She returns

We've had one of those exhaustive, great weekends that makes you wish for a four-day-weekend; one more day of fun than usual and a day extra to recover.

Unfortunately, I'll be doing my recovering at work in the morning...and I have stuff to do there too!

We braved the wilds of Fishers for dinner with Team Vielee, which is always worth the drive. The girls convinced me to try their new Wii dance game. It was fun, though I remain unhappy with the Japanese and their torture chamber. I have less than zero skill at any of their games, and the dancing proved to be at one with the world of Wii. But it was fun.

Saturday, we picked Ali up from her week at camp, which was way fun. Jeff and I did enjoy the week, but it was odd to have just us in the house. I was worried about and happy to see her when she made the daily photo slide show the camp posts on its website. But I felt a lot like Charlie Brown on Valentine's Day every day I went to the mail slot and came up empty. I got a letter about Ali from her counselors and was sure it was because they felt sorry for me that I was the only Mom who wasn't getting a letter from camp. (Turns out they send a letter to each of the parents...)

But I kept telling myself that it was an indication that she was having so much fun she wasn't missing us at all and was simply too exhausted to put pen to paper at night. It's true that I had asked her going in if she wanted to add riding lessons to her camp experience.

She had looked at me, horrified, and said, "No way."

"You don't want to ride horses?"

"Oh! I thought you said writing lessons," she said. "Yes, I do want to ride horses."

So yeah, I shouldn't have been rushing to the mailbox every night and my fretting that she'd hide in the woods rather than come with us were for naught.

We got to the camp as they were all gathered in the chapel in the woods -- a series of benches in front of a stage with the Flat River as its backdrop. She was in the front bench, and we were near the back but to the side. She spied us during the closing events, but couldn't leave. She kept sneaking looks, though.

She sped like a bullet to us as soon as her counselors freed their charges.

Hair was wild and free, she hadn't showered in three days and she was still wearing her pajamas, but she was back with us, whole and happy. She'd written us a postcard but hadn't figured out that she could buy a stamp at the Trading Post.

The only wrinkle -- and it was my fault -- was when it came time to check her out of her cabin, her teenage counselors wouldn't let us have her. Seems we weren't on the authorized pick up list. Thank God Lisa was there to fetch Helen or we'd still be arguing with the YMCA.

In their defense, I'm much rather have had the struggle (caused by me assuming parents were automatically on the list) than have her at a place that didn't put a premium on the safety of the kids. But isn't it sad that the world is in such a state that a summer camp has to have so many restrictions?

We got home in time to power wash the shortest redhead, let her touch her television and remember all the rooms in the house and have some Ramen -- five days without Ramen Agh! -- and then we were off to see Donna, Jaime and the cousins who were at an Indy softball park.

I won't discuss the fate of Jaime's team -- or Annie's (another niece who was in the state softball tournament) but suffice it to say, they didn't go home with trophies. I, on the other hand, went home with four young girls. We had a ton of fun and then went to Build-a-Bear today.

Overheard along the way:

Aleasha: "Rachael and I played slugbug, best-of-two-out-of-three, and I won all three times!"

***

Alison: "Mom, will you get us batteries for Guess Who Extra? I think they go in here. Oh. Hey. Maybe we should just turn it on..."

***

Rachael and Aleasha were arguing over something one of them had done. Alison was apparently sympathizing with Rachael.

"I hate to tell you, but you're related to her," Alison said.

"Well you are, too!" chimed in Becca, taking up for her youngest sister in a left-handed kind of way.

"Am not!" retorts the geneologically challenged Alison, who for as long as she's been aware of the Weir trio has referred to them as "The Cousins."

"Uh. Yes you are," said Becca. "We're your cousins, remember?"

"Ah. Right."

***

We caught a small glimpse of Team Ogden. They dashed by hoping to meet Donna & crew, but had just missed them. We caught up for maybe 10 minutes, then they had to run. Five minutes later, my phone rang.

"Mrs. Reed, did I leave my flip-flops at your house?" asked Hannah.

"Hannah! You weren't here 10 minutes. How could you have left your shoes?"

"I don't know. But I came home without my shoes."

***

Playing cornhole in the front yard, Team Cheryl/Jaime had just defeated Team Jeff/Donna for the second time in a row.

As Jaime and I prepared to bask in our glory, Jeff was setting up again. It would make for a better ending had we actually won all three of our own best-of-two-out-of-three, but sadly, the elder team somehow squeaked out a win.

Good Morning Campers

We delivered Alison to Flat Rock River Camp this afternoon. She was excited. I was less so.

It's not that I don't want her to have a camp experience. It's not that I don't trust her to keep herself alive and with all her limbs. It's not even that I mistrust the flock of total strangers who are now in charge of her care.

I'm just going to miss her.

OK. I don't trust the teenagers and I'm worried that she'll come home so grown up that she won't need me anymore. And that she'll be in a horrible accident and get hurt. And that she won't fit in and thus be unhappy. And I AM going to miss her.

Agh. Parenthood sucks!!!!!

Yesterday afternoon, I came back from seeing Lyn and Amy to hear Ali calling, "Hey Mom, guess what I'm doing?"

I thought she was in her room, but she was in mine where I'd put her little suitcase. Armed with a pencil and the list of things to pack for camp as outlined by the camp brochure, she was busy packing her own suitcase. She'd checked off the first column when I walked in.

"Uh, Mom: What's a toiletry?" she asked. It was her first hint of hesitancy over the whole idea of camp. She relaxed immediately upon getting the definition.

This morning, she and I were awake before Jeff and she was anxious to wake him up for his "lesson." She's put him in charge of her 35+ virtual pets and she needed to show him how to log on to find them and then care for them. She'd told me that she was planning to ask him to be her pet sitter.

"Um. Hello. What's wrong with me as your pet sitter?" I'd asked.

"No offense, Mom, but you don't really take very good responsibility with your own pets," she said. "I think Dad will do a better job."

It's true. It was under duress that I had agreed to let her sign me up for my own Facebook pets. (I learned this morning from the NY Times that they guy who invented that silly game is the newest gazillionaire and Silicon Valley stud.) I find that amazing.

Jeff is finding it more responsibility than he'd originally thought. At first, he was thrilled that she'd entrusted her pets to him. Then, he found out just how much work it actually is -- and if he doesn't log on as he's promised, Alison won't earn a new frog and pig.

"How did I end up getting so ripped off?" he said. "I had no idea there was so much involved. This stinks."

She gave him his lesson, complete with a written set of instructions and advice. It took at least 30 minutes before she was comfortable with his level of understanding.

Today, she loaded herself down with her backpack, suitcase, pillow and sleeping bag and was struggling to move toward the front door. "It's time to go, isn't it?" she panted, getting about a foot a minute. You could barely see her head amid the baggage.

We relieved her of most of her burdens on the way out the door.

On the way to camp, we learned that there is a Flat Rock, Indiana, and a Flat Rock River Camp. They are not within the same county. Thank God Indiana is fairly compact and that Lisa Vielee is a veteran camper. She set us off in the southeasterly direction instead of due south as I'd planned. (Phew!)

At the camp, we figured everything out, Alison and Helen got top bunks together as they'd wanted and it was "Bye Mom! Bye Dad!" They were chatting from atop their new beds and needed nothing from either of us.

I handled it pretty well, I thought. No tears. No sobs. We went outside and were chatting with John and Lisa when a blur of red flashed down the hill beside us.

I think we'll never know if she was en route to the Trading Post for a bag of Skittles or if she really wanted one last hug (she has a touch of Eddie Haskell in her.) But there she was.

Jeff shouted, "Hey! What are you doing out here?"

She jumped on him, hugged him and choked out an, "I'll miss you." Then it was my turn. I don't think I let any of the tears actually fall, but she sure got me misty. If she was channeling Eddie Haskell, she was doing a good job.

We hugged it out and she went back up the hill, Jeff dragging me off to the car and telling me to stop looking back.

We wandered across Indiana a little bit as we meandered back toward the Flat Rock I thought we'd be heading to originally. It's very near Columbus, Indiana, and we'd planned to have dinner with Larry, Shirley and Lori.

It was a glorious day for a drive in the country, and the miles we logged helped clear my head a little bit. She's going to have a great week.

Jeff has plans that should make it a good week for us, as well. If I can just get used to the house being so quiet, I may even cooperate.

On the Origin of Species

I picked Alison up this afternoon from her first weekend in a gated community. She'd been invited to an overnight in Carmel at the home of her friend Dominic's grandparents.

Both Jeff and I went to meet the family before we gave her over. Not so much because we didn't trust them, but because when she saw the huge pool in the backyard, the tennis court, the home theater and the playroom downstairs, we were sure she'd never want to come home. We went to case the place for when we had to break her out.

Somehow, I managed to extricate her without having to call in the National Guard. On the way home, I was treated to this:

"Hey, Mom. Did you know that God did NOT create the world?"

"Really? What makes you think so?" I ask, knowing she'd had doubts but I'd left her with a very Catholic set of grandparents. What had gone on at Casa Fabuloso?

"Well. Here's what really happened," she said. "First, there was just the atmosphere. That's all there was. It was dark and really cold. And then, the sun was formed and it's heat started to move some of the gasses around. God had nothing to do with it."

"Really. Well, how did the atmosphere and the sun get there?"

"Uh. Well," she said. "I don't know that. Let's just go back to the atmosphere. OK?"

"OK, but do you think, maybe God might have gotten the atmosphere started?"

"I don't think so. See, the sun was so hot, it heated everything up and the planets started forming. And then, here came life. God didn't do it."

"Wow. Where'd you learn all this? National Geographic?" I asked. She's got a subscription to National Geographic Kids and had kept each one. They're in stacks by her bed and in her bathroom. She spews random nature facts like that 8-pounded kid from Jerry Maguire.

"Well not just that. Science class. Scientists have discovered all of this stuff," she said.

"That's really interesting stuff," I said. "You sure know a lot of stuff. Now I'm not saying I have any of the answers, but what makes you so sure that the way God decided to create the world was by having the atmosphere there first and the the sun, just like the scientists say?"

"Well, where did God come from?"

"Um, I said I didn't have ALL the answers."

"This kind of makes my head hurt, Mom," she said. "Like, how did people come to the Earth? And animals?"

"I don't know Ali. It's pretty difficult stuff. No one really knows one way or the other about anything."

"You know what would help?"

"What?"

"Time travel," said the Phinneas and Ferb fanatic. "If we had a time machine, we could go back and learn all kinds of things."

"That would simplify a few things," I allowed.

"Yeah," she said with a sigh. "That what we need for sure."

She's promised to look into inventing the time machine just as soon as she grows up. Her first project was going to be a tricked out car that the homeless could live in. It would have full kitchens, TV and all the stuff anyone would need. It would cost a dime to anyone who was poor. The rich, they'd have to pay millions.

But hey, a time machine would be cool, too.

Summertime in Maine

If it weren't for winter, I would totally live in Maine. One day I'll get smart or rich enough to summer there. Until then, I'm happy to mooch lodging off my father-in-law and hang with Team Reed Down East.

We sacrificed our annual 4th of July fireworks extravaganza in favor of a visit back home. And it was great.

Even though we were at the beach, Alison continued to frown on boys who went about without shirts on.

"Mom, look at that!" she'd say, shaking her head, disgusted.


Reminded that it was a scorcher, she was not moved. "Put a shirt on," she'd hiss.

We all had a great time, though it was far too short. We did get to see Auntie Jen's engagment ring up close. We're still recovering from the glare -- it's gorgeous.

I'm crazy excited to be a bridesmaid, and Jen and I spent some time poring over bride magazines looking for dresses. She's going to be a beautiful bride and we get to go back to Maine next summer for the wedding! I see summertime in Maine become a tradition for TeamReed Indiana.


Alison is excited about going to Maine regardless of the weather. And while she's happy for Jen because she truly loves her, as well as Peter, her soon-to-be uncle, she doesn't really care about the wedding or the dresses.

She remains more concerned about state of people's undress. She was aghast at the airport when she saw the cover of Rolling Stone.

And the grocery back home today, she turned around the magazines that featured women in teeny bikinis, again shaking her head in disapproval at the display of nearly naked flesh.

Just her little public service, I guess.

Sofa Trauma

I moved to Indianapolis 17 years ago and, due to what turned out to be the anti-heist of the century, had to buy new furniture for my new apartment in my new city. In between my life in Evansville and Indy, I'd rented space in a storage facility in Linton, Indiana.

When I found my new place and went back to get my furniture, it had vanished. There wasn't a stick of anything in that little rental cube the nasty man brought me back to. As you might imagine, I was pretty ticked. Especially when the man absolved himself of any responsibility. I was young. I was poor. I hadn't yet started sleeping with a lawyer.

So I went to Indy, financed a whole new living room and kitchen and settled in. The couch and love seat were covered with a brilliant white fabric splashed with pastels. Totally impractical. But I loved it.

Then the rental place called. They'd looked one bin over and guess what was there: yeah. The whole thing. The guy was even less helpful when I went back to get the stuff, which I parceled out to whoever would take it.

The couch and love seat managed to stick with me for many years. But Jeff did not love it, and it was relegated to the basement. By the time Ali came along, the couch had a few stains from chocolate ice cream, and stains from when a couch cusion fell out of a truck onto super-hot asphalt. So if Ali drooled, dribbled or drew on it, I didn't really care. She was little when she started jumping on it.

But she kept growing and the couch turned into a trampoline and sometimes doubled as a dinner napkin. As my appreciation for the thing waned, it waxed for Alison. She loved that couch. Ratty and dirty and torn as it was. It's logged millions of snuggling miles, and Jeff and I may or may not have had a few celebrations ourselves over the past dozen years or so.

But all good things must end, and I've been warning Alison for a good year now that the couch was going to go. Each new tear or stain was just one more step to the scrap heap. Finally, last week, I got a great deal on a leather set -- couch, love seat and oversized ottoman. The couch, ultimately, wouldn't fit down the stairs, but I've since found it a good home, so all is well, and I really only wanted the two pieces anyway.

You can't fit all three pieces and still have room for the Wii, you see.

Pleased as I was, Alison was not. She cried. She pleaded. She slept on the old couch the last night we had it.

When she saw it in the front yard with a "free" sign on it, all the drama returned. She and her Ogden pals (they're equally unhappy with the couch's demise) conspired to steal the pillows so they'd have a momento of all their good times on it. Jeff made them put them back.

Then it rained. Hard. On the sofa. Somehow, no one wanted to cart it away.

Even soaked and more disgusting than it had been in the basement, Ali still didn't want it gone. Today, the trash men came and the couch was finally out of our lives. We pulled into our drive loaded down with groceries just as the trash truck pulled away.

She at least fought the tears back this time.

"Mom. I'm still steamin' mad at you about the couch," she'd informed me yesterday on the way home from camp with Team Ogden aboard.

"Yeah, honey. I know. But it was the best thing. Really. You'll see."

"I've decided what you'll need to do to get me to forgive you," she said.

"What's that?" I asked.

"If you put in a pool that's in the ground, with concrete around it, I'll forgive you," she said.

"Ah. I see," I said. "I guess I'll have to work on that."

Hannah took the time to remind me that she and Alex had discussed the matter. They've spent many years climbing, jumping and dripping on the old couch, too. She was 100 percent supportive of the in-ground pool idea.

"We'd come over way more often," she said.

Tempting as that prospect is, I think I'll let the new furniture grow on the kids. I'm pretty sure my forgiveness will arrive any day now. For free.

There's more than corn in Indiana

We're off to Maine in the morning and excited to see Auntie Jen's ring up close and personal. We hope to canoe on the Adroscoggin River, I'll find a lobster and try not to exceed the Weight Watcher point tally too much.

Jeff's Father's Day present finally made it to our house last Saturday and he's been practicing ever since. I think he's hoping that James and David will pull out their corn hole set (a beauty handcrafted by Peter Chase with bags handmade by Jen) and let him practice some more.

Jeff's set was handcrafte by a northwest Indiana man who apparently makes the boards for the tournament crowd. Even with those credentials, his price was way better than anyone else we found, and we'll be happy to share details if anyone wants to give him some more business. He'd never made one with a Bosox design before, but we were really happy with his work.

In addition to the fancy corn hole set, pie arrived at our house this week.

It was made and delivered by our neighbor, Mark, with raspberries from his farm. Mark is a devout Christian, quiet, highly moralistic and a prolific gardener. He's a great person to have next door.

I'm still battling the bulge, and I'm not really a pie maker anyway. When Jeff got home, Ali broke the news to him that pie had arrived.

"I think Mark was doing community service," she said.

***

Happy Fourth of July! If you're blowing stuff up this weekend, do it safely.

Congrats to my friend Jonathan on his great news!!!! Seems that romance is in the air all along the Eastern Seaboard....

We need to take a parenting class

This morning, for a moment or two after a parent-to-parent conversation, I thought Jeff might have to start having only supervised visitation with Alison. Either that or he ought to stop telling me stuff. Because according to Jeff:

While I went out in search of milk and breakfast treats, Jeff and Ali were lounging amid gift bags and cards, watching a little Father's Day TV. Jeff was in charge of the remote and lingered over a channel showing the Katy Perry and Snoop Dogg's California Girls. While the thing starts out in candy land and pastel hairdos, it devolves into cupcake boobs that shoot whipped cream or something and a lot of near full nudity. It's a fun video. If you're, like, an adult... or at least in double digits.

As anyone who knows Alison, knows she's not a fan of nudity. She is a huge fan of candy. But even the background of the video didn't earn Ms. Perry a pass from my prudish little redhead.

"Dad. That girl is naked," she informed her father. She would probably have fought for the remote, but then some gummi bears entered the scene. Shortly after, that the cupcakes started erupting.

Alison was somewhat aghast. "Dad, that's just wrong," she said.

Later, they were in the basement. Alone again.

"Dad?"

"Yes, Ali."

"Why can you say 'crap' but I can't?"

He paused. He thought. "Well, Alison, that's probably not a word either of us should use."

"You use it a lot."

"Yeah. I'll work on that."

"OK Dad."

And now, in the interest of full disclosure, I should admit that I feel responsible for Alison's lack of religiousity. Is that a word? Part of the reason she attends catholic school is because I want her to learn about religion from a qualified authority. Which clearly isn't me. I try to keep my own doubts and cynicism away from her, but I think it's seeped out.

She's opted to believe in paleontology rather than Christianity, and it was one point on her Religion grade that kept her from straight As for her last report card in third grade.

So we were in the car yesterday and a song came on the radio that I think is hysterical. It's called "I pray for you" by Jaron and the Long Road. It's about a guy done wrong who for some reason visited a church after a long absence. He takes the preacher up on his words and starts praying for his lady lost to fall victim to a very long list of bad stuff.

"Mom. That is the worst song EVER," Alison shouts from the back. She's shouted a lot of bad commentary of my country music, but she was particularly unhappy with this one.

"I don't think God wants you to ask for bad stuff to happen to people," she said.

I tried for a moment to explain why it was funny and that she shouldn't take the comments literally. "Haven't you ever been so mad at someone that you wanted something bad to happen to them?" I asked.

"Yeah. But I didn't ask God about it," she said.

She's so much smarter than either of us...