Sharing a particular love

There are few things sweeter than sharing a particular "favorite" with your children as they grow. With Vee, it has always been music, blast-your-body-until-your-insides-shake music.

I remember my first concert. The Police. In Seattle. I wore stardust jeans and danced near the speakers. My entire self vibrated. I glimpsed beauty. I was only 12 or 13 and I went with my brother and his girlfriend. Ironically, my brother has the same persona as my eldest, same loves, same past-times, same compassion, same approach to religion & politics, same approach to life in general. My Vee. I can see the family genes traveling on through. My bro and loud music. Vee and loud music.

In college. Same bro. Primal Screaming. If you haven't tried it, it is worth the effort. You're not fully alive until you can do a primal scream at the drop of a hat. In public. In private. Fully capable. My bro and I drove up (and down) the canyons in Provo practicing. It took me a long time before I could do it. Now I finally can. At the drop of a hat.

You know what cinched it? The remake of the Tears for Fears song, "Shout" done by Disturbed (or Staind?) We played it regularly one summer when Aee was 2 yo, cruising up (and down) the TX freeways. Aee was a headbanger in those days. A little two year old headbanger full of angst and pain way beyond her years. I played the song. I told them about the mechanism behind the primal scream. They got it, each on their own level.

The other day I had a friend tell me, "So, I saw you and your kids cruising down 580 in your minivan." (pause while I wonder why this busy man would bother mentioning something so mundane) "You and your kids were laughing and talking and it looked like you were all... dancing." (I smile my Cheshire cat grin.) "I have never seen a family so happy together." (Grin drops a little.) He meant it. "I have never seen..." Each word was so carefully enunciated like some sort of subconscious confession, a reaching out. "...a family so happy together." How sad.

There's a pause while the realization sinks in that not everybody has fulfilling family lives. Statistically, few people have happy family lives. It can go wrong so easily for a million reasons and it can go right for only one -- hard work. It's a heap-o-work to build strong, healthy ties.

Tonight as Vee and I were going to pick up his bike from the high school (long story, but sometimes his travels lead him in routes where he doesn't get back to his initial mode of transport). In the car, we blasted the dance tunes loud-loud-and-louder.

The lyrics vibrated right through me: "...sick and tired of always being sick and tired..." and I knew with that deep surety that I simply had to run tonight. I needed to run. We got home and 60 seconds later, we were back out the door, dressed in good running gear with one son babysitting and another son walking out the door with Eee and me, all on the dark sidewalks running in sync.

I ran until my lungs burst. One full song. My lungs felt so fully open, stretched, cleansed. It was awesome. There is something about the music vibrating that motivates my body to move and I am bolstered by the fact that my son, my baby, is similarly motivated.

Then the coolest thing happened, a shift in perspective... (see next post above).

Code Monkey

A song that plays in our house several times a day is "Code Monkey" by Jonathan Coulton, a crazy-good musician who releases his songs freely.

Seemingly unrelated: Vee and Kee love their Latin class. With a passion.

Even more unrelated: I need to get back in shape. I'm realizing that my brain is as mushy as my calves.

Possibly related? There's a marathon in Rome. Wait, no, Rome is where THE marathon concept began. (Feel free to mock me for my initial ignorance there.)

Related, unfortunately: I tried seriously plunging back into running again.

Horribly related: Yesterday we went out running: me, Kee, and Jee (little one on a scooter). With ear buds in each person's ears, we stretched, warmed up for a few blocks, then Code Monkey came on for my player.

My thoughts: "Hey! I can run for this entire song, no problem. The rhythm is perfect for running." My words: "Come on kids, keep up!"

Half way through I was breathing very hard, remembering what it was like to really push it. A bit further I was wondering how long the blasted song was. (Three minutes and seven seconds.) By the end, I thought I was having a mild heartache, but I made it and ended with a flourish (sprint). New goal = try to run through the "Code Monkey" song without keeling over.

Pathetic in a geeky sort of way.

Now, let's see if I can tie all these unrelated bits of life together in one sentence:

We're training to run the Rome marathon in March 09 and Code Monkey is the initial get-off-yer-bum motivation.

Ha!

Dream come true

I want to do this so badly, more than anything.

Why?

As a child, my favorite stuffed animal was a squirrel. Yes, a squirrel. Looks like I can get my own squirrel suit now. (New York Times piece)

My 2nd favorite stuffed animal was Dumbo the elephant, you know, the one with the feather that helped him fly?

And if it could possibly get better, my dearest just sent me this. "...une nouvelle dimension..." How appropriate. Ha.

Self-driven action

Those of you who know me understand I am a nut about self-driven action.

I thrive when I am surrounded by people who know what they want and then work towards it.

I am sad when I am around people who don't know what they want and work towards... whatever.

So, this morning, we were (per the last post) all semi-asleep and highly incoherent at 6 am this morning when Kee got up for school. He was like the last man to the battle field, looking around at the wounded stretched across couches, chairs, even the floor. He walked around, saw we were all fairly useless then went and:
1. made his own lunch -- bravo!
2. did his morning chores -- what? and
3. got out the door in time -- three cheers for punctuality-driven behaviors! Kee biked to school fully prepared and thoroughly under-supported. I was so proud.

I think I mumbled something at him when he walked near me this morning. I had one eye open at half-mast with Aee sleeping on my chest, Jee in the crook of one arm and two bowls at the ready for any incoming liquid missiles.

I have a vague recollection of Kee asking if we had any bread so he could make his own sandwich for school lunch. No, we didn't have any bread. Normally, this would have registered as an Action Item in my mind that would have shot enough adrenaline through my body to make me stand up and get to work. But with two kids in arms, I didn't budge and my adrenal gland didn't budge either (thankfully).

The end result (again, gratitude rocks!) was that Kee had a great experience in self-driven action. He could have feigned sickness and none of us would have been the wiser. He could have been "too tired" (biking to school is actually a bit of a feat, all uphill, have to leave early), but no, he took his day into his own hands and molded it.

Lab in the morning, school all day, debate team in the afternoon, work a bit at his job after that. What a cool young man.

There is something so comforting, affirming, and rewarding about being near someone who is able to make good choices.

A feast to remember

We had a splendid Christmas feast on Saturday night as a huge ward family. The place was packed and the food was haute cuisine with fine china, the works.

Unfortunately, 24 hrs later nearly everyone we had dined with was sick. It hit us in the night. First Aee, then Jee, then Vee (Kee was oblivious to it all). I guess the shortest intestines had the shortest fuse on their little exploding tummy timebombs.

Eee didn't get sick. "I'm made of tephlon, hon. That's why I eat all those preservatives. Germs can't grow in me. Have you ever seen a Twinkie mold?"

Can't argue with that logic.

I'm not sick either. I didn't have time to eat. I was gathering kids to the table, arranging things, reminding them that green beans are not projectiles and that under-the-table footsies are only funny if you are kicking your brother, not the gentleman sitting near you who is probably at this moment complaining about his bruised shins.

About 10 minutes into the dinner, I had to leave to take Vee to babysit for a family we know and love. After I get back, I had a full 60 seconds in my seat to catch my breath, relax in my chair and contemplate taking a bite when berrinngg, Vee on the phone. He forgot his book in the car and heaven forbid he should spend an evening without a 400+ pg book in-hand. Must read. Now.

I zoom back and forth until whoops, the dinner has been cleared off the table and I am glad because now I won't be tempted to overeat at such a scrumptious dinner.

The grateful heart is often rewarded.

By about 5 am this morning, the puke has covered six blankets, ruined three pillows, trashed one bed cushion, and made four nasty carpet stains that we took turns scrubbing.

In hindsight:

1. I'm glad I didn't complain about not getting to eat.

2. I'm glad we went to the party even though we paid dearly. It was a memory none of us will forget. It was officially our First Family Puke Bug. (We look forward to the First FULL Family Puke Bug someday.) I got to spend the entire day snuggling with Jee and Aee, bliss. I got to have my husband home all day. (He did 99% of the nighttime care from 11 pm to 3 am and was too wiped to go to work, teehee.)

3. I got to get up early in the morning hours to care for the pukers and I *love* the morning hours. I just have a hard time getting up that early because it's so tempting to sleep and call it "meditation" or "prayer" or justify why I need to rest for one more minute. I got a lot done between 3 am and 4 am and even got some work done inbetween incidents in the 4 to 7 am time slots.

So, I'm thankful. It's beyond pathetic, I know, but I'm thankful.

Trying to be jerky just to fit in

I have a pet peeve. When people start saying, "Teenagers are so ___ (insert unpleasant adjective)... they go through such awful phases... rollercoaster... so moody... "

I have tried various forms of defense:

* "What? Teenage hormones are tough? Have you ever been PREGNANT?"

or

* "Life is just a set of phases, each one unique in its own right. I wouldn't say one phase is inherently more difficult than the next."

or my favorite:

* "Assuming they will be tough only puts the kids in a lose-lose. What if we tried assuming that the teenage years could be a vibrant, productive time?"

So, yesterday afternoon as I was snuggling with my daughter for reading time, an article in Scientific American caught my eye. It talked about how there was no scientific evidence at all that said that teenagers had to be ornery during those pubescent years. It said that our current American Teen is very much a cultural anomaly. They showed how teens in various cultures didn't have the angst and unpleasantness that we tend to assume teenagers have.

--sigh of relief--

And that teenagers from other cultures who move to the US quickly become whiny, entitlist twits. It is a matter of cultural expectation rather than pure physiological cause.

--vindication--

So, I stand a bit more firmly in my belief that the teen years *can* be sweet.

Next time Vee or Kee does something so "normal" like offer to help with chores that aren't theirs or take a new class just because it sounds like fun, instead of feeling that little glitchy worried feeling of, "I wonder... teenagers aren't supposed to be this nice. Is something wrong?" Instead, I'll try to remember to sigh with relief at their ability to not cave into certain societal pressures.

How bizarre is that that we pressure certain segments of our society to be twits?

What did you say?

My sons are setting the dinner table, telling jokes to each other in Latin. I am fairly sure I heard "pater" and "mater" in their somewhere.

My daughter is watching her favorite princess movie in Spanish and I see her little mouth singing along with the tune.

My youngest son is writing in Mandarin Chinese on the white erase easel in the kitchen.

My husband emails me something that looks like gibberish until I look closer. It's tech-ese.

My e-mail inbox has a message from a French client: "Ravi de parler en Francais avec vous!"

And I wonder why I have a hard time completing a sentence in English.