Adventurous kids – Page 31 – Letters from Home

Little Drummer Boy

Daniel, at age 9 was invited to sing The Little Drummer Boy at a big community Christmas show at the high school auditorium in Sahuarita, Arizona. The show featured dance numbers from Paige’s dance studio and choral and instrumental performances of Christmas music between the dances. Daniel’s number was unique because he would be singing while some 3-year-olds danced with drums.

He prepared well and was serious about the opportunity to sing in front of the town. Richard and I sat on the second row so we could film his singing and Paige’s dances. Daniel had been to all of the rehearsals, including the dress rehearsal with the little girls in red and white tutus that were as wide as they were tall. However, we couldn’t have predicted what the audience of 1000 people would do when they saw these girls enter the stage in those sickly-cute tutus and overly-curled hair.

Daniel sang at the corner of the stage and the girls marched out with their red sequined drums. Audience members erupted into small chuckles and shared comments about how cute the girls were with their neighbors. Daniel sang on, despite the growing din in the auditorium. Then one little dancer decided to go rogue. She sat down and refused to stand up with her drum, which caused a comic scene on stage with at least one dancer getting angry with the non-conformist. A drum was kicked across stage. The audience, already noisy, cackled with laughter and talk. Daniel, wide-eyed and determined, continued to sing in what must have been a most baffling and difficult circumstance. How could he hear the music over all the noise? He sang perfectly, but looked bewildered. He took a bow at the end, eyes shifting uncomfortably across the laughing crowd. I hoped he didn’t think they were laughing at him.

I felt sick. My disappointment for Daniel and anger at the audience’s rudeness made my stomach tight. My inability to predict that Daniel would be singing over raucous comments and rowdy laughter and save him from it was a new kind of trial for me. I still can’t hear this song without remembering the horrible behavior of the audience that night. But Daniel was magnificent.

Parenting in the Trenches

Last week we finally celebrated Timothy’s birthday, one month late, with his friends at an arcade. I baked some cupcakes just minutes before his friends arrived. I was thankful for the arcade. It was a redemption from Timothy’s frustration and a compensation for my lack of the fun gene in my DNA.

I had a mouth full of ulcers last week and these cankers were bad enough to put me to bed for about a day. Richard ran to the store for milk. The next day when I was feeling better, I bought milk before checking the refrigerator. When I got home from the store, I discovered that we had a combined total of 11 gallons of milk. Ha!

I received an email from the piano teacher asking me to monitor my child’s piano practice better. I don’t know how I am going to do that.

I gave my gray stocking hat to one of my sons who was sledding with friends. I watched him tuck it into his pocket rather than put it on his head as he walked away from me. Now the hat is missing.

I tried to register Daniel for EFY summer camp only to discover that we had lost and forgotten his passwords to get into the site. I called and waited on hold for an hour, and was scolded by the operator for my attempts to get around my lost password problem. “You shouldn’t have done that. Now it will take more time to fix it.” And later, “Oh, I’ll just register you myself,” she said with a sigh. “Thank you!” I said, genuinely grateful. Exhaustion had set in and I was docile as a lamb.

There was a prescription which took two days to acquire for one of the boys, including a trip to the doctor and 3 trips to the pharmacy. The clerk at the pharmacy was so helpful. I felt like she really understood, and I was so thankful.

We arrived at church separately, as usual, because of meetings, and we couldn’t find one another. Richard saved a place for me and I saved a place for him. We sat apart for a good portion of church before Richard found us.

I was late in renewing the library books again. It’s a good thing I am taking another violin student next month to help fund my forgetfulness. And the books aren’t even that good. They are fact books about Utah.

I took Mark to a book store during a lunch break and the clerk asked me why he wasn’t in school. It seemed odd to me that she was worried about his education. I was buying a stack of books for him! I just smiled and reassured her. In my mind I chanted, “I’m a good parent, I am a good parent, I am a good parent.”

And my definition of a good parent is someone who keeps trying, day after day, through all the challenges…and fun…and adventure.

Our First Teen Party

Our first teen party involving boys and girls took us by surprise one night in early 2015. Daniel asked if he could invite some friends over to play games in an hour. I assumed that Daniel was having another game night with the guys, which happens often enough. Daniel went to parties all the time with boys and girls, but never at our house. I had decided that our house was never going to be a magnet for teens. Among Daniel’s friends, you will find homes with a media room, pool, trampolines, ping pong, and pool tables. We have lots of books and a piano. I thought that ours could be the “bakery house” and I began preparing chocolate chip bar cookies to serve in an hour.

Soon the doorbell rang and in walked a girl with long blonde hair with some pink or purple streaks through it. I was so surprised that I just nodded to her from the sink, speechless until I finally spurted out a little hello as she disappeared down the stairs. Mark and Timothy hurried to me in tandem, eyes wide, and nostrils a little flared. “Who is THAT?” one whispered, clearly amused and looking a little mischievous.

Collecting myself, trying to make it sound like it was no big deal, I said, “That’s just Gamuhmuh (mumbled)… or somebody.” The truth was, I didn’t know this girl that just walked down to our basement with our 15-year-old son. I was unprepared to see girls coming in the house. No way was I ready to go downstairs to introduce myself, but I tried to listen for hints of what was going on. Now and then I heard the girl laugh. Everyone but this girl was a half an hour late to the party. I wondered if anyone else would show up. I was grateful that I had some cookies baking in the oven. This, at least, would be a way that I could naturally enter the conversation as I served cookies later. How could this girl have such an unsettling influence on me? Who was the adult here?

More kids showed up at the door, some familiar, but others strangers to me. My confidence wavered a little as each rang the bell, but I put on a confident face and smiled and waved from the kitchen as their heads disappeared behind the banister as they walked downstairs. When the sounds of male and female laughter continued to drift upstairs, I felt relieved that they were having fun. I began to think that it could be nice having Daniel’s friends over at our house for a change. I prepared the cookies on a plate and invited them to come upstairs.

I tried to remember all the things that make teenagers cringe about their parents. I decided to be the present, but silent type and try not to be one of them. It took me five minutes to fail with that plan in an uncomfortable attempt to joke around with one of the boys. Yes, I reminded myself, I would need to be the present, silent type of parent for sure. As they ate their snacks in the kitchen, I sat in the next room trying to be invisible. We were watching a movie, but all I could focus on was the flirting going on in the kitchen. The memories of my teenage attempts at interaction at game parties came back to me with clarity: I had been just like these kids. My hair had been bigger, but I was the same. And the empathy of the moment caused me some pain and a little amusement. It is hard to be a teenager.

There have been many parties, movie nights, and kids hanging out at our house since then. In the early days, I did bake, but I don’t always do that now. That first night, I learned from Daniel that they loved the baked goods; the girls liked my decorations; the house smelled good. It was a pleasant surprise to see that having a few girls over to the house made Daniel more aware of my efforts in homemaking and entertaining. I basked in the praise and the satisfaction that we can host a fun night for teens at the Ross home.

The Austin Backyard

The Austin Backyard, 1998-2005

The jingle of the swings’ chains was a natural accompaniment to outdoor play in our Austin yard. Backs arching, toes reaching above the fence, eyes trained to catch glimpses of the field beyond the fence, Paige and Daniel soared. Days in Austin felt heavy with moist air and heat. Clouds, creating a blank white, arching cover on the skies, were a blessing because they shielded us from the sun.

When Paige began school, the poem, “The Swing” by Robert Lewis Stevenson was her first memorization project. She recited it on the swing with natural soaring expressions as her toes reached for the clouds.

There was a bucket swing for babies, with two holes for chubby legs. Baby Timothy’s feet, socks dangling from his toes as he kicked in his swing, are a detail from memory that I can only associate with him.

Parents of the neighbor children joined us to visit while their children played, our conversations sometimes interrupted by requests for an “underdog” where a parent would run beneath the child, lifting the child on the swing high above the head. For those moments when our children were in the swings, they were happy and their needs were simple.

In summer, the three crape myrtle tress along the back fence erupted into vivid pink blossoms; this vibrant color gleaned from such poor, shallow soil and heat was a miracle of Texas ingenuity.

Late afternoons and early evenings were best for backyard play because our west-facing house created full shade at this time of day. The heat wasn’t the only challenge in Texas. There were also fire ants. The swings kept young feet safe from the fire ants lurking in the dirt. These ants, with their mob-like dynamics of swarm-and-sting were the perpetual enemy. Turning on the hose was the fastest, surest way to remove fire ants when they bit and stung little feet and legs. Daniel’s reactions to ant bites were the most severe, and sometimes he would have pussy blisters between his toes. Sometimes the kids put on their long rubber boots to avoid ant bites as they played.

The large cement patio was always littered with sidewalk chalk, balls, and child-propelled vehicles. There was a plastic play house with a half door and windows with shutters. The patio was like a stage, elevated enough that we could see it from the field behind the house and the street, Bratton Lane beyond the field. Coming home from errands on Bratton Lane I could look to the patio and see our children playing outside.

As the children grew, we decided to add a trampoline to the yard. The swing set was dismantled when we moved to Arizona, in hopes that it would be rebuilt someday, but it wasn’t. There wasn’t enough space in our new yard. I called this one of the casualties of our move.

The trampoline remained a part of our yard in Arizona, but it became a casualty of our move to Utah. During the move, we unpacked the swings and placed them on the garage shelf, like a memorial. The hope that they will be used again dims each year. You will also find our trampoline poles in a pile in the backyard, the once happy trappings of childhood play, now just a haphazard monument to those earlier days.

Our yards in Arizona and Utah were beautiful and unique, but playing in Austin on the swings against the pink canvas of blossoming trees was a wonderful beginning.

Wasatch County field trip

Mark and I continued our quest to see new Utah counties by visiting Wasatch County. We went to Midway and Heber. It was a lot colder there than in Salt Lake and we drove past a small ice castle at the Homestead that was pretty. The Midway ice castle display wasn’t open when we were there. The Heber Railroad is closed most of January so we added that to our list of things we want to do another day.

Mark liked the Jordanelle Reservoir in its frozen beauty. We visited the Homestead Caldera and would have gone swimming except I can’t find my suit. So we just touched the warm water and said we will come back another day.

Richard finished his scuba training at the caldera just a few months ago and can’t wait to go back. In contrast, I can’t swim but have made a resolution to change that this year. Lucky me, life vests are required in the caldera.

Wasatch County is a beautiful place. Mark liked the old fashioned houses and all of the animal statuary in yards. I liked the tiny houses, too, and the ice skating rink in Midway called to me. How I love to skate.

Going on journeys to new places is one of my favorite things to do in “home” school.

Daniel, lately

Daniel got asked to the Sweethearts dance this weekend. Now comes the hard part: How to answer “Yes” to the dance in a creative, thoughtful way.

We attended Daniel’s rescheduled Christmas choir concert at the high school on a bleak midwinter evening in early January. I am always impressed by the choirs at Jordan High. The bell choir and Christmas songs were a welcome treat after two stark school days after a long winter break.

I appreciate Daniel’s chauffeur skills in the afternoons for his brothers. I like watching YouTube videos of Victor Borge with him, and I enjoy seeing his friends show up at the house for a movie night or study session. He is a good friend.

Paige and her roommates

Well. These pictures of these young ladies make me smile. Paige has had a great first semester of college. Not only are these ladies smart, beautiful, talented, and have great taste in movies, they have the best-smelling apartment and coziest living room. Photos by Erica’s mom (I think!)

Aquarium

IMG_20151113_122903 — The jellyfish were my favorites

Mark and I had another Friday of wonder together. I love aquariums, so I can’t believe it took us this long to see the aquarium down the street. I found myself on the floor in my dress, trying to spy new creatures and I also inadvertently dipped my coat sleeve in the water in an attempt to touch a ray as it swam past me. How childish to forget my coat for such an opportunity. How fun.

Mark and I have been working on having adventures this year as part of our study of Utah. I never went to 4th grade, so I missed out on Utah studies. I’ve felt this loss of a proper Utah education every time someone mentions a county in Utah and I have no idea where it is. Well, we are fixing this, one field trip at a time. The past two weeks we have focused on things closer to home. However, we have traveled to some interesting places this year. Mark has a map that we populate with photos in the shapes of the counties he has visited in 4th grade. We have more pictures to put on the map, but you get the idea.

Bells, piano keys, hymns, Relief Society, symphony, art, and black socks

It was a week of music for our family. We watched Daniel play in his first bell choir concert. His current bell assignment is to play some of the big bass bells. He says playing these bells is like pouring out a full gallon of milk with each note, your wrist and forearms carefully managing the weight. In other words, they are heavy. I felt Christmas drift through the air as they played, even though these weren’t Christmas pieces. December will be a busy month for bells and they will be playing at Temple Square. I am really looking forward to that.

The boys had a piano recital. Daniel played Preludium in E minor by Felix Mendelssohn. Timothy played Little Story by Sergei Prokofieff. Mark played Etude in A minor by Dmitri Kabalevsky. (Like those names mean anything…) I know the pieces just by the tunes. I rarely learn the names and composers, but I sing along in my head to every piece, well-learned by echoes moving through the house at all hours.

I did Relief Society things. Lots of that, but the specific lessons I am learning and the heartache and loneliness that I am exposed to is part of a private journey that I am taking with some sisters. We can all be more aware of, prayerful, and helpful to others.

In general, I spoke at a Relief Society meeting, participated in a ward council meeting, and presented specific ways to involve women in decisions and discussions and how to improve in ministering to others; I also counseled with the Bishop in a private meeting. I wrote, helped set up tables, washed linens, baked, and cooked. I texted, wrote letters, and talked on the phone. I hugged people who were crying and received counsel about how to do things better. I visited a sister late one night. I listened and admired. I thought hard and made plans. I used my calligraphy skills. I drew strength from scripture study and prayer and hugs from Richard. Please don’t think I am bragging. I am painting a picture of our life. I am not unique in what I do.

On Saturday Richard and I joined my sister Sarah and her husband Bryan for dinner at Lamb’s and the symphony.

Daniel played the organ in church on Sunday. A sister on our row in church lifted her infant son dressed in a flannel shirt and I remembered Daniel at that age wearing a flannel shirt. I looked at the contrast between this infant and Daniel at the organ and marveled at the time that has passed without effort. I held that tall young man in my arms not so long ago.

We visited Paige for a few minutes on Sunday night and as always I asked to see some of her art. This was one of her doodles-in-progress, not for an art class. She is critical of it, but there is LIFE in this drawing. I had to share it.

Also, even her scrap pieces of paper with color gradations and paint mixes could be hung on the wall. I smile every time I visit the dorms because the windows and walls are more decorated each time. Twinkle lights, banners, flags representing mission calls to other countries, and little touches of homemaking are creeping into each unit.

And finally, there is Timothy, who goes to school in the dark early hours for jazz band practice. I bought him some new black shoes and black socks to wear with shorts because that’s what you wear now, at least in middle school. It looked strange at first, like they forgot to change out of their dress socks, but I’m good with it now.

Oh, and Halloween is this Saturday and Mark and I have not made any progress on his costume. Aaack!

This post might be TMI but I don’t feel like editing out pieces of our story today like I usually do.

Goblin Valley

Richard came home from a Scout camp in Goblin Valley last weekend and said he really wanted to take the family back. So we took an impromptu, quick trip with perfect weather and good company. We didn’t camp because we didn’t want all of the extra gear. We stayed in a cramped motel in Hanksville and watched super hero movies late into the night. We were gone for 31 hours, but we filled those hours full.

The boys were mountain goats. I don’t know how they had the energy to climb all day long. We loved the hike through Little Wild Horse Canyon which had slot canyons one after another, each with its own look and colors.

My floppy hat has flopped through its last trip. It’s time for a new one. I’ve said this before, though. This trip was not the same without Paige. Someone said you never stop missing them; you just get used to it. I’m not there yet. Regardless, the boys were super fun and Richard gave his all to make the trip a success, as usual. It’s good to be in this family.