmination was a great day at Camp Cedarledge learning everything I'd need for a basic trip to a Girl Scout Camp. Knots, fires, dishwashing, meal prep, knife sharpening. Great stuff. So, heartened by this experience, I signed up for Archery (and first aid, but it turned out my co-leader had it already so I skipped).
Archery. I last shot a recurve bow in high school in my PE class. I remember getting fairly decent at it after the first few days. It was fun and different and I wanted to be able to do that with my girls. This course was designed to teach me how to run a range, basically. How to set things up, inspect equipment, go through the basic steps with girls eager to shoot at things. Whistle calls, using a bow-stringer, learning how to be that leader who knows everything.
So I showed up at a park in North County, far away and out of my comfort zone, but I got there fine. And I walked onto the field and up to the table that was obviously sign in. The woman at the table never looked up. She was flipping through paperwork and didn't take note of me. Then a man walked up with his lawn chair and she immediately put her head up and told him to sign in and take a name tag. I was still invisible so I went ahead and followed his lead. As I was signing in, I realized the woman at the table was on oxygen, with the little tube under her nose.
Other people arrived and were treated like non-entities as well--the guy and I pointed out what they needed to do. Then the other trainer arrived. Also ancient, but more spry, at least. Together these two did the standard song and dance of reading aloud from the course book and interspersing this coma-inducing activity with stories about people none of us knew (but each time they asked: "Have you taken a course with Gillian Powers? No? None of you? Well, I guess that makes sense since she died 4 years ago. But when Gillian taught the Cook-Go-Round, she always...." Keep in mind this wasn't Cook-Go-Round, but Archery). Weather horror stories featured prominently.
Then suddenly she took out a bow-stringer and showed us, in one fast move, how to string a bow. And then had each of us do it. In high school, stringing a bow involved a complicated procedure involving your foot and shoulder and lots of hope and wincing. The bowstringer was pretty awesome in comparison. We got them strung and unstrung and strung again. And then, with no more coaching or information, we headed over to the range and lined up. She handed us the safety equipment--a wrist guard and a finger glove thingy. The glove seemed ingenious. The wrist guard puzzled me. I never used one in high school. Where did it go? With no more information, I put the wrist guard near my wrist.
Three thwips later, I realized the wrist guard needed to be further up my arm. And that I needed to turn just slightly. And that 20 years ago is a long time to try to recall how to shoot a bow without hurting yourself. And I got better and didn't draw any more blood. But still, as you can sort of see, it gave me a lovely bruise from my first attempts. The bruise is two days old in this photo, starting to fade, but still 6 inches long and two inches wide and ugly.
After I managed to hurt myself, the second trainer came over and pointed out what I'd done wrong. "Those little love nips'll get ya."
Love nips.
I hit paper each time after that, even getting quite close to the center. And I didn't thwip (or nip) against my arm again (at least, it didn't hurt). And now, just like cleaning an environmental toilet, I've done it and can show girls how NOT to.
There's going to come a day, however, when I break down and get trained to train.
No, I did not sign up for a correspondence archery course. But that's practically what I got.
See, I'm a Girl Scout. And I'm making it my aim to have the Girl Scouts train me in everything I can. Once I got through the punishing "Introduction to Girl Scouting" and other mickey-mouse courses that are mostly about filling out paperwork, I took Troop Camp B. The first part of this course was seatwork in a church basement, but the culmination was a great day at Camp Cedarledge learning everything I'd need for a basic trip to a Girl Scout Camp. Knots, fires, dishwashing, meal prep, knife sharpening. Great stuff. So, heartened by this experience, I signed up for Archery (and first aid, but it turned out my co-leader had it already so I skipped).
Archery. I last shot a recurve bow in high school in my PE class. I remember getting fairly decent at it after the first few days. It was fun and different and I wanted to be able to do that with my girls. This course was designed to teach me how to run a range, basically. How to set things up, inspect equipment, go through the basic steps with girls eager to shoot at things. Whistle calls, using a bow-stringer, learning how to be that leader who knows everything.
So I showed up at a park in North County, far away and out of my comfort zone, but I got there fine. And I walked onto the field and up to the table that was obviously sign in. The woman at the table never looked up. She was flipping through paperwork and didn't take note of me. Then a man walked up with his lawn chair and she immediately put her head up and told him to sign in and take a name tag. I was still invisible so I went ahead and followed his lead. As I was signing in, I realized the woman at the table was on oxygen, with the little tube under her nose.
Other people arrived and were treated like non-entities as well--the guy and I pointed out what they needed to do. Then the other trainer arrived. Also ancient, but more spry, at least. Together these two did the standard song and dance of reading aloud from the course book and interspersing this coma-inducing activity with stories about people none of us knew (but each time they asked: "Have you taken a course with Gillian Powers? No? None of you? Well, I guess that makes sense since she died 4 years ago. But when Gillian taught the Cook-Go-Round, she always...." Keep in mind this wasn't Cook-Go-Round, but Archery). Weather horror stories featured prominently.
Then suddenly she took out a bow-stringer and showed us, in one fast move, how to string a bow. And then had each of us do it. In high school, stringing a bow involved a complicated procedure involving your foot and shoulder and lots of hope and wincing. The bowstringer was pretty awesome in comparison. We got them strung and unstrung and strung again. And then, with no more coaching or information, we headed over to the range and lined up. She handed us the safety equipment--a wrist guard and a finger glove thingy. The glove seemed ingenious. The wrist guard puzzled me. I never used one in high school. Where did it go? With no more information, I put the wrist guard near my wrist.
Three thwips later, I realized the wrist guard needed to be further up my arm. And that I needed to turn just slightly. And that 20 years ago is a long time to try to recall how to shoot a bow without hurting yourself. And I got better and didn't draw any more blood. But still, as you can sort of see, it gave me a lovely bruise from my first attempts. The bruise is two days old in this photo, starting to fade, but still 6 inches long and two inches wide and ugly.After I managed to hurt myself, the second trainer came over and pointed out what I'd done wrong. "Those little love nips'll get ya."
Love nips.
I hit paper each time after that, even getting quite close to the center. And I didn't thwip (or nip) against my arm again (at least, it didn't hurt). And now, just like cleaning an environmental toilet, I've done it and can show girls how NOT to.
There's going to come a day, however, when I break down and get trained to train.
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