Hands Full of Rocks

Remembering to notice the fun

We had another adventure last weekend. Went to DC, to the National Gallery of Art, to see the Royal Armor exhibit.

It takes us 2+ hours to get to DC. 2+ hours back. We spend about 2 hours in the museum.

Sometimes the calculus of fun seems off. I measure time against the fun and go... wait, four hours of transit for this?

This, though, is fun. That's what it is about, no? My friend A is gently bringing me back to that whenever I talk to him. It isn't about the hours spent, or the details of what happened when. If I start going into the details I will get to the fun of it, eventually, too. My siblings 'get it' in the sense that if I go off on how my kids geeked on the Greek statues (who knew that my kids even knew how to say Calliope properly, let alone knew what her child's name was), they'll laugh and light up and know why I light up, too.

But I don't always tie it in. I end up stuck in the details, sometimes. Listing what happened, when, how long it took, where we went, like a statistical data dump. Boring? Nah. Or, uh, well, maybe? (wince) Certainly not real, not meaningful, no 'me' and no 'them' in the description. And without that, the trip redefines itself into less fun.

So, I'm working on remembering (and noticing, so I can remember) the fun. Nobody has asked me to (not even A, except with his conversational re-direction), but I think it's useful, now that I have noticed that I sometimes forget to catalog the fun, the joy, the laughter, the pleasure, the peace, the glee, the satisfaction, all the stuff that shows the fun. I sometimes just catalog the event, not the experience.

Cataloging the full experience is so much more ... well, more. I can't escape the tendency to catalog, I was born with that. I'll leave that there, as suppressing that would probably make my brain pop.

Anyway... the trip. First was Mr B's final pony-pal riding lesson - next session he's going to be with the big kids (8 and ups), in group lessons. Rainy and chilly, a good Boston November day... or maybe January day. Only we're not in Boston. I felt my inner wince as the shoulder injury from when Mr B fell down the stairs at Baba's manifested in an off-center and off-cadence posting effort. It took the full lesson to settle in with his horse, but then there was the satisfaction of getting her to pick up the canter and stay with it toward the end. I hope his shoulder gets better soon - it is a muscle injury, but it still bothers him a bit. Maybe shouldn't have done the riding at all... though he's using it in play. Muscle strength takes a while to come back after an injury. And then joy and shining eyes, showing big brother G the hawk that had taken shelter in the riding barn.

Long drive down, companionable silences and excited chatter from the back. Ep and I talking out 'stuff' that we're dealing with, remembering us, trying to tune a little to each other before we let go of our own needs and focus on the kids, letting them see what they want to see without setting up conflicts. The trip, after all, is for them. If we enjoy it, great, but it isn't about us enjoying it. And actually, we tend to enjoy these things more if we have ourselves tuned to the larger purpose and goal. Goal? Mr G and Mr B get to see the armor.

And then to the metro station. Gleeful stomping in rain. Shy-but-flattered glance up at the gentleman complimenting Miss M's colorful combination of attire (pink polkadot rain boots, flowered pink-and-orange pants, blue and green dress, purple coat, turquoise and navy umbrella). Affectionate and loving hand-holding as we walked, not just the mechanical 'I must hold hands for safety' but 'I want to hold hands with you'. Consideration and satisfaction as the youngest asked to be the ones to put the metro passes in the slots, and take them out, and hand them back to us. Wondering and wonderful and pretty funny oogling out the metro windows, with excited shouting out of things we passed, so delighted by just the Metro ride itself. Serious observation and practice of the skills for riding the escalator.

Lunch with Aunt L and a friend of hers. Relaxing into the tangle of requests and needs, desire and resistance, preference and decision changes that make up our kids deciding on what they want of what they can eat here. Fries, burgers (no bun, no 'stuff'), bacon, grilled chicken, pizza for the one who can have that, order up! The zen of feeding children - no specific emotions most of the time, just waiting, tending, offering, waiting some more. Miss R wanted something else, but waited out, she chose what was available without a struggle or a fight.

Then back into the rain.

Curiosity (why do they... oh!) and pride in counting the numbers for crossing the roads (the count-down to the light change), hurrying with hands held through the rain. The rich and satisfying warmth of the kids watching out for each other, in series or in combination - one checking on another, then another checking on someone else, making sure they're all together, making sure everyone is okay, helping with this, trading on helping with that, around and around, just barely at the noticeable level. I'm so used to them loving each other, genuinely and openly, that I forget sometimes how much that is part of how they act. Granted, they fight, too, but the excitement created few fights and more tending, lots of problem-solving with only a little coaching.

In the museum, the satisfaction of noticing (while we stand and wait for ep to get the coats to the coat check) that there are fossils in the marble floor (or whatever stone it is), spotting them here and there, look, another! Satisfaction again, watching ep coach Mr B thruogh figuring out where we are going, look at the map, find the gallery we want, and setting them off to wayfind. The easy touchdown of checking to see who is taking point, and who is sweep (I was sweep). And oh, the sculpture. No time to study it, absorb or take it in, but still time to see the girls' awe and wonder, and the boys' delight and assessment of what kinds they like best (busts don't interest them much, full body statues do). 

Ourtide the exhibit, the chance to try on armor, gauntlets and helm, heavy and dangerous-looking. Fully engaged set of kids, touching the things they can touch, looking through the books, asking questions. And a lot of time looking at the mural of battle scenes, spotting different items with shouts of excitement, look over here! Not too much for the museum, volume-wise, and enough engagement to make other people smile.

And then the armor, Mr G nearly nose-pressed against the glass, drawn in to the metalwork, soaking it up, soul-satisfied in the presence of skill and mastery of the art. Mr B and I spent more time together, looking at the horse armor, observing how you could see the shape of the horse it was made for, how broad the chest, and Mr B's gleeful grasping of the concept, pointing out how the eye of the horse statue they'd put it on for the exhibit was not in the same place as the eye of the horse it was made for, see, look, there! Imagining what the horse would sound like when it trotted, metal chiming and jingling. Picturing how strong the horse must have been, and what it would have been like to ride it. Shining eyes and glowing face on that, wonderful wonderful. Then back to the people armor, looking at color and pattern, comparing the real thing to the version in the portraits associated... minds clicking along, satisfaction and surprise and questions and curiosity.

And oh, the quizzing of each other on which statue was which deity, sharp satisfaction in knowing the answer, knowing more than mom does, being able to explain why and how, what clues and what signs were present. Watching Mr G teach Mr B how to identify Bacchus, and Hermes, his pride in his knowledge but also pride in teaching well, sharing the knowledge.

Some grumpies as the day went on, but mostly from MIss R, who was already grumpy (we think she's in a growth spurt again). Some problem-solving as we figured out how to manage the desired gift shop purchases (birthdays coming up), and how to do that without it being too much to do (sequential trips). Then the too-tight hustle and rush as we got everyone back through the bathrooms and back out into the rain and back to the metro and ... pause on the metro, dancing and laughing, working on the safety issues constantly but still letting the girls spin around the poles a little, just because.

And home again home again, boys chattering and playing in the back, girls first pensive and then asleep. Ep falling asleep with his fingertips resting on my leg companionably while I drove. Satisfaction.

A good day. A worthy adventure. Worth remembering not just what we did, but how it went.

Random Milling

This is the new nickname for our family.

Mr G came up with it last night, as the title of a tv show about us.

I laughed until I almost peed myself. Because he said it, with dry humor, in the midst of:

a) ep coming home late from work because his train was delayed (he had walked in the door, kids flung themselves at his knees for hugs - yeah, he's tall).

b) kids trying to get their ice cream for dessert (since we're all Montessori-at-home-ish, they each got out a utensil, requested the ice-cream bowls that have not yet made it down to their reach range, got out their own ice cream from the freezer, and were setting up step-stools at the counter/stove area for self-serving in tandem - and have I mentioned that we have one of those narrow shotgun kitchens designed by an architect who clearly had never set foot in a kitchen - even after we gutted it and rearranged it as best we could, it still sucks for more than one person at a time, and there were SIX people in there).

c) me trying to clear up dinner.

d) ep also trying to get to his dinner.

Yeah, Random Milling was about right. Plus the noise... wow.

Making it funny was the best possible thing, since I was about to drown under it all. I went and ate my ice cream on the sofa, by myself, though. Phew. Breathing room.

Funny, how the self-knowledge helps. And funny how the lack of it has hindered me. I had figured I was way more introverted than I used to be - actually, for years, ep has been half-apologizing to me for turning me into an introvert - but I hadn't really accepted it. Accepting it has made a series of lightbulbs go off for me.

This is why I hate being a stay-at-home mom. Kids on me nonstop, all day, no peace, and the only way to get them to stop is to go out - er. Whee?

This is why I go nuts when things get noisy.

This is why I am prone to the sudden outbursts of AAARRRGGGHHH! - okay, being a Thinker instead of a Feeler plays into that (my feelings come out of nowhere all extroverty). I also have sudden outbursts of LOOOOOOVVVVVVVE, too - out of nowhere I have to go hug someone. It probably makes no sense to them at all. Funny, one of the things I hear a lot in response to my affection is 'where did that come from?' (wince)

It has been much easier to be more affectionate openly now that I'm paying attention to how I show my affection, too. I just assumed it showed more, and that my mom's comment that I'm the least demonstrative of her kids (affection-wise) was an anomaly to do with our relationship.

Huh. Maybe not.

I know I am better at affection with my kids (and ep), say it more, touch more, etc., because they've taught me that they need that. But it still had hitches, hiccups, and tight spots. It's easier now that I can see with the perspective inward that I'd been missing. And it's nice, too. I can find ways to make it work better for me, and them, too. Effective starts coming in better on this one, now that I have a little insight into my own function.

Anyway, that's us. Random Milling.

Only, please, no reality shows about our life. :shudder: Even if the title is pretty darn hilarious.

Fall means charity

So, around here (that is, in our family), autumn is charity time.

I don't know how much it is a reflection of culture (harvest is in!), or logistics (ack! Have to get the charitable contributions in for taxes!), or other stuff, but fall seems to be our biggest chunk of attention to the charitable work.

Sunday I was part of the UU Fellowship service, talking about practicing our principles. The principles of being present, being in community, and taking action, in combination are a big part of what it means to be a UU. They're also a big part of our family process, on both sides (after all, those values are common to many other religions, such as the Quakers, being the other side of the family).

So Baba and I got up in church and talked about how we do this. How do we get the kids involved, how do we make it light them up?

How did we get kids to choose to do extra chores to pay for their public-radio membership?

How did we get kids out in the dirt, digging up history or planting trees?

How do we get them to send money to a girl's school in Afghanistan, or donate to Doctors Without Borders?

How do we get them to get excited about donating food to the food bank?

How do we get them involved in the research project for (hopefully) inoculating amphibians against the fungus that is killing them around the world?

We only had two minutes to talk, so I tried to make it short - but that meant we didn't really get to explain HOW in detail. More 'what' than 'how'.

A little on the how, though - like staying aware and open for the possibilities. Listen for the question that you can let them answer from their values. Like for public radio, explaining what a pledge drive is, but not asking them too much, or telling them, or lecturing, or bossing - just discussing, and asking what they think. Funny how they will come up with the idea that if they're listening, maybe they should support it, too. My kids are therefore the youngest contributors to the public radio classical music station they've ever had.

In coffee hour after the service, though, we got more questions. HOW do we do this? How do we get kids to want to help?

Following the kids is the core of it, for us. We don't make them do it, even if we set them up to do it. If I'm going to donate food to the food bank, I plan it to have the kids available to come along. But that's the cheap-ass version of the process. The deeper level is watching for what upsets them, and finding a way to answer that anger or hurt or fear or sorrow.

So, when my mom's house addition meant that some beloved trees were going to be taken down, my mom didn't just assuage their sorrow or tell them to deal or otherwise just answer that part of the problem, she promptly contacted the Nature Conservancy and asked if there were any tree-planting events going on that needed volunteers. So the kids in honor of the trees lost went and planted trees in a place where those trees had been lost long ago - and would now get to grow back in a protected and safe place.

It answered the pain with action.

And there's also the chance to follow someone else's passion that isn't mom-and-dad's. Like, my sister - aunts and uncles and friends are part of this. My sister has many passions, and is an expert on charities (it's part of her job). She found the amphibian research project that needed a push - they really needed to hire a grant writer, and she talked to them about funding that. And the kids donated specifically to that. She's also into the non-profit archaeology group that we dig with - she set that up, and got us psyched, got us started, and ... well, the kids got to light up on someone else's cool.

And then we celebrate that - the events are documented with more care than we give birthdays and holidays. Certificates of thanks are framed and put on their bedroom wall (at Baba's house, where there is more wall space, but where they see what they've done often). We talk about it with others, in front of them, show the pride we have in their willingness to help. We embed it in conversation with them, as well.

The opportunities are endless. We choose differently each year, but the point is to choose. Start, find something that lights them up. Whether it is a 'do-good' thing (Doctors Without Borders) or a 'fight for change in the world' thing (a girl's school in Afghanistan) or an arts thing (volunteering at the Art Museum) - it doesn't matter.

Starting matters. Practicing being aware of the community matters. Being open to the opportunity to create change matters. Doing it as a family matters. We do it all year long, but the peak is really in the fall, when we gather as a family-extended, and think about gratitude as part of Thanksgiving, and send our gratitude back out into the communities in which we see ourselves - local, regional, global. 

Christmas is so commercialized at this point, it is hard to fight back without undercutting the fun. 'Tis the season becomes too complicated, fraught, confusing.

For us, this is the season of giving.

Digging in the dirt

My kids have a passion for discovery (family trait, really). If they don't end up researchers and scientists, it won't be for lack of experience!

Saturday, my mom (Baba) took them on another of her 'enchantment' adventures.

For those who don't recall, after my mom and I had a little (er, huge) spat about where the parental boundaries were, we figured out some issues around roles and tasks, and I asked her to perform one very important task for us and our kids - provide them with enchantment. Make the world magical. I'm going to have to do decorum and education and health and all the boring stuff, and I don't want them to miss out on joy and wonder - I can do that, love doing that, but I will not get to have that be the only, core goal. I want it to be a big one, so delegating... well, it solved a lot of issues. Baba now has a place to put all her love and energy, and I have a lighter load. Plus I knew she'd rock at that.

Now, some of that 'enchantment' is mythology and fairies. But a lot of it is science, and some of it is social awareness, and some is history... whatever, she brings it from an angle guaranteed to enchant. Brilliant at it, actually. She finds ways to elicit the passion, delight, child-like glee, joy, wonder, however you want to describe it, with almost any topic. I don't know if she's tried math yet... but physics, chemistry, astronomy, biology, sociology... yep, yep, yep, and yep.

So.

For my Brother-in-Law's birthday, Baba gave him a chance to share his great passion (Geology) with his nephews and niece (the elder grandkids).

They went off to a spot he knows where the fossils just lie around on the ground waiting to be picked up, especially after a good hard rain. A little digging doesn't hurt, but it actually isn't necessary. They're not valuable fossils (mainly squid parts and some shells), but they're real. And many. And oh, real is so fabulous. And many makes the reward constant.

Real is here, and now, and past all in one. Real is shocking in its ability to make us feel the flow of time.

Finding them yourself is so much real, it makes the kids vibrate. I know there are kids who are not into this kind of thing, but I just can't picture them at all. Even Miss R, who is much more socially oriented is still very much into what could be found in the dirt. See her at the archaeology dig, for example, thrilled to have found a bit of ancient coal - even though she really doesn't understand how old is old...

I expected Mr G to be into it. And Miss L, his cousin, also. She has a fire in her mind that lights up like a blowtorch on stuff like this.

But Mr B is the one whose response charmed me most. And fascinated me.

Mr B took the time to go off with Uncle S, and sit down and learn how to look, what to look for, how to see the colors in the dirt that indicate 'this was a layer of sand' and 'this wasn't'. How to find where the best chance of fossil might be, to know and understand the layering of the earth, and let that tell him where the joy would be.

He told me later about how the rain moved the fossils over the terrain, and where that meant they would be found. And how the different soil types washed away, and what that looked like.

Joy and joy and joy, finding fossils. Not even just the easy 'laying around on the ground' version, but oh, the seeking, following their signs and cues, trying, and finding.

What an amazing way to spend an overcast September afternoon for an almost-8-year-old!

It's like archaeology, only faster. He loves that, too. He loves going to the dig, finding something, uncovering it, using his capacity for care and attending combined with his passion and openness to what comes - or does not come. Working on a team with essentially complete strangers (a friend or relative doesn't hurt, either), creating a unit working toward a common discovery. That's him all over.

And now he also has a grasp of one real-world application of geology. It's about getting down in the dirt, learning to look - or maybe learning to see. There's an intimacy there, a relationship between him and the earth, almost a conversation.

"Enchantment" definitely qualifies. What else would you call learning to hear the Earth whisper its secrets about the past?

More things take root

For years, Mr G has been periodically something of a pessimist - a little cautious, a little anxious, a little wary. Not a lot, but a little, and not always, but regularly.

I think natively, he's more of an optimist (he was as a little child), but he also is enough of an odd duck that he has developed some caution. And then maybe too much caution, for a while. At school, he had a series of conflicts that left him feeling a bit iffy last year, like he didn't have skills and he didn't have ability. He started stringing those together into a series of unfortunate events, and that made everything bad.

So we talked (because we're lecture-y like that), and talked. I proposed the research-based perspective that optimists get more good events in life in part because they are always on the watch for the good thing, they know it is coming but don't know from where, or when. Eyes open, watching, waiting, and see, there! and there, again! Research shows that it isn't that life is so different for optimists and pessimists, but that pessimists miss opportunities because they are not seeking them with quite the same constancy that optimists do.

That was last year. Lecture over, I left it alone. Mostly. But over the summer, ignored it, let other things be important.

And then today, ep tells me that Mr G is loving school, loving it loving it loving it. When he was asked for more information about what/how/why, Mr G said, "I decided that every day was going to be good."

Elaborating, he clarified that he had made the choice to see every day as promising good things, and so he is finding he is always noticing the good things that happen. He's learning stuff, he's doing well on tests, he has adventures and talks to friends and discovers something new. Every day is amazing.

And he's also aware that this was a choice. He chose to look for the good. And see, there it is!

Damn, if only I'd known before I was 12 that happiness could be a choice. Heck, before 20.

I didn't learn to be an optimist until late high school, and even then it wasn't something I thought was a choice. It coincided (probably not incidentally) with me growing 6 inches in one year (4 in the summer), and suddenly being taller than my peers. My confidence shot up with my height, and I went from being fairly introverted and shy (both) to being rather a lot bold. The bold I think is what confused the issue on Introvert vs. Extravert - certainly I was way more out there, and that's when I started being a lot more, er, friendly (dating a lot more, that is). And those successes rolled into a sense of being successful, and attractive, and powerful, and probably arrogant and annoying, too.

So here I am, now. I still choose to be happy, to see the opportunities, to look for the chances. It takes effort some days, but that's okay - it is a choice I'm willing to make.

And so is Mr G.

Last two adventures (ha ha ha)

Like there will ever be no more adventures... seriously. Every day is another one.

But the last two scheduled adventures are concluded.

Mr B's choice was going to a local town that is on a working canal. You get to watch the boats go by, play in the wake at the shore (in one teeny little spot, anyway), and while the town is small (like, three streets by three streets), it is charming. And there's shopping.

I notice more when the boys want to go shopping, probably because it is counter to the cultural expectations. The girls also want to buy souvenirs, so it isn't like they're not shopping, too. So, the boys wanted to see swords, and boats. And the girls wanted to see sharks, and baseball. And everyone wants to bring home something about the place they went.

As you may have guessed, the other adventure (Miss R's) was a baseball game. Our team lost, but at least there was a little excitement before the game was over (other than wincing when the guy a few seats over kept standing up and yelling at the ump, the first base coach, the outfielders, our team, their team, the kid who caught two foul balls, you name it... the kid was good natured about it, I think they had an ongoing thing, both seemed like season pass holders).

Miss R definitely liked the game. What surprised me a bit was how much Miss M liked it. She had a glove on and was waiting for any foul ball that might come her way (there were many - MInor League, and we were right over the dugout, nice seats - somewhat dangerous, gotta watch the ball, but nice).

The boys tolerated the game, with good grace most of the time. Not sportos, those two. The girls are more likely to want to do sport-sports, soccer or something. Mr B, maybe, possibly. But Miss M and Miss R, definitely.

Okay, so the girls also want to do a bunch of other things. And we're not really sports-oriented, much. Fencing counts, and riding ... well, riding is more of an activity than a sport, since we don't do competitions except for fun.

So now, the adventures for the summer are done. Everyone has had their turn (except us, I suppose, though I did get that extra day off myself). My dad's health is improving, and we're heading smack into school - supplies purchased, schedules adjusted (er, sorta - the bus time for Mr G is going to be quite the shock for him...).

Now on to the school-year adventures... uh, ACK! Dang, I don't think I'm ready (ready for them to go back, yes, not ready enough to make it smooth). Sigh.

More adventures and then more...

We did Mr G's trip. It was a good adventure. We went shopping.

Yeah, okay, so we went shopping in a really cool town that has really funky and fun stores. Including a store that sells swords.

Plus a lot of jewelry and leather stores.

Mr G bought another ring. He lost two at summer camp, so he needed to do the fill-in, poor empty fingers!

The shopkeeper started out all 'I'll just keep surfing the Net here while your kid fingers the rings and then decides on something just to spend his money'...

But that never lasts. In about 15 minutes he was all 'I would LOVE to take your kid to India with me sometime. He's really cool. You do know how amazing he is, right?' (Not that he was actively offering, just could see himself actually enjoying the prospect instead of shuddering at it.)

Okay, so I don't mind my kids being praised by complete strangers. Maybe y'all noticed... heh.

Now, of course, out in public they're not as likely to be bickering and pushing, screaming at each other, wrestling inappropriately, ignoring each other totally as a way to get the other's goat, bossing each other (okay, sometimes they do that), etc. They save that mainly for us, lucky us.

Still, nice that they were on their good behavior in public. Granted, we set them up as much as possible for the vacation days to really work.

The day before, we watch their diets more carefully than usual, keep the sugar and fructose down as far as we can comfortably (without being unkind about it). Maximize the digestive function.

And bed on time, or at least expect to let them sleep in on the day of the trip, if possible at all. Maximize sleep.

On the actual day, we also did our usual 'trip expectations' thing. We stopped after we got out of the car but before the official start of the destination point, and said 'goals for today are:...'

Our goals were:

1) Mr G gets to see the stores he wants to see (it was his trip, after all) and enjoys himself
2) Everyone else has fun, too - including that we all have to watch out for each other, to see if there's someone not having fun, and we take action to make that better
3) 'Everyone else' includes all the other people on the street/in stores - we don't make them worry, fret, feel frustrated, angry, etc., by our behavior
4) Safe, Respectful, Kind

They all looked around at each other, nodded, and we carried on.

We still had a lot of effort on our part to make that work - watching for thirsty, hungry, frustrated. Managing the 'ooh, I wanna touch' in stores that were not for touching. Dealing with the tired legs. Dealing with the uppies demands. Suppressing whining (Miss M has become a champion whiner, we're working on that). Reminders, coaching, and guidance.

Oy. It's a lot of work, some days. But the coaching also means they learn, and practice what they learn. The practice is what made it possible for Mr B, at all of almost 8 years old, to say, 'hey, I want to buy a wallet. I want one with leather that is sturdy enough to take some wear - I'd like it to last until I'm grown. I want one with some style that shows I'm into horses and riding. I'd like to look at the options and compare them, get a feel for them, and choose one that suits me. And I want it to be a good value, a better use of my remaining spending money than the other options that I could imagine.' (Okay, so not quite so many words, but he expressed all those things directly.) Practice allowed him to engage with the shopkeeper, focus on his task, take it seriously, and with due consideration make his choice.

He earned the shopkeeper's respect and admiration. She saw immediately that he was not just messing about, but on a mission. That he took it seriously. That he considered her products with care and consideration. He respected her time, effort, and attention. She started smiling back and forth from him to me, him to ep, him to his sibs, watching as we went through the process of examining, comparing, considering features and value and style, materials and craftsmanship, fitting that into budget and lifestyle and the image he has of himself in the future. At almost 8, he has the process pretty well settled. 

People look at us like somehow this is a magical gift our kids have. But really, it is mainly practice. Practice doing it over and over, from the dollar store to the grocery store, that enabled him to pull out those skills and use them. I coached him just a little, but more in response than in guidance. He said he wanted it to last, so I helped show him how to tell which leather was likely to hold up better over the long term. He had the question, but not a way to answer it - I only helped with the answer. He knew I would trust him to make a choice, and that he would have to live with it, but he would not be challenged on it needlessly later. He knows that I will mention quality if he he is buying junk, but I will not rub it in if the item breaks. I will commiserate ('yeah, that stuff does break easily'), and he remembers and thinks about it later. He may be embarrassed sometimes that he wants to buy cheap plastic crap, and sometimes that really IS what he wants. But he knows it, and registers that as a choice, and doesn't act surprised (though sometimes resigned) when it acts like cheap plastic crap.

So he has practice thinking about it. Practice being safe with the information (no belittling or sarcasm), practice trying again. We coach, and ask them to think about whether they want one CPC item now, or do they really want to save for something more lasting. We'll remind them of the things on their wish lists, but then step back out of the way and let them choose. The choice helps them think the next stage on the next item.

Between 7 and 8 was when my little brother (The Golden Child) started to notice that quality mattered. It was this age when he was crushed to be given a child's toy when I got a real necklace as a gift from the same out of town trip (parental). Things start to be real. The more they understand what real is, and the more comfortable they are with all that means for their choices, the more they can use that on the fly.

Granted, I suspect most people catch up - my kids will not be ahead of this game forever. But it is nice for them to feel confident of it now, to feel they have a sense of what is and is not quality, of what is worth their time and energy and allowance money. It makes the adventure more fun for them, too. They like to be able to impress (grownup) people with their manners, understanding, skill, and their willingness to take serious choices seriously. Their peers may not understand, but hey, they know they're weird kids, and that their peers don't 'get' them - that's not going to change. They'd be odd ducks (even if cool odd ducks) no matter what. At least they get some appreciation from the people they think matter - the ones who have expertise or skill or depth.

So, success. Mr G bought a ring he likes, and in so doing, gained the admiration of someone who knows a lot about jewelry. Mr B bought a wallet he likes, and in so doing gained the admiration of someone who knows leather.

And everyone else had a good time, we didn't create any problems for others on the street, everyone got fed when hungry, carried or strollered or rested on benches when tired, stuff to drink when thirsty, the chance to look at something cool or interesting to them, and consideration for their needs from the rest of the family.

Yeah, I'd call that a great adventure.

***

Meanwhile, my dad went back into surgery for a pacemaker. Sigh. But he's home now, and things are starting to settle in. He's feeling vulnerable, but grateful for family and life, and opportunities. Not so much grateful for the recovery period, but hey, I'll allow some grumping on that point.

More on the other adventures later...

And another one down...

With a bang.

The train robbery was great fun.

Not sure if I had more fun because I was NOT next to the kids, or what. The friends from work got tickets separately, and only then did we find out that the tickets were assigned seating - so they were in a different car than us. ACK! Not exactly hosting it well that way.

So, since his wife loves my kids, we swapped out - I went with him, she stayed with my kids. Miss M was THRILLED. She absolutely worships N. She's so pretty. And so pretty. And she carries me. I want a doll that looks Just Like Her. She looks like a princess.

Gaga. Oh, to be so worshiped by my own child... ah, well. It's fun to watch.

Fairly mutual gaga, it seems. N didn't seem to mind being uppied to death, either.

Miss M loved two things about the trip best. First was the shootout. WOO, loud gunfire and people falling over and ... WOO. :)

And second, N carrying her across the parking lot to the car. That ranks right behind the gunfire.

Mr G and Mr B got shells from Paco (the Mexican Bandit, right-hand man for Black Bart the Bad Guy) - they're thrilled as well.

There weren't as many people dressed up as we'd hoped, though. My kids were very dressed up.

Mr G was a cowboy - Quaker style hat (flat brim, round crown), period rifle, fringed vest, jeans, fringed boots.

Mr B was a Native American - bone breastplate, fringed vest, brown pants, fringed boots, and his hair done in braids. More Oglala in style than his actual heritage (Chumash), ah, well. He looked the part, despite his hair being quite blond.

Miss M was a princess, complete with tiara and earrings and sparkly pink and white mary-janes. She wanted to be a Native American, too. But she hadn't given me time to make that, so she went with princess instead.

Miss R was in her usual costume... whatever she thinks she is, but that in their regular clothes. Princess in her regular clothes, this time. It requires a great deal less in the costume making department. Heh.

I went as something like a school teacher - tiered black skirt with some embroidery and lace, brown tall granny boots (relatively period-ish), sheer high-necked black and antique rose floral long-sleeve shirt with a plain brown western-ish vest over it. And my hair more loose than usual (only the front pulled back). Oh, and a garter with a pistol in it. Because otherwise it would have been boring. Just a bit dangerous looking is good, right?

I'd planned to go as a dance-hall girl, but I couldn't find the darn dress. I think I gave it away. Sigh. Blue with black lace and pretty low cut in front... would have been perfect work blackmail photos, but instead I ended up dressed 'too nice' for blackmail. My friend A declined to wear a costume, so I was not getting any blackmail photos, either (though we did get a pic of N with Miss Kitty, the, er, 'boss' of the dance hall girls...).

I had a decent conversation with A, and he had a good time with the event itself. They did the whole play throughout the train, with lots of banter with the audience, practicing holding up our hands for the stickup, teasing the kids, and then setting up the robbery, shootout, stage-fighting fist-fights, and with the good guys eventually winning, even though they were outnumbered three to one.

They also have a murder mystery train ride. That also sounds like fun... but more for grownups.

Mr B was a little put out that we were in costume and other kids were just there in shorts and tees. He said 'everyone was looking at us!' - and then I asked him who looked at us the most. Who? The actors. They loved that we were in costume. It drew their attention, and they played it up from the moment we got to the train platform. We had three different characters come up and talk with the kids. And then there were the spent shell casings from Paco... that was cool. Mr B quickly decided that being in costume was pretty neat. It paid off. And the notice from other people was a fine thing. He's still annoyed that the other people don't Get It. I mean, come on, dress up! Who needs dignity if you have a costume and can play a part?

It was good all around. N got her kid fix, I got to hang out a bit with A (yeah, I talked shop a little), the kids got to play, I got to not have to manage the kids the whole time, my mom had fun, my brother and niece and nephew had fun...Perfect would have been if we'd all been in the same car. Close enough.

So, one more adventure down, solid success. I'll post some pics from these in a few days - no time at the moment. I have to clean the house up a bit, and also re-write my resume - I'm being shopped for a new slot (half-time) within our client company. Still get time to work on the stuff I care about most, thankfully. Don't like the feeling that the reason they're shopping me is partly because I don't fit the role they tried to fold me into. I dislike the feeling that I didn't do a good job on that, but I really am not suited for it (knowledge-wise, not skills-wise - my skills are fine, but I just don't have the data warehousing background required). Still hate that feeling. Bleah. But, should be a better fit for this opportunity, and they are trying - trying to find me a spot that can be strategic all around - help the client, help the company, help my career. I don't mind that part. Bonus, the client is actively seeking people for these roles, so if I'm a fit, I'm good for the client company. Solving their problems is the entire point. They'll pay us if we do, boot us if we don't. So, do, and make everyone happy.

Many adventures

Some of them 'too many'.

My dad is having heart surgery. That's the too many.

Too much to even talk about there.

The other adventures are:

1) Going on a train robbery with my kids. We'll be on the train (historic coal-fired steam engine), people will rob the train. We dress up (old west style), and play eek, oh-dear, help! One of my work friends and his wife are joining us. (Indian couple... ah, a slice of American Pie for them.)

2) We're taking four vacation days in the next month or so, each child gets to pick a day-trip destination. First is tomorrow - Miss M is going to go see SHARKS at the aquarium. She's planning to dress sharkie. Sharkie dress, that is. The one with sharks swimming all over the top. And the sharkie slippers instead of shoes. She's even planning to wear her 'water-colored' underwear. Heh.

The other kids are not entirely settled on their choices yet, but we're thinking...

There's a medieval store in a cool town for Mr G. And there's a rodeo, and a pow-wow (and another rodeo - the Gay Rodeo is going to be nearby), and ... well, still thinking, too. Fun. :)

But still worried on the un-fun adventure, first item.

We suck

Oh, the annoyance that came through in Mr G's last two letters home. He doesn't want our emails to be about boring sh*t from home. He wants to know what we think of the letters he sent.

Only, uh, the first letter was pretty much 'I like it here!'

And the second letter was two pages of camp song lyrics. Nothing else.

Um, 'I got your letter, sounds like you're having fun!' is about all I can say to that.

We got the capital-letter SMACK for boring letters. And since we're picking him up on Saturday, there's not exactly a lot of time to coach him  - how about you tell us something cool you're doing, or about one of your new friends, or ANYTHING about what is actually happening, so we can converse?

Ah, well. We suck. Maybe next year we'll be better at this.