Diving Right In

On his first day at a new school in a new country, Jackson signed up for the swimming carnival--and not just one race, but all 5 of the available events: 50m freestyle, 50m backstroke, 50m breaststroke, 50m butterfly, and 100m freestyle.  On Thursday, the day of the race, we were on day 2 of solid rain, so you can imagine how thrilled I was to have volunteered to be a timekeeper.  Slogging the kids on foot to and from their schools hasn't been quite enough time in the rain for me, so on this day I got an extra 2.5 hour dose of grey skies and rain!!

In all honesty, I was really excited to see Jackson swim, and all the kids were in great spirits despite the wet weather--I'm just learning that blue skies are essential to my well-being and positive outlook.

But enough about me; this post is about Jackson.  He was a champ, competing in all five of the events he signed up for, even though it meant that his towel was no match for repeated assaults by a wet kid and the rain.  At some point it was probably making Jackson wetter. With each progressive race, I noticed a growing tinge of blue on his lips, but they remained curled into a smile.

It was hard to tell how he did; I was watching him while dutifully timing the lane I was responsible for, and some heats had mixed ages of kids.  Besides, some of these kids swim competitively, and you could tell who they were by their strong, smooth strokes and their question of their time as soon as their heads emerged, dripping, from underwater.  After the race, I rewarded Jackson with some hot chips (french fries) and cocoa, and he didn't even get out of the car to get his brothers from school; he had given his all and was completely tapped out.

The next day at school, there was a schoolwide assembly to announce the winners.  Jackson, only being one of a few brave kids his age to do the 50m butterfly, walked away with this...

And then, if you all couldn't see his justifiable pride swelling from across the world already, he was also called up a second time to be recognized with a different certificate:

Awesome job, kiddo.  Showing this gusto for life will take you good places, and I absolutely love watching you dive right into life.

Over the Edge

A couple of hard weeks dealing with a friend's death on top of the usual stress of preparing for our journey has put a couple of chinks in my armor.  This recent Travel Vaccine Fiasco just about put me over the edge...

I'm not anti-vaccine by any means, but I do believe in being informed about what is going into my kids' bodies and why.  I followed a modified vaccine schedule, spreading shots out a bit even if it meant more needles, because I didn't like the idea of overwhelming their little immune systems with multiple vaccines all at once.  By the time Kenyon was born, giving newborns vitamin D supplements was standard practice.  I declined, because really, it would be an effort to not get enough vitamin D in Denver, with its more than 300 days of sparkly bright sunshine.

In preparation for our trip, a phone appointment with our insurance's Travel Clinic informed me that Sam and I would need Tetanus/Whooping Cough and Hepatitis A vaccines, and both older boys would just need the Hepatitis A vaccine (Kenyon had already had it, as it was standard by the time he came into the world).

Jackson, at 3 years old

As always, I asked what symptoms to watch for in case of a terrible vaccine reaction, and the shots were uneventful--the nurse gave me the handy tip of doing a few push-ups, even just against the wall, to reduce post-vaccine muscle soreness, and it really worked well.  Jackson, Alex and I were in the elevator heading out when Jackson leaned against the wall, saying he was really tired and wanted to rest when we got home.  We walked across the lobby towards the other elevator that provides access to the parking garage.  As we headed down to the garage, Jackson weakly said he didn't feel good at all, that he felt like he was going to throw up.

The doors opened and we stepped out into the parking garage elevator lobby, where Jackson's legs buckled, body collapsed, and he lay there totally unresponsive on the ground.

Jackson, at 5 years old

Inwardly, I was in complete panic mode, thinking of the possibility that he was having some freakish reaction to the vaccine that was just pumped into him.  I struggled, trying to lift him, but it quickly became apparent that his 8-year old body as dead weight is too much for this mother to carry.  The jackets and vaccination papers that I had been carrying were strewn all over the place.

Time stopped for me there, with my son lying limp on the tile floor.  With no one around to help and me unable to lift him, I had to drag his seemingly lifeless body into the elevator to get back up to the main lobby.  Alex was awesome; I'm sure he was totally freaked out inside but he stayed calm and I didn't notice it at the time but he swiftly picked up all the stuff that I had dropped and rode in the elevator with me.

Jackson, at 7 years old

Frustratingly, the elevator didn't appear to notice the emergency and took its merry time bringing us up to the main floor, where I dragged Jackson out in to the lobby and yelled for help; at this point he still wasn't conscious.  As nurses ran over, he was finally starting to open his eyes, and we took him in a wheelchair back up to the doctor's office while I tried to not completely lose my shit in front of my kids.

Turns out he just fainted; they said it's fairly common for boys to hold their breath while they get a shot and then it catches up to them a few minutes later when they're on their feet.

He was completely back to normal a short time later, but me?  I am ready to either spend some time locked away in a mental institution or at a spa.  Given our finances, an institution seems far more likely.

Who finagled me into this having-children-that-you-love-more-than-life-itself business?  I could be sipping Mai Tais on a beach with my biggest worry being deciding between the conch fritters or the lobster tail for dinner instead of trying to make peace with the terrible predicament of a mother desperately loving three human beings and not being able to protect them from life's dangers.  What worries me most is that in the grand scheme of things, this fainting incident was super minor, and it almost took me down for good.

There's no way I'm going to survive parenthood.

Whole

He was gone one day shy of four weeks, and had the time of his life.  He loved riding horses and chopping wood with an axe and hatchet.  He knows all the requisite silly camp songs, and he acted in a camp production of Lord of the Rings.  Instead of writing us letters during the Siresta rest period, he and his tentmate often played 'Out You Go', shoving each other out of their tent, or he was off in the woods building forts.  He was the only young camper to be adorned with a nickname (Onion Ring) from the older boys, who all had nicknames of their own. The word 'boss' is now the best way to describe something really cool.  I asked him if there were any girls there he perhaps had a crush on, and the millisecond the question left my lips he answered with a swift 'No!' before declaring that he wasn't going to answer any more questions about that topic.  The boy doth protest too much, methinks. The friendship bracelet I made for him before camp is properly faded, and he could use a haircut.

I planned to take a picture of him as soon as I saw him, but I was so enthralled with seeing him again in real life that I forgot.  A kind man at the airport took this one...

I am so glad that Sam and I trusted that he was old enough for some wing-spreading.  For the past four weeks, he soared.

And now I'm so very thankful he's back in our nest.  Our family is whole again, and life is as it should be.

Numbers

25: Twenty-five days have passed since I’ve hugged my oldest son. I have spent 25 days adjusting to being responsible for the whereabouts of two children, a difficult task considering scanning around me for three is deeply ingrained in my being.

2: These past few weeks, I have played Mexican bingo with two children, admired the soft, perfect skin of two children, snuggled two children in their beds, kissed two children goodnight, and woken up in the middle of the night just to make sure two children were cozied up in their blankets, sleeping comfortably.

5: Denver has had more than 5 inches of rain so far this month. Even my storm-hardened, home-destroyed-in-Hurricane-Andrew self has been shocked by the storms we’ve had in the past week. Two nights ago, Sam and I watched as rains overwhelmed our street and water shot straight up, Bellagio fountain-style, out of the manhole at the street corner. The lid of the manhole rattled around and threatened to shoot up in the air with the force of the water.

40: Denver International Airport weathered a massive hail storm last night that damaged 40 planes. One of those planes was designated to transport my oldest son home safely from camp, and now his flight has been cancelled.  Yes, cancelled.

2: The airlines don’t understand how badly this mother of two is aching to be returned to her rightful place as a mother of three, so I now have to wait two more days to wrap my arms around my son.  Saturday, you seem so far away from Thursday. 

Hello Muddah...

Jackson has been gone for 11 days (not that anyone's counting).  Before he left, he solemnly promised to write every day, although I told him that if he was busy having fun, he didn't need to write every day.  Nana had purchased personalized fill-in-the-blank camp postcards to facilitate the writing process, and we gave him  stamped envelopes pre-addressed to everyone he wanted to write--Nana and Papa, us as a family, and Kenyon and Alex individually. 

I, of course, had written him starting a few days before he left for camp so he'd have one waiting for him on his first day.  Throughout the first week, I asked questions about his tentmate, what activities he's chosen, if he had made any friendship bracelets yet?  I included a puzzle here and there, along with some of his favorite Calvin and Hobbes comic strips.  I wrote a letter in a spiral to make it more fun to read.  His Nana has written virtually every day as well, including fun puzzles from books she bought just for this occasion.  Various friends and family members are sending letters and postcards (thanks everyone!).

We opened the mailbox each day like Charlie opening up a Wonka bar--slowly at first, and then superfast.  Our thought process went like this--he wouldn't write on Monday, the first day of camp--probably Tuesday, after he's had a day to reflect on everything so far.  So we should get a letter from him by Friday, right?  Friday came and went, although we did get a phone call from the camp director letting us know that Jackson was doing great.  She told us the kids have to write on the weekends--sweet, although we thought Jackson would surely write more often than the Required Writing Time.  It didn't take too much effort to fill in some blanks on his personalized camp postcards and place it lovingly into a pre-addressed envelope, right?  

Or as his Nana so eloquently put it, "How hard is it to fill out a fucking card???"

At the very least, we were comforted by the fact that Required Writing Time meant we were sure to get something--until I heard it's common practice to send an empty envelope to your parents.  What kind of parental torture are these children capable of?  I pictured campers chortling around the campfire, regaling others with their stories of sending glaringly empty envelopes home to their child-starved, sobbing parents.  

We rested assured that a letter would be on its way on Monday, and we should get it by Thursday.  When I left the house this morning, Sam promised that he would wait to open the letter until I got home (which is much nicer than me, because there's no way in hell I would have waited if the situation was reversed).  

I walked in the door from work, and there it was, sitting right there on the counter.  A letter from my oldest son, who I miss so much.  I couldn't wait to open it and find the answers to all my questions--has he tried anything that he liked more than he'd thought?  Has he built forts or hiked down to the beach?  Has he played Capture the Flag or gone to Slingshot Alley?  Would he have enclosed his pages of completed puzzles?

With great anticipation, I opened the envelope, pulled out a full length sheet of paper (oh good, he wanted to write more than would fit on the card!), and saw this:

Ok, there were words--another good sign.  No empty envelope for these parents!  Sam, Alex and Kenyon have all been really looking forward to a letter, too, so it would have been awesome if Jackson had included their names as well.  But at least he didn't forget his Mommy. :)  I read on...

"My first night at camp was great.  I passed the swim test!  I'm going to a canoe camp for 2 days."

THAT'S

IT??

We waited nearly two weeks for this??  I turned the page over, looking for more.  No dice.  Using forensic investigative techniques, we deduced that he wrote this on his second day of camp, shoved it into his trunk, and then forgot about it until Required Writing Time.  Then he dusted it off, shoved it into an envelope and sent it off.  We examined the scribbled out portion at the bottom and saw that he had written 'P.S.' but then obviously decided he couldn't be bothered to include any more details about his life and hastily scratched it out.  

Also in the envelope was this little dried flower.

Cute, but I'd rather have words.

We also got a postcard from Jackson's counselor, who wrote that Jackson is a wonderful kid, well-behaved (whew!) and always excited to learn.  He also said that Jackson is a leader in his group and has been helpful around the unit.  

He's clearly having the time of his life, and we would much prefer to not hear from him than to get a daily letter detailing all the things he hated about camp.  We're all thrilled for him.

Here's hoping he'll break the 30-word barrier in his next letter.  14 days until he comes home (not that anyone's counting).  sigh.

Summer Camp or Bust

Yesterday, I dropped Jackson off at the airport; he flew from Denver to San Francisco, and he was very much looking forward to 'free TV, free food, and a free drink!'.  He is clearly seriously deprived at home if sitting squeezed in the middle seat of the last row of an airplane, munching on stale Chex Mix and sipping cranberry juice while watching Spongebob is his definition of livin' the high life.  Gotta give him something to work through with his future therapist, right?

At the airport I showed him the two books I had snuck into his backpack--Survivor Kid, a book he's had his eye on since reading the review in the kids' section of the newspaper, and Harry Potter Film Wizardry.  He didn't falter one bit hefting his backpack on his back, swinging Whaley (his beloved stuffed orca, which has accompanied him on many plane flights and camping trips) gently by the tail, and walking on the plane. 


Now that he's a seasoned traveler, I had only the slightest bit of a watery eye after saying our goodbyes; picked up by his grandparents, he was obviously going to be in good hands. He spent last night with Grandpa and Merry.  He fed horses, collected eggs from the chickens, and ate barbecued chicken with apricot-cherry pie for dessert out on the patio overlooking the redwoods and the ocean.  But unlike his recent travels to see his other grandparents, he won't be coming home after a long weekend.  In about three hours, he's going to Plantation Farm Camp for

three.

and.

a.

half.

weeks.

You may be thinking, 'what kind of a parent would send their 8-year old away three states away where he doesn't know anybody for nearly a month??!?'  Before you call Child Protective Services, know that the camp is literally down the road from Sam's dad's property.  We visit the camp each time we are out there; in fact, the first pool Jackson ever swam in is the camp's pool, at the ripe old age of two months.  The pond where he will canoe and kayak is actually on Sam's dad's property, and the camp horses graze right outside of Sam's dad's house.

where Jackson will be sleeping

Despite all the familiarity with the location, 3.5 weeks is still an awfully long time to be without family.  Since the opportunity was presented to him, though, he has been unwaveringly positive and excitedly counting down the days as the date circled on our calendar approached. 

We spent the last few days leading up to his departure engaged in some very important tasks--I taught him how to make friendship bracelets, which everyone knows is an essential camp accessory.  Funny how at least 20 years have gone by since I made my last friendship bracelet, but it really is just like riding a bike.  I whipped a couple of those suckers out, and Jackson is now properly adorned with two bracelets from me and one made by him.

I also ventured down to the basement and dusted off my trusty Disney-issued carrying case with the VHS tape set of the first season of Bug Juice, a children's reality series about camp (that incidentally, features yours truly as a counselor).  I hadn't seen it in at least ten years, and the boys and I watched back-to-back episodes ("can we watch one more, mom?") showing all the glorious drama, excitement, and fun that is the summer camp experience.  Sam and I glanced at each other and cringed as campers dealt with homesickness, but it was helpful for Jackson to see that feeling homesick is completely normal.  At one point he turned to me and said that he thought he might feel a little homesick as well.  I said I think he might too, but he'd also be having a lot of fun.

I spoke with him briefly this morning, after his hearty pre-camp breakfast of three belgian waffles with strawberries.  From here on out, our communication will jump back a century, and I'll rely on his letters for details about his life until July 14.  I have always thought living in frontier times would have been cool, so here's my chance for a glimpse of it.

Everything has gone so smoothly so far, I had just about breathed a sigh of mom-relief.  And then I learned that Whaley--who Jackson cares for so much that he leaves his backpack opened enough to give him air--is not packed safely in his camp trunk or in his rightful place with Jackson holding him by the tail.  In all the excitement of landing in San Francisco, Whaley was left sitting in the back row of Flight 653, and is currently separated from the boy who adores him. 

Say a prayer to the Frontier Airlines Lost and Found gods that Whaley and Jackson will be reunited in the very near future, and that Jackson can rally through the first few days of camp without him.

They Don't Make 'Em Like They Used To

Sam has completely exposed the wall innards (that's the technical term), ready for the contractor to build the support walls to hold up our second story while the beam is installed. This is the view standing in our kitchen and looking into the dining room...

A hundred year old home always has its quirks, and this one still has plenty of the old knob and tube wiring.

While I think it looks really neat and I appreciate its historic nature, I'm also thankful that little by little our electrical wiring is moving out of the Victorian age. Antiques are fun; fire hazards less so.

I didn't mean for this to be a home improvement blog, but it has been dominating our life in recent weeks. Summer days this week have been filled with Sam taking the boys to swimming lessons at the pool, followed by lunch and more swimming. I get home from work by 3:30, and it's outside playing and hanging out with neighbors, which usually carries over into picnic dinners outside, and inside only for a quick bath, stories, and bedtime. I love summer. I did take a picture of each boy sleeping last night, mostly because Kenyon looked more like he was sunbathing on a chaise by the pool in Cancun than sleeping in his crib. Here are my sleeping beauties...