Drill Baby Drill!

Long before we actually dated, Jeff and I established that we don't really work well together. I was at work at the Utility Regulatory Commission one day back in the last century. He was at the agency allegedly doing client work. I heard him coming down the hall en route to the Records Room. I smiled, but kept to my task. A few minutes later, wadded up paper comes sailing over the short wall. I ignore it. More paper missiles come my way. I grimace. I look up, prepare to spare him a few minutes. He was prepared for more. Time. It was my time he wanted. "Uh, working here," I say. Dumbfounded, he groused that I was too focused on work when it was break-time. My co-workers agreed. I will confess that I sent him on his way. It's a wonder he ever came back. Years later, I decide to tear out the ingrown pavers that once created a nice little path to our door. I'd been thinking about it for a while. Finally, I decide to act while he was at basketball one summer Sunday morning. He came home to find me with a shovel and a slim idea of what I really wanted to accomplish. The 7,000 or so pavers I'd dug out the ground were scattered around. Dirt was flying and had there been rain, it would have been a muddy slog to the front door. "That's not going to work," he says to my sweat-soaked, dirt-encrusted, blistered self. "Did you do ANY research?? Now, it is true that through the course of this project I would go to get new pavers only to have the hardware store clerk look from me to my Honda del Sol to my stack of pavers about a dozen times before he found a way to ask, without laughing in my face, "Uh, how are you gonna get these home?" (His good efforts didn't last. He laughed and brought friends every time I came back to get more, sparks flying one time when I over loaded and nearly bottomed my little car out in the parking lot.) No. I HAD NOT done my research. I'd just spent hours digging out a path to make our home look a little better. BY MYSELF. With just a shovel and enough obstinance to power the city. Jeff eventually joined in to help me set the pavers and it was after this marital adventure that we agreed we'd never again work together lest the temptation of divorce or murder grow too great for either of us. Thus, our happy marriage was born, struggled and survived. But on Friday, he tells me that his plans for working all weekend had fallen through. "Great! You can work with Ali and me in the Angie's List garden," I say before I really thought it through. His silence was mighty. "Uh. Well. I could," he said. We chatted a bit. The flashbacks came roaring back and I suggested he go car shopping instead. But Saturday dawned and he decided he'd go along for the ride. We'll be done by noon, right? There should be a big crew to finish building the 30 or so raised beds, dig the holes to secure them in the ground and get them in place. We arrived at 9:30. At one point we may have had a dozen people. It was cold. We get started. Last week, we'd started before we got rain and lightninged out. We'd been able to get the wood cut and a few beds built. The hardest work (for me) was hanging on to a gasoline powered auger that we'd turned to after the hand post-hole digger just wasn't going to work. Our garden is built on a plot of green in the heart of the Angie's List campus. It's been home, we're all sure, to parking lots, homes, probably a fall-out bunker. There are rocks and bricks and tons of stuff that laughs when shovels hit it. This auger is a two-person device. You stand across from your new best friend with a gasoline tank a motor similar to a lawn mower between you. You grasp the handles, someone pulls the cord and you hold on for dear life as you have to push down to encourage the auger to bite through the hard Earth. It sounds like the auger and combustion engine does all the work, but trust me. That thing will take you for a ride if you're not careful. There were times I thought I was the Tasmanian Devil spinning around in the dirt. We didn't get all the holes dug before the weather broke, so we had more to do this weekend. Without discussion, Jeff and I went to separate parts of the work space. He joined the driller/builder crew while I headed to the dirt. We dug out some of the early holes before the auger arrived and then it was drill, baby drill. We all took turns on the thing. Everyone toted lumber here and there, placed the beds and helped wherever we were needed. Alison and little girl -- about 4 -- were the only little ones on the job, but they helped out with some toting and fetching. They babysat Diva the dog, too. Having them around was a good influence. Well, at least on me. I kept the cursing to a minimum and tried to set a good example. They picnicked on the healthy snacks I'd brought. It was all good. Alison will be 11 years old in two weeks. She'd been to a friend's sleepover Friday and hadn't gotten to bed until 6 a.m. She came back to us a little grouchy, with wild hair and lipstick covering her lower face. This is just two days after our human sexuality class last week, she and two friends (one her boyfriend!) and their parents and I went to dinner. Ali was telling him a secret when I told her that was rude and should share with the table or keep it to herself. She looked at me, pointing back and forth to Ty and herself, excusing her social lapse saying, "We're in a relationship!" I thought the parents side of the table were going to fall out of our chairs. But we made it through. Later in the wee, we had talks of bodily changes, plans for her birthday and her strong desire (which will go unfulfilled) to get an iPhone. Like me, Jeff's trying to hold on to her somehow -- they've spent some good bonding time in search of that big-girl bicycle and sharing rock-n-roll music. She did admit to him that she likes SOME country music, too. But back to the garden... Jeff and I got along amazingly well. I think he was high on power tools and the chance to play with them with other boys. He and even partnered up on the auger for a little while. It's a hard job, made easier when your height and strength matches up. I had a couple more Tasmanian Devil moments, but we managed to drill a few more holes. Six hours later, the beds were in, the mess cleaned up and the auger was dismantled and on its way back to the hardware of hell from whence it came. I don't know if it was the general spirit of the day, Jeff's electric-powered euphoria or the fact that we were among new friends, but we got through all the chores without even one disagreement. OMG. Could we have become emotionally mature adults? More likely, by the time the auger came between us, we were too exhausted to do much more than hang on and hope for the best. Yeah. We're older, but we're no more mature than we ever were. We're just parents....

On wheels -- but not in a wheelchair ... yet!

Alison is looking at her 11th birthday here in a bit and Jeff really wants to buy her a big girl bike. One with gears and hand brakes that fits her leggy self.

She's had a nice little bike for a couple of years and it's too short for her, has a pedal brake, and until the first bike ride of 2012, had a little white wicker basket, butterflies and noise makers on the wheels.

She thought she'd outgrown the girly little things, so off they came.

So anyway, she and Jeff went bike shopping today and when they got home, he had her try out my bike. She's going to be taller than me, but she's not quite there yet. She is 4-feet 11-inches to my 5-4.

She did a great job with it. It's a tiny bit too big for her, but it's next progression. The sad fact is that one day my bike will be too short for her. But she was living large on her practice runs.

So as we were finishing up dinner tonight, Jeff suggested a bike ride to Bric's instead of her standard vanilla cone at home. She readily agreed and opined that she could ride my bike.

I smiled and said, "Uh, and how will I get there?"

She looked at me and said, "Mom, there's really nothing you will have there, is there?"

I said, "I AM going with you."

"Oh." she said, resigning herself to her little bike.

"Hey! How about I roller blade and you guys ride?" I suggest, thinking that I'm not just a cool mom, I'm an unselfish and creative mom.

She frowned. "YOU know how to rollerblade?"

"Sure," I said.

"I don't think this is a good idea," she said, following me around like a little hen as I unearth the roller blades, which came from the previous millenium.

Now, it's true I haven't had my roller blades on in, oh, at least a decade. They've been living in the garage. While I didn't let on, I WAS a little concerned that I could:

a.)get upright
b.) stay upright and
c.) make it the mile and back to the ice-cream shop.

I had, you see, already ridden my bike and worked out for more than an hour that morning. Then, I'd spent a few hours planting some lilacs, relocating some flox and weeding the last of the flower beds. I mowed the back yard and relocated some bricks and rocks that border the flower beds.

I had worked out more than enough. But there was no way I was wimping out now. I got the roller blades out, shook out the decade of whatever had crawled or fallen in there and said prayer of thanks that I wasn't squishing any mice babies when I crammed my feet inside the little booties.

I wondered if the wheels would even turn. I got up and windmilled down the driveway, Alison trailing my every move. "Are you sure about this?" she inquired.

Still a bit wobbly but recalling the basic balancing moves, "I panted, "Why are you so worried about this, Alison?"

"Well, I have known you for ALMOST 11 years now and I have NEVER seen you on roller blades. I don't want you to fall down and get hurt," she fretted.

I told her to get on her bike. I was heading north and she and her dad could catch me.

"Are you sure you can go uphill?" she called.

I get up the hill and start north on the Monon with her at my heels. We get on our way and damned if Worry Wart No. 2 didn't come by carrying my bicycle helmet. I put it on and shooed him to catch up with Ali.

We get to the ice cream store. I go to Brics with them, but the diet selection is non-existent. So I usually wait until I get home to have my ice cream on these trips.

I tell them to go in and I'd snag a table. "Bring me something chocolate. Full fat if you have to, I don't care," I said.

Jeff almost fell down.

Ali had her standard vanilla in a cake cone. Jeff had some new concoction of chocolate-covered pretzels in vanilla ice cream in a pretzel cone. I do not approve of salt in ice cream. And the only thing I want in my chocolate is more chocoalate.

He did not disappoint, and it was goooood.

I'm going to roller blade more often.

Of Sex and Shamrocks

Back when we learned that Alison would have a sexuality lesson during her 5th grade year, Jeff and I offered to talk with her beforehand. We could do it at home, just the three of us, or just she and I. Whatever she wanted.

She looked me dead in the eyes and declined, saying, "Look. I only want to have to learn that stuff once."

Well, once is upon us.


We had actually braced ourselves for the lecture yesterday. Alison and I were going to attend. A parent is required. Two are optional. We opted for me, and Alison was a little worried. "Madison says they're going to show us how to make a baby!" she reported on Monday.

On Tuesday, she "OMG, Mom. We had better not have to sit in the same room with the boys. I do NOT want to have look at their junk getting hair on it, and I'm pretty sure they don't want that either."

On Wednesday, I didn't work out and pick her up as I generally do: in sweaty sweats and sneakers. I had on slacks and a sweater set, fully prepared to face down the sex teachers. The lecture starts at 6:30 so we'd planned a quick snack and then something fun after it ended at 8. I was sure I'd need a drink. I'm pretty sure Ali was thinking ice cream.

Turns out we would have been a week early had we gone, a fact we learned before we actually drove over to the off-site sex center. Frustrated, Alison said, "Let's just go now and get it over with."

Alas, they don't teach sex 24/7, so we have another week to wait. In the interim, I've been informed that it's not a dressy affair.

"Can you just wear a Billy Currington tee-shirt and jeans? None of the other moms will be fancy," she asked.

I agreed. I really do want to make her as comfortable as possible. We haven't decided yet if I get to sit WITH her or if I'll be shunted to the back row. That'll be determined on-site, after she gets the lay of the land. For sure, neither of us will be anywhere near anyone with different body parts, hairy or bald. That much is clear.

So last night, ran an errand that Jeff would have done while Ali and were off being educated. That left he and Ali to take a walk. (It was chilly. I was happy to be in the car with a heater and a radio.) They took a small ball, as is their good weather walking habit, to entertain themselves with along the way.

Alison has recently been watching a lot of the aptly named, "Annoying Orange" online show that features animated fruit who take part in highly annoying and often inappropriate antics. One of the recent episodes that has gotten repeat play features a leprechaun whose delicate parts are abused. "Oooh! Me Shamrocks!" he'll exclaim, sending Alison into giggle fits that last for days.

During the walk, Jeff got smacked with an unexpected bounce. So of course, he doubled over and cried out, "Oooh! me Shamrocks!"

Alison doubled over too. But in laughter. Minutes later, she, too, fell victim to an errant bounce.

"Oooh! Me Shamrocks!" she exclaimed.

"Alison, you don't have any shamrocks," retorts her father.

She immediately doubled over again. "Ooh! Me pot of gold!"

I'm not sure she needs that sex class...

Hot Chocolate

So the other day, my good friend Kirsten gave me a bag of chocolates, which I've been studiously ignoring for a week.

Alison, however, asked for two of them. No, she didn't want to eat them. She's still firmly in the "anti-chocolate club." (I don't understand it either.)

But she wanted to take them to school. I thought she wanted to give them to her friend, Ty, who like most normal people, does love chocolate. When I picked her up, I asked her how he liked them.

"Oh, I didn't give them to Ty. I raffled them off at my lunch table."

I almost stopped the car. At Christ the King, the kids aren't allowed to trade food. If someone forgets his or her lunch, the kids are allowed to volunteer stuff they don't want from their own lunch to the hungry kid, but otherwise, it's keep your lunch to yourself.

"You did what?" I asked, bracing myself for the conduct cut to come.

"I raffled them. I had each of the girls give me stuff from their lunch for a chance to win them," she said. "Madison won."

I forget what all she got, but it involved Skittles and hard candy, I think. She said she even convinced Madison to shave off parts of the truffles to share with the other two girls at her table.

"Why didn't you just share them with everyone to begin with?" I asked. I didn't have to look in the rear-view mirror to see the eye-roll. Her amazement at my naivete filled the interior of the car like one of her father's flatulent episodes.

"Duh. You get more stuff if you raffle."

I fear my little liberal is turning Republican. Please send help. I think there's time to save her.

PS: The photo today is of Jeff wearing a tee-shirt Alison made when she was about 2and still a staunch Democrat. See how her little green handprints have grown? She'll be 11 in a few weeks. I'm still liking her even more with every year. I might still like her if she changes political affiliation, but I'm going to try to get her back to my side before it comes to that.

I don't know if you've ever noticed, but Easter is a very chocolate holiday. It's hard to find stuff for Alison. Her basket contained some Peeps, (not that her braces really allow her to have them) a couple of iTunes gift cards, jelly beans and a musical card, along with a little cash hidden in some plastic eggs.

She forked over her folding paper to settle a prior iTunes debt with me, and later in the day, she helped Jeff with our annual Indians ticket distribution to earn more money, shaving off one week of her iPad debt to her father. She's been paying him off for her portion of the Christmas gift with her allowance. (This, of course led to her indebtedness to me.)

She has two more months to go to pay off her iPad. She's been on the installment plan since the morning of December 25. Her birthday will get her a little more booty, so don't feel bad for her. Come to think of it, her grandfather sent her a 10-spot with her Easter card. She didn't volunteer to pay me back until Jeff reminded us of it this morning. I haven't seen that ten-dollar bill since.

Ooooh. She IS a Republican.

On the road and back

Alison was watching the Simpsons today. She discovered them at the Ogdens recently and has been DVRing like a rabid beaver.

She laughs out loud and says, stuff like, "Oh, that gets me every time," and, "Now THAT is funny." She sometimes laughs like the bully: "Ha-haaa."


It's hysterical just listening to her. But today the episode she was watching involved Bart's wish for a little brother and got a little close to home on how that actually could be accomplished. I remarked that maybe she should cut back on her time with her newfound friends.

"Mom. Do you think this is where I learn words I can't say? You should listen to boys practicing football at Aftercare," she said.

"What do they say?"

"Stuff I can't say. And I would NEVER say," she said. "And a lot of it. But that's not where I learned the most stuff."

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and dared to inquire further.

"In that canoe with Uncle David and Uncle James," she said, hearkening back to a canoe trip we took down the Androscoggin River a couple years ago. "I learned 7 new words that day. Seven!"

I did not ask for specifics.

***

Profanity aside, I think she was thinking of that trip because we canoed a bit in Florida over Spring Break. It was a great, great trip, made even more special with the addition of Rachael Weir, the cousin closest to Alison in age. They're great travel buddies, and buddies in general. They're both avid readers, Harry Potter fans and ice cream afficiandos.

Rachael may be the most easy-going kid you'll ever meet. While generous with her things, Alison is a serial clothes borrower and a terrible bed hog. Neither of these foibles seemed to annoy her cousin. Rachael has two sisters at home (one younger, one older)so Alison's encroachments are apparently a refreshing change.

Rachael is also a great softball pitcher and a big STL Cardinals fan, which went over really well with Team Johnson -- Bob, Kathy and Millie -- who we visited a bit on the trip. Bob is also a Cardinal fan and he took great delight in giving Rachael tips on how her Uncle Jeff was not entirely trustworthy given his allegiance to the Red Sox. She soaked it all up.



Rachael was missing some of her school days to go with us (date mix-up among the mothers) and had to make a daily journal entry. One day I asked what she was going to say about the day and Jeff offered himself as a worthy subject.

"Why?" we asked.

"Because I'm so awesome," he said, matter-of-factly.

"You're not THAT awesome," Rachael retorted. "You're not even a Cardinals fan."

He tried again: "I am super-awesom. I drove you to get ice cream that you said was the most awesom, best-ever ice cream you had ever tasted."

"No you didn't. BOB drove us the first night," she said, a wicked gleam in her eye. "And, YOU pushed me into a cold swimming pool."

***

We had started our trip at Disneyworld, ventured to Universal's Islands of Adventure for a visit with Harry Potter, drove down to Fort Myers to see the Johnsons and get Jeff and Bob to a Red Sox game; us all to the beach; and the girls and I to a little canoe adventure.

The time just flew. We stayed on the Disney property, and I thought I'd arranged for unlimited park visits, but we learned at 8 p.m. or so that we were limited to one park a day.

It was outside the Magic Kingdom we learned this, and Rachael had been regaling us with all the rides that awaited inside. We'd spent the morning in the Animal Kingdom where we rode her favorite ride -- Everest -- and had a little R&R at the resort pool in between trips to the parks.

We had four hours of Magic Kingdom time to spend. Or so we thought. For a mere $129 a ticket, we could have tapped the magic, but it just didn't seem worth it when we had Universal waiting the next day. We debated. The price came down to $59 more per ticket. (Yeah. Funny, that.)

Jeff and I looked at each other, mentally prepared to fling down the extra cash. But Jeff presented them with the situation and offered the option of skipping the Kingdom for the chance to visit Hogwarts.

"Harry Potter?!" they squealed. We reminded them that that meant we wouldn't go into the Magic Kingdom. "That's OK. What can we do instead?"

Rachael suggested Downtown Disney and off we went. They were happy as little clams, and we had a fabulous time there, not getting home until midnight. Price of admission: $0.

I just love those girls. In seven days, we had not one instance of bad behavior. Well, I almost hoarked on a trip to Mars, and Jeff did push Rachael into that pool. But the girls's behavior was A-plus.

Bikes!

It's a two-wheeled world right now with the warmest March I can remember.

The flowers are blooming, the magnolia is bursting out all over and vacation is within sight. We usually leave a frosty Indiana behind when we take off for Spring Break, but I'll be OK leaving for a while regardless of the balmy weather here. A break will be good for everyone.

I was fortunate to have a quick start to the weekend, which was good because I rode my bike to work Friday morning and was able to make it a leisurely return trip and still pick Alison up from school on time. Saturday, Ali and I rode north while Jenna and Amer rode east. We met in the middle, which just happens to be Huddles, home of our current favorite frozen yogurt. After a little lunch and mother-daughter fun, the girls and I rode south with a little side trip in Broad Ripple.

We'll have to return Jen this afternoon, but it'll be another bike transfer so it will still be fun. We'd keep her if Amy could bear to give her up, but we've tried that before. There seems to be little interest in a full-time, one-girl trade from Team Tokash to Team Reed.

When they were small, we all used to play together, but I'm becoming increasingly unnecessary to their good time. They get plenty of time alone, but I still try to infiltrate their twosome when I can. I have discovered that my success rate skyrockets when my credit card is showing. Or if I have food. This morning I bribed them with a walk to Good Morning Mama for breakfast with a soda chaser from the vegetable stand across the way.

"I like to get these old-timey bottles," says Ali as she worked the bottle cap opener. "I take off the label and let people think I'm drinking beer."

Jenna's bottle was stamped with Cocoa-Cola Light so there was no disguising it. But the novelty of it all wasn't diminished at all. Ali had talked up the soda possibility on the walk in, telling Jenna that my favorite soda of all time -- Moxie -- was available there.

"What's it taste like?" Jenna asked.

"Gasoline," I said, delighting in her gasp.

"Gasoline?! What does gasoline taste like?" she said, horrified.

"Terrible," I said.

"Why do you love it?"


"Oh I don't. I just like the fact that it makes me think of Lisbon Falls, Maine, where Ali's Uncle James lives."

"Oh. Is he the tall one? I remember him."

That led us to a discussion of the word "moxie" and that got us all the way to the restaurant where all things breakfast were devoured.

I kind of hogged the girls while Jeff did most of our weekend chores and may have dabbled a bit in his baseball draft preparations. He managed to get tennis and basketball in, so I don't feel too bad about his weekend.

I've done little to prepare for vacation, but Alison is already packed. I'm going to have to get on that. Right now, though, I'm going to eavesdrop on the girls.

Last I saw them they were sharing a container of raspberries, and I heard this from my almost daughter: "Look, Ali! They have little hairs. They're going through puberty!"

Oy. I can only imagine what I'll learn.

Up a creek

I don't know if it's because I have been reading The Hunger Games, I've become a nicer person or it was just that spectacular of a day, but I found myself taking the time to marvel at the world today.

Alison had gone to church with Alex. Jeff was playing basketball. So I got my bike out and hit the Monon Trail.

With Tim McGraw crooning in my ears, I pedaled to the trail, passing geezers holding hands on their morning walk, new parents with scratch- and stain-free strollers, and disaffected youth who hadn't remembered to put their sneers on yet.

It was a great morning ride. I'd planned to pedal up to the Jordan Y, jump in for some weight work and then pedal back home before noon. Karin had reminded me of our last trip on the trail as she came to collect the kids for church. I remembered that she hadn't wanted to go fast. She remembered that I felt compelled to loudly, verbally enforce Trail protocol.

Karin is a really nice person. She doesn't yell at people. I still contend that I was spreading needed messages to people who let their dogs cross both lanes of the trail while still holding onto their leashes; gaggles of women who couldn't bear to not walk 4-abreast, thereby blocking anyone trying to get around them; and a whole flock of people who seemed to have a common mission of holding me back.

There really were a lot of miscreants out that day. It's possible that I wasn't always polite as I dissemenated rule reminders. Karin hasn't ridden the Trail with me since.

This morning, I enforced no rules and smiled at anyone who tried to make eye contact.

I smiled at the couple whose pre-schooler was running ahead hearing the sentence that ruled Alison's Trail life at that age: "Stay to the right of the red line!"

I waved at the infant strapped in so securely that the only movement allowed was the flailing of her plump little arms.

I think I even braked for a squirrel.

When I got to the gym, it was shortly before its 11 a.m. opening. I was No. 13 of a line of 14 at the main door. I don't know how many people were at the back door. But it was quite a collection of eager exercisers.

They must have Karin-trained because if anyone was irritated (other than the front desk clerk) no one voiced it. In fact, they waved each other through the line as the two converged.

Afterward, Karin and the kids (including the fabled Corbin who I'd heard about for years but never met) and I took a little hike in Marrott Park. We crossed a creek bed on a huge, downed tree and found another one later on. The boys crossed. Alison crossed. I crossed.

I didn't remember that Karin was afraid of heights. She chose to scoot over like Alex had and as she debated her dismount, Alison went back up, reached out and said, "I'll help you Miss Karin."

Cheers erupted when she got down. But we quickly discovered there was only one dry way back over the water. It didn't take long for Ali and Karin to gauge the depth of the stream. The boys and I chose the tree; Karin and Ali splashed, hand-in-hand. In March.

"Oh my gosh. I think I have hypothermia!" Alison chattered.

We all made it back through the woods just fine. Karin headed off to a date with her husband. I hit the couch where Jeff was setting an excellent example of how to celebrate a hard work out, and the kids hit the basement. Other than knowing the Wii and the iPads were involved, I neither know nor care what they did for the next two hours. I'd delivered them tacos and pointed them to the Dr. Pepper. My work was done.

Between the work out, the hike and my effort at being the nicest person on the trail, I was exhausted. My camera in my phone seems equally tired as it won't give up the photos I took. So sorry about that.

I think I'm taking my phone to the couch. We both apparently need more R&R. Hope you had an equally lovely day. And that this weather holds.