Aim High

En route to swimming lessons we drive through an area of town that may have the most intersections and stoplights within one square mile of the city. Invariably there are a lot of cars lined up in every direction. Other than the fact that all of these streets converge in a confusing manner, it's a prime location for people carrying cardboard signs, looking for a little help in tough times.

Yesterday was swimming lesson day. We pulled behind three other cars, stopped and waited for the light to turn green. I noticed a man seated, with a sign, on the right hand side of the intersection. Life had folded his skin rather than creased it. His limbs were long and strong. Dead eyes looked down and around heavy lids, barely up and over the sign he held in his lap. His appearance moved me. I found him courageous.

Nate sits on the right side of the car, and was staring in the direction of the man. This seemed a better time to discuss homelessness than the opportunity we had a few days ago on the Ventura Pier with the batshit crazy drunken loon of a woman lunging toward us screaming, "Hey, where'd you get that kid?? I need to get me one of those!" I'm quite a bit less compassionate when the crazy is unpredictable, scary, and forty feet above waves crashing on rocks...

The light changed and I asked Nate, "What do you think of that guy?"

"I think I can't read his sign."

We traveled passed the man and through the intersection.

"Mom, how does he think he's going to get any money if we can't read his sign? All I can see is 'Need', plus it's all bent up and he's not even pointing it in the right direction."

Hmmm, sorry I asked. A wise woman would ferme la bouche..."It looks like maybe he's had a hard life."

"No, I think he just wants our money."

"Maybe he's having a tough time right now and could use some help."

"No, he looks fine to me; you don't have to worry about him Mom, it's just a jip."

"A what?"

"A jip. He's just trying to jip everyone out of their money so he doesn't have to get a job and actually earn money. He just takes everyone elses."

"I see." Thankfully we were almost to the pool, but not soon enough.

"Mom, the problem with that is that when I get older I think that I may not be very healthy and then no one will give me any money when I ask for it because those guys who actually should get a job are taking all the money and tricking everyone when actually, I will be the one needing the money."

Two And A Half Men (and one wild pup)

We celebrated our Leo birthdays with Grayson at The Lake this year.


It's become a regular spot.


The boys rented a boat, while Cooper and I hiked, we all picnicked.


They allowed me a few pics, and then they were done with me.


It was a fun afternoon with all my boys together.

Really?

One of the great things about being mom to my kid is all the great conversations we have. I admit, there are more conversations than I prefer at times. Actually, it's probably that certain conversations simply go on too long. I have not mastered the art of ending them gracefully, that's for sure. I may have even stopped trying. In diplomacy, there is always wiggle room for your opposition to get back in the game. I hope I'm not damaging my son by telling him directly, 'I am not discussing the inner workings of the (DMV)anymore, ever again, period.' Frankly, I think I need to tell him sooner in the process, because sometimes, that's exactly what it is...a long, long process. Also, I must learn to ignore him, they say choosing your battles in marriage and child rearing is key, and I believe it. Letting the battles go is tough though, particularly when all your buttons are being hammered on at once.

I went to a parenting class a few years ago and one of the group exercises was for each person to anonymously write down one of his or her particular parenting challenges and toss it into a hat. Each group then picked problems out of the hat and attempted to give unbiased constructive feedback toward solutions. Generally, a fine idea and lots of great ideas were exchanged. I did not express my challenge adequately. The solution I got to my incessant talker and foolish self imposed requirement to engage fully and answer every thought and whim every time, in every conversation was, ready for this? to give said child my undivided attention, look him in the eye, and tell him, "I care about what you have to say, and I'm willing to listen for 4.5 minutes, then I'm going to make dinner." Really? Was there some slight of hand in there that I completely missed? Does the 4.5 minute bit activate an off switch that nobody told me about? 4.5 minutes is not a problem. 4.5 hours, days or weeks is a problem, depending on the subject matter. Maybe I am a selfish and terrible mother for seeking ways to hush my child's voice, his inquisitive and bright mind, his very curiosity.


Really, I am most interested, dedicated even, to facilitating his interests, helping him find his passion, his expression. With that in mind, we may need to rework the last of the summer hit list. Do they offer summer camp or tours of the post office, DMV, or EDCO?

Drop off tours that is.

"Workin' for a Livin'"

The late afternoon sun was streaming in, glowing past the sheers fluttering in the breeze. Nate was in the bathtub rinsing the sand and chlorine from his afternoon at surf camp followed by his swimming lesson at our local Boys and Girls Club. I scurried around rinsing and hanging swimming gear, trying to get dinner on the table and meeting the needs of our lonely puppy.

Before long, I heard the water draining from the tub...I took Cooper out to the front yard and when we returned Nate appeared on the steps looking down at me. He was still wet from the bath, wrapped in a fluffy white towel. His skin pink from the afternoon at the beach and eyes that shone from fatigue and tears.

"Mom?"

"Yeah? Are you okay?"

"Mom, it's time."

Oddly, I felt like he was a pregnant wife, needing to get to the hospital. "Time? Time for what?"

"It's time for me to go."

"Go where?"

"Mom, I'm going to miss you every day." Tears rolled.

By this point, I was thoroughly confused, feeling trapped in a melodrama in which one of us was surely doomed. "How about we get you dressed and talk about this some more in your room?" More tears, quiet streaming tears from brilliant blue shining eyes. Tired eyes.

"Mom, it's just time for me to go. I've supported you long enough. It's time for me to move on."

"Oh my, that sounds rough. How is it that you've supported me?"

"You know, growing potatoes and corn for our family, I just can't do it anymore." (It's true, he is getting quite a harvest this year, eight potatoes and 3 ears of corn; grown from an old potato and a bag of microwave popcorn no less.)

"That is hard work. How about Dad and I take care of supporting us from now on and you stick around a while longer?"

"No, I have to go. Now I have to say goodbye to Dad and Cooper." More tears and some wailing...Instead of exiting his room for goodbyes, he shut his door. "August 28 is when I have to leave."

"I'm glad you'll be here for Dad's birthday and our trip to Ventura. Where do you suppose you will go after that?"

He looked at his great big map on the wall and pointed purposefully to Australia, Perth, to be exact. "Wow, that's a long way, how will you get there?"

"Fly. I just have to go, I've supported you too long, I have to go find a job I actually like." (Uh, oh...)

"I was hoping you'd stay with us another 10-12 years, I'm not really done taking care of you and I would miss you very much. Besides, how are you going to afford to fly to Australia, and then where will you live?"

He commenced to pacing around the room, "Mom, that's why I can't leave till August 28, I have to do chores for you to earn money for the plane. Also, a lemonade stand, that should be enough."

"I see, that's an awful lot of chores and lemonade, but it's good to have a plan. Where will you live once you get there? How will you earn money to pay for your life?"

"I will live on a farm and grow vegetables."

"Hmmmm...You do know that Jarrah will be home from Australia by August 28th don't you? How about you just stay here for another ten years?"

"Okay, I will just go to Oregon then, and I will walk there on August 28. I can't stay here any longer, it's just time Mom. And Mom, promise you won't ever move, so I can write you letters every day." More tears and dramatic throwing of himself into my lap. Incidentally, this kind of drama worked better when he was less than fifty pounds.

Shaun came in the room, wondering what all the emoting was about. Nate insisted that I explain, and while I did, he got up from my lap and circled the room, preparing for Shaun's response. I also feared what it might be, not because I don't trust him, but because my own childhood was rearing up. I distinctly remember feeling quite stuck in my own threats of running away as a small child. My mom responded by (eventually?) packing up my flowered suitcase and depositing me on the front stoop. I remember thinking, 'Well, now I really have to go...and where is it I can go?'

Anyway, back to this decade, Shaun's first response was how much he would miss him and then he got into the details of his plan. Travel arrangements, luggage, employment and the like.


Eventually, Shaun said good night and I laid down next to our six year old little supporter. "Guess what?" I asked. "You are not going anywhere without me for a good long time. Daddy and I will support our family and you will live with us till you are all grown up and go off to college, that's it, end of story."

"Mom, can I stay here after, when I'm in college too?"

"Boo"

This is a common response to my requests lately.


I prefer it to the flat out "no"s that seem to be the alternative.

Freedom and a Wet Blanket

"The love of one's country is a splendid thing. But why should love stop at the border?"
~Pablo Casals


"It's sad that people had to die just so they couldn't boss us around anymore."
~Nate, age 6

I'm pretty sure I am ill equipped to cover the history discussions in this house any further. I hate that my child is grown up enough to know that war exists and that war equals death. The good news is that I am far more upset by the whole thing than he is. It reminds me of the time a few years ago when he was in preschool and told me the story of proclaiming his love to a little girl in his class, only to have her bash him in the head with her lunchbox. I was crushed. My attempts to quell what I assumed was his broken heart, were met with stoicism, "Actually, Mom, she just hates me."

Clearly, I learn much more slowly than he does.

Remember

Seven years ago, Nate was conceived, in glass, Memorial Day. Not exactly a romantic tale, though someday I think I might embrace it as such, just maybe. It's that type of articulation that makes Shaun slightly crazy, or makes him think I am.

This Memorial Day, I thought of that and also my father's words about the children of today. About how they are learning to be kind and green and oh so politically correct; but are they learning loyalty, honor and love of country?

I think they can learn all of those things, but some take a little more time to manifest. My six year old can argue with me till the cows come home about how he must unplug my computer and let it run on battery, because otherwise the polar bears will surely be extinct by next week. But, I'm not sure he gets it when the occasional tear escapes my eye during most any rendition of our national anthem.


Every Memorial Day, one of the more industrious real estate agents in our area stakes medium sized plastic American flags throughout the neighborhood in the corner of every yard where the driveway meets the sidewalk. Nate checked and rechecked who exactly celebrates Memorial Day, actually he checked and rechecked exactly what countries don't recognize it, which made for an extraordinarily long day. When he was satisfied, he modified the multi-flag flagpole he made last year to include only the appropriate entities, and then stuck it in the front yard to accompany the other. The child can't remember to put his bike in the garage when he's done with it, but was most diligent about bringing his flag in each evening to protect it from ruin in the dew of the night.

We were walking Cooper and discussing the meaning of the day along with many of the freedoms we enjoy as the result of other people's dedication, their ultimate sacrifice, when Nate announced that he was glad not to be celebrating Grandpa on this holiday. Sentimental and smart, just like his Papa.

Later, he secured several precarious flags in miscellaneous yards and I lectured him on the perils of running into the street. Nonchalantly, he joined me back on the sidewalk and said "Well, if I get smooshed, there could be a holiday called 'Nathaniel Day'.

Funny too, both of 'em.