Listeme

I'd like to say I was gentle , wise, beatific even. But I wasn't. I wandered the woods and lakes of Maine this past week, a wraith in a snit. I sat by the lake Saturday afternoon, book in my lap to ward off passing conversationalists. Kids ran back and forth into the water, out of the water, kicking up sand, back into the water. I basked, grumpily. Mrs. V came by. At first she thought I was my sister Gloria, of course. Once we straightened that out, she asked how I was doing. I told her I was up in Maine for the weekend, dropping off my oldest at college. On her face I saw my own thoughts mirrored: "She was just a little kid last time I looked, and besides, didn't she just go away to college herself? How could she have a son old enough for college? How could that many years have gone by already?" For Mrs. V has known me since I started going to that lake when I was nine years old. She saw me change from year to year, every August, from sunburned...

Here's what we're doing tonight. Salmon and steaks (for those who foolishly don't want salmon), corn on the cob, asparagus and artichokes, a simple pasta with parmesan. Our friend Devon is baking a cake. (Yellow with chocolate frosting, I've been informed several times.) So we're going to eat. A lot. Chris will likely play a practical joke. Emily will insist on blaring music in the background. Daniel and I will take a walk. It's 90 degrees right now, but it will be great walking weather at 7:45. I'll panic for a little while about packing. There have been a lot of days like this one in the past 18 years. They have been good. We'll stuff the Suburban full. Let the cats out, let them in. Water the grass if the rain holds out. And the day will be done.

I went to a tournament in Philly yesterday. It didn't go so well. Curie must have been picking up the vibes from afar.

There are many ways to arrive at the truth. Ask: "Why did you hit your brother?" (Don't ask whether he hit his brother if you were standing there watching it happen; why give the kid a chance to lie and make it worse?) Gather evidence. Pick up the broken pieces of flashlight. Let the neighbor kid attempt to reassemble the flashlights. Send a sibling for frozen vegetables. (What, you thought you had actual ice packs in the house? Those were used for science experiments years ago.) Speak very calmly. After a while, come up with the brilliant plan to ask the combatants for "written accounts" of the event. These accounts will be funny and sad and will include accusations of everything from poor hygiene to communism. Really. (Leave the written accounts on the kitchen counter and the oldest sibling might come by and edit them for grammar and spelling.) Think about your parenting for a while. Don't forget to think about Cain and Abel. At some poi...

Lest anyone think I was being sexist in my last post, I should clarify that my relief at the idea that watching Mary Poppins was the "girls' idea" was not gender-based whatsoever. The girls in question are not related to me. So I was just relieved that my own offspring had not chosen that particular movie. (And I'm still glad about that.) One unfortunate side effect of the Odyssey experience is that I still can't read fiction for enjoyment. I get about two paragraphs into a story before I'm reaching for a pen. "Beginning doesn't hook me. The main character – is this the main character even? – is wooden and has no motivation at all. You should kill the main character off. In fact, you should kill all of your characters. Try macrame." Critiquing … takes a bit out of a person. Honestly, I found the critique sessions exhilarating, both when I was in the spotlight and when I was just part of the circle. There is a power in a group like that, ...

Tonight is going to be so exciting ! Teenagers and jangly loud music and pepperoni pizza and five different kinds of soda and… Mary Poppins. Um. What kind of freaks am I raising? Aren't they supposed to be trying to sneak racy and violent movies past me? I'm a little relieved that it's the "girls' idea". I'm also relieved that my son is referring to Mary Poppins herself as a wretched harpy. But I dunno, maybe I should spike the soda.

Back from the errands of despair (also known as the Wal-Mart Wasteland). The process: make list, drive to store, enter store with list. After that, things start deteriorating. "AA batteries." I have nothing resembling AA batteries in my bags. I do have multicolored index cards and a few different types of Little Debbie Snack Cakes. Oh, did I mention I had teenagers along? But I really need the batteries! This means that I will have to face that evil place again. (And by the way, the sense of evil I get from Wal-Mart has nothing to do with corporate policies or the loss of mom-and-pop outfits in the modern era. It has to do with the fact that when I enter the store I am zapped with rays (maybe from all the smiley logos) that cause me to lose all rational thought, memory, and free will.) Or I could pick up batteries at the convenience store. I mean, it's only a couple bucks more. It's worth the price, isn't it? Meanwhile, I have all these paper t...

Scary things . Ultrasounds may cause minor brain damage to unborn babies, particularly boys. Increased left-handedness, minor speech delays, other "minor" issues. Vaccines may or may not be linked to disorders like autism. Aspartame, lead paint, insect repellant. We advance, we pull back. We help, we harm. I have three left-handed kids, one who had early speech issues. One had a bad vaccine response. There are new whiz-bang products every day. Antibiotics fed to cattle. Antibacterial soap. Acne medications. Vaccine series that start now before the infant leaves the hospital. We try them, all of us, we humans. I wonder if I have enough room on this plot of land to build that bunker.

Hypothetical job opening : looking for someone who loves hiking. Now, I could read that and within about thirty seconds convince myself that I'm utterly unqualified for the position. "Loves? Can I say I love hiking? Maybe they're looking for someone who would express a lot of enthusiasm. I'm probably too reserved for what they're looking for. And hiking. Hmm. I mean, I do walk. I better check the dictionary, make sure I know the difference between hiking and walking and strolling and jogging…." And I'd never apply. There are some folks, though, who would do the opposite. "Hey, I once owned hiking boots! Remember? Those pink ones? They were sooooo cute." And they'd apply and get the job and probably fall to their deaths from a cliff. So, see, my way is the best. When I had a daughter, Em, I worried at first that she might lack self-confidence, independence. Would I pass on my shyness? Were any of these traits genetic? Which were lear...

"The Basenji is a small, short haired hunting dog from Africa. It is short backed and lightly built, appearing high on the leg compared to its length. The wrinkled head is proudly carried on a well arched neck and the tail is set high and curled. Elegant and graceful, the whole demeanor is one of poise and inquiring alertness. The balanced structure and the smooth musculature enables it to move with ease and agility. The Basenji hunts by both sight and scent. Characteristics--The Basenji should not bark but is not mute. The wrinkled forehead, tightly curled tail and swift, effortless gait (resembling a racehorse trotting full out) are typical of the breed." Yeah, that's my girl. My basenji, Curie (Dark Skies Cherry Bomb) won her first points towards her championship today. Some of us were beginning to wonder about her. Not about her soundness or anything like that but about her dorky attitude in the ring. "Get this collar off me!" Her waltz around on t...

Batten down the hatches, Charley's comin' to town. Well, maybe. And by the time he hits here, if he does, he'll be a lot of rain and not much else. So I was catching up on the weather and it occurred to me: we don’t have to do that. I mean, go away for eight weeks and we leaf through magazines and newspapers to see what we might have missed. A cat got into a plane cockpit causing much mischief (and people try to convince me that flying is safe). Some pitcher broke some record. He was the 22nd guy to do so, but apparently that's big news to some people. "Oh, Julia Child died, my gosh!" But we don't go back over the old weather forecasts. I don't know why, but this seems so revelatory and profound. "It was supposed to rain on Tuesday, July 10. I wonder if it did!" No one does that. Okay, so back to filling containers with water and making sure the flashlights are charged.

Playing videogames is a waste of time. Everybody knows that. With the couple of hours I spend playing with the boys every once in a while, I could do lots of productive things. I could do laundry or balance the checkbook. Hey, I could write a sonnet. I could study flashcards. But now and then, we play. The boys and me, on our various computers, connected to a multiuser game via the Internet. We team up to battle the forces of evil (various ichor-dripping monsters). We have to be careful in our team creation. If you choose four big strong ox types, you won't have enough magic skill in your team; if you choose powerful sorceresses, you won't have anyone to take monster hits. And there are are all sorts of permutations. You need characters that can use ranged attacks and characters that have a lot of ability to find cool items. So we build our team and the fun begins. Daniel, skillful and aggressive, dashes out ahead, seeks out monsters, trouble spots, treasures, ...

Christopher came over last night . He's a dear dear friend of my kids (and of mine). He's 11. He calls me his other mom. I missed him a lot while I was gone. I can call my own kids and catch up with them, but it's a little weird to call someone else's son and say, "hey, I miss you, how you doing, buddy?" Luckily… he practically lives at my house and answers the phone more than the kids that do live there, so I got to say "hi" once in a while. We do tend to collect extra kids here. Not sure how it happens. Christopher and his older brother Nick, a friend Devon (we've turned him into a Scrabble player, woohoo!), various others here and there. I'll wake up any morning and find that while I slept children have appeared and are sleeping in the family room or the basement. They know where the cereal is, the security codes, the flashlights. If they're here at dinner, they know they can eat with us – and they better clear their plat...

Next stop in the Crazy Summer of 2004: Waterville, Maine. The week after next, I pile the college freshman and his belongings into the back of a Suburban (yeah, I know, bad gas mileage) and drive up the coast to drop him off. I was reading the stack of paperwork from the college, and there is a line in the schedule, italicized and bold: Parents Leave At This Time. I could snicker at the thought of weeping parents being dragged away from surly teenagers. "Ma'am, put down the hot-pot and come with me." But I do remember being a little – oh, what's the word? – clingy when I dropped him off at kindergarten. What, they won't call me after school the first day and let me know everything he did and said? What about fingerpainting? What if he does something amazing? What if he's sad and lonely? They can't seriously think parents don't need a daily update. So I am refraining from snickering. One of the days in Maine I will spend on my beach. It is not...

This morning I awoke thinking I was still on the train. I used to get confused when I was a little kid, waking at my Grandma's house, wondering where I was for a second. But I'm a grownup now. I'm supposed to know where I am! No, I am not on the train. I'm in Virginia. Virginia is gorgeous. "I've been sunny and 80 degrees and breezy the whole time you were away," Virginia says tauntingly. I believe her. The weeds have grown a lot in my absence. The kids have done a decent enough job keeping up with chores, but there are still things I must address. Weird pockets of dirt and decay that a paper towel wielding teenager will not see (and if they see it, they will pretend they don't). A very strangely outfitted pantry (lots of Ramen noodles and cream of mushroom soup?). I can't imagine what they thought they'd make with those. I don't want to imagine it. There's still plenty of toilet paper. Most of the bath towels are m...