Weekend Things: Whirlwind

Saturday morning, I dropped M and his guitar equipment off outside of a bar in downtown Hallowell, and then wended my way through parade reroutes and bridge-out detours out of town and to a small nature preserve in Litchfield. There I joined a group of people in chasing down butterflies as part of my Master Naturalist training.

Clouded sulfur

Great spangled fritillary 

Cute beetle.

Silver-spotted skipper

Cute damselfly

When we finished, I raced back to Hallowell, where I caught the end of the second Rock Camp group's set and, happily, all of M's group's set.

Blah, Blah, Blah performing Green Day's "American Idiot"

After a quick lemonade on the waterfront, I hurried home, showered and changed, and headed back into town, where I med a friend and drove down to Brunswick for dinner and the commencement ceremonies for the students graduating this semester from my grad school program.

The whole day felt kind of disjointed--chasing butterflies, rocking out in a bar, talking writing and books, listening to inspiring speeches, dancing late into the night, catching up with good friends. It was like a microcosm of my whole life; I feel like I'm cramming too many things into too small a space. But there's not a single thing on that list I'd want to give up. Sunday I was too tired to do much of anything--we went raspberry picking, I taught E how to play Speed (in an effort to avoid playing either Chess or Pokemon) while everyone else was at C's grandmother's birthday party, and worked on my nature journal while he watched Ninjago, I made a pie. 

At the end of the day, looking around at the post-apocalyptic landscape that is our living room, I said to C, "I wish I could take a few days off work and get the house in order."

"Or," he said, "you could just stay home on the weekend."

But I don't want to stay home on the weekend...and if I do stay home on the weekend, I don't want to spend my time getting the house in order. I already feel like I have to squeeze my entire life into two days a week. I'm not giving away those two days, too.

How about you? Have you achieved this illusive "work-life balance"? And if not, what do you give up to make it all fit in?

Weekend Things: Slowly but Surely

The weekend brought one day in the seventies.

A balmy day of melting snow,

Rushing river,

And blue blue skies.

C finished making the maple syrup--and the season did not turn out to be the bust he feared.

And we toasted marshmallows in the evaporator stove box.

This picture sums up this time of year perfectly: snow plow on the left, bike and beach chair on the right, boys in t-shirts.

Sunday we had some April showers and M played a mini concert at the pub.

While a few little emissaries of spring popped up in the yard.

Of course, we've had sun and more rain and snow and more sun and 23 degree mornings since the weekend, but the red winged blackbirds are back and the peepers are peeping in the evening (when it's not too too cold). More and more I see spring as not a steady state, but a slow shifting, with a little back-and-forth. Maybe all the seasons are like that.

Weekend Things––Running and Rock & Roll

This past weekend our town had its "Whitefield Day" celebration, with events and activities planned for the day. M and his buddy/band-mate managed to get themselves a gig opening for the professional band that was to play at midday. C and I planned to go watch his rock & roll debut, but didn't have much interest in the other aspects of the event.

But then, Thursday night, Z announced at dinner, "There's a run on Saturday. I want to do it."

"You mean the 5K?" I asked. "You really want to do that?" I had thrown the several dozen fliers that had come home from school about it in the recycling bin. I mean, who pays money to go run?

"Yeah. How far is that?"

"About three miles." I looked at C, "You wanna do it with him?"

"No way," said the spouse.

We both looked at M.

"I've got to save my breath for my show." Uh-huh.

I dug the flier out of the recycling bin. $15 per person. $30 per family. Walk or run. Okay, well, I can walk three miles, no problem. But I'd rather walk it in the woods, up a mountain, on a trail, alone or with my kids. Not on the side of the road with sixty people who paid money to run and who actually take it seriuosly. No thanks.

"You know running's bad for you," C said. Great, just what I needed, for him to discourage the kids from exercising, especially the kid who never, ever stops moving, and should probably run a 5K every day. I hushed C, dug the flier out of the recycling bin, signed us up, and talked E into walking with me.

Saturday morning, we arrived early, got our shirts and our pinnies. Z lined up at the front of the pack. E muscled to the middle, with the walk-joggers. So much for my walking partner. I worked my way to the back, where I found my friend R, who came even without her kids to drag her there, and who showed up in jeans. My kind of 5K-er. I asked some of my running friends to keep an eye on Z, but there were lots of kids in the pack so I figured he'd be okay.

About a third of the way into our walk, we saw the front of the pack returning––the people who take these things seriously––and not too far behind them was Z, red socks pulled up to his knees, red t-shirt, red baseball cap, and red cheeks. He was running and taking it seriously. I never saw E––we must have crossed paths during the short loop section––but he did finish the race, even if he never went through the finish line and handed in his sticker. And R and I didn't finish last-last––we passed a kid with a knee brace.

We went home, showered, ate lunch and returned in time to watch the debut of Double Jinx.

M played guitar, sang, and worked the crowd, saying things like, "Some of you might be too young to know this song," before launching into Nervana. They even played two songs of their own composition. I can't quite explain why it makes a mama's heart swell with pride to hear her twelve-year-old on stage singing, "A mosquito, my libido," and "Lock up your daughters, lock up your wives..." but it did. I had a tear or two in my eye, I have to say.

Music is as alien to me as running. I never played it, and most of the stuff M likes to play is music I never listened to myself (AC/DC, what?). For some reason, it shocks me every time I realize these babies I gave birth to are individual human beings, whose mission from that first moment is to become their own selves. And they're going to awe us and perplex us every step of the way. I mean, runners and rock stars? Never would have predicted that.

Birthday Wrap-Up

We survived the Big Birthday Weekend.

Friday night, we celebrated E and Z's day with pizza and cake (by my baker friend––the first time I ever that I didn't bake my own kids' cakes!) and a friend of theirs among the crazy sculptures at our favorite farm store.

Saturday, M had his band members over and they played some Nirvana and AC/DC in the basement while I made my free-range-organic version of one of his favorite meals––hot wings. I had the genius idea (if I don't say so myself) of serving root beer floats instead of birthday cake. Easy and delicious!

And, yes, I actually did make a purchase from vanhalenstore.com.

Which just shows you the lengths I would go to to make this boy happy.

Sunday we went to Boston and visited the Science Museum with my sister and brother-in-law, who were in town for my niece's graduation. Unfortunately, she was sick, so we missed seeing her (and she missed her own commencement ceremony!). Other than a broken switch in the driver-side window that left us driving a wind tunnel from the New Hampshire tollbooth on, we had a great time, and now we have a membership, so we will go back at least once in the next year. I forgot to take my camera, which turned out kind of nice––I could just relax and enjoy watching the kids do the museumy things, without worrying about documenting it all.

Monday night, M's actual birthday, after a quick picnic in the park of gas-station sandwiches and pizza, we all went to M's baseball game, where he scored the only run of the game, by hitting a double and then stealing third and home while the ball was still in play. Can you think of a better birthday present for a twelve-year-old?

After we got home and got the other two boys in bed, and M finished his social studies homework, he and I went out to look at the stars. He had been supposed to sketch the stars and moon over the weekend, which he failed to mention until Sunday night, as we drove home from Boston under the clouds (we should have gone to the planetarium!).

We took a blanket out to the neighbor's field, and lay down, he with his head on my hip, and watched the face in the gibbous moon (looking more like a lady than a man), peer out around a cluster of clouds and grow a rainbow halo. We found Castor and Pollux, Spica and Arcturus, waited while the Big Dipper emerged from behind the clouds, and wondered where Saturn should have been at that hour.

Afterward, walking back to the house, drawings in hand, M, my newly-minted twelve-year-old, said, "Thanks for bringing me out here, Mom." I love that kid.