As I had expected, Zach and Allie would each embrace the swimming lessons in their own way. Allie, our little independent, fly-by-the-seat-of-her-pants, happy-go-lucky girl, eagerly darted into the pool on the evening of the first lesson. She easily put her face in the water, smiled and giggled with her teachers, and shimmied along the edge of the pool as asked.
Zach, on the other hand, took a much more cautious approach, as he does with most things in life. Unlike his sister, Zach is a bit of a worrier and always wants to know what he's up against. At the beginning of each day he bombards with me with questions so that the days' events are firmly planted in his mind.
"Mommy, do I go to preschool today?" "Mommy, are we going to the gym?" "Mommy, do we have swim lessons today?" "Does Daddy stay home today?" "Mommy, are we going to the store today?" "Are we going to the park?"
At his first lesson, the teachers asked parents to sit away from the kids so they wouldn't be distracted, so we scurried to the other side of the huge pool. Zach didn't get in voluntarily, but was eventually cajoled by the instructors. Every few minutes he'd break out into a cry, punctuated by little whimpers as he sat on the steps with his fellow preschool-aged swimming classmates. By the way, at each lesson I couldn't help but think how much the female instructor looks like my friend Juliet in Sacramento (what do you think, J?).
About half-way through, Zach spotted us, darted up out of the water and ran as fast as he could toward us. Allie, apparently confused, got up and followed Zach. So we had to deliver them back to the other side of the pool. Zach was not a happy swimmer.
The next lesson the instructors suggested we sit inside where we could see the kids but they couldn't see us. We did that a couple times and Zach still was not loosening up in the water. By about the fourth lesson, Zach asked hours in advance "Do I have swim lessons today ... Will you sit by me?"
So that night I sat alongside the pool and he's been tear-free ever since. He's still not as comfortable in the water as Allie is. When the instructors took them out individually to help them with back floats, Zach grabbed at the teacher's neck and tried to roll himself over, looking like he was hanging on for dear life and practically choking the instructor in the process. And another cute Zachy move -- when all the kids are lined up and doing their kicks while hanging onto the wall, Zach looks to his right and kicks just his right leg way over to the side with his toes poking up from the water and his heel digging into the water, instead of kicking directly behind him. So cute. So Zachy.
But for now they're done. They'll do it again in about a month. I predict by the end of the summer Allie will be able to swim the length of our pool. She's a little fish out there. And Zach, well Zachy has his own talents -- he'll probably be standing on the pool steps shooting baskets.
All the signs are here.
The backpacks are tossed to the back of the closet. The lunch boxes are relegated to the hard-to-reach cabinets. The phone lists with classmates' numbers are close at hand. Flip flops are strewn about the house.
It's officially summer vacation here in Anthem. And this year, knowing what I'm up against, I'm getting us ready.
Back in Elk Grove, the kids were on a year-round school schedule -- three months on and then a month off. We had about 6 weeks off in June/July (as well as the months of February and October) and by the end of July it was back to school.
So last year when we moved here at the end of April, Blake and Nick went to school for just a month and then it was summer vacation. It was an unbelievably long, scorching summer. Blake and Nick had been in school just a short time and hadn't made many friends yet. Even though we have a pool, I didn't feel comfortable taking Zach and Allie in the water alone (they were only 2), so the boys and I would wait until their naptime. And, perhaps most importantly, it was just too blazing hot to venture out anywhere with the kids. During the summer the neighborhoods of Phoenix are like ghost towns. I once heard someone liken it to winters in the midwest -- hibernating and taking cover from the snow and cold for a few months. Only here it's taking cover inside to insulate ourselves from the brutal heat of the summer.
Last summer, having just moved, all three sets of parents made a trip out during June, July and August. Brett's parents were here a couple weeks ago, and my parents are planning a September trip for Nick's birthday -- but nothing in between is scheduled. A clear sign that a lot of people make their first summer visit to Phoenix their last :)
So I've been plotting, trying to strategically break up our summer and minimize the kids' down time (that's code word for watching TV and playing video games) ...
We'll be getting a beach house with my parents, brother and his family on the California coast in just a few weeks. Then we'll be flying back to visit Brett's mom and relatives in Minnesota in July. Blake and Nick will spend an extra week in Sacramento with their grandparents. Blake's going to his first overnight camp -- a soccer camp in Flagstaff. The twins will continue to go to preschool twice a week, as well as keep up with swim lessons. I'm still trying to get Nicky to pick a sport/camp or activity.
But still, while I feel more prepared, I still don't feel completely ready for those endless, stifling hot days (the sun is up this time of year by 5:30 -- still not used to that).
To soften the inevitable heat wave, May has been beautiful and on the mild side.
About a week ago we finally had our first 100-degree day (actually AFTER Sacramento hit 100 a couple days earlier ... unusual). The next day we had our first 110-degree day. Then a few days later wind and cool and then lots of rain. It felt like the Bay Area. Over Memorial Day weekend we were in the 70s and 80s. We decided to take advantage of our zoo membership and go one last time before it's cool enough to go back again, which will probably be about November. Really.
Of course Zach and Allie love the zoo, but we're finding it a surmounting challenge to find family activities that cater to all the kids. Blake didn't want to go. "The zoo's so boring ... why do we have to go?" So, little-by-little, my little Blake is turning into a big kid (now a 6th grader) who'd rather be skateboarding, playing soccer or flying his bike off jumps than going to the zoo. And just like bracing for a long, blistering summer, I'm not ready.
OK, first things first. What was the deal with the cheesy boxing gimmick? Totally hokey. Why do they do this? Do they want us to sit and ponder whether little David A. is really only 100 pounds -- and if so (and even if not so) was he a little embarrassed by it all?
And the whole Jim Lampley commentary was irritating, to say the least. Don't the American Idol producers know that a lot of us female and non-sports-watching types like American Idol because it's NOT sports. We get enough Lampley, Costa, Bird, Barkley and all the others when our husbands kidnap the remotes and subject us to the NBA finals, March madness, NFL preseason, postseason, playoffs, Bowl games, MLB, hockey, and in my house, even professional soccer. The whole sport feature style stories and images of the Davids -- reminiscent of the types of features you see on athletes during the Olympics -- was, I thought, silly.
But back to the singing, because this is a boxing, I mean singing, show.
I've said for weeks now that I'm a huge David Cook fan. And I still am. He's awesome and he'll go far no matter what happens. But after last night and witnessing David A. step up his game and give his best performances so far, I think he'll win.
David A is a better singer; David C -- in my opinion -- is a better performer.
But the other difference is that David A wants this -- the title of American Idol -- more. Sure, I think David C is appreciative of what AI has done for him and his career, but I can't help but wonder if he wants to be "the American Idol." I wonder if it's too pop, too mainstream for him. He could have closed his trio of songs with "Hello" or "Billie Jean," as suggested by Simon. Instead he chose the understated Collective Soul song. I wonder if he maybe even made a conscious -- or perhaps subconscious -- decision to downplay it a bit.
I read in an Associated Press article that David C says he wouldn't change a thing about his song choices. That if he had to choose a song that everyone knew and loved and a lesser known one that echoed his style and personality, he would choose the latter. I think a true American Idol, like David A, would choose the former.
Remember Bo Bice? He was the Southern rocker with long hair who was runner-up the year Carrie Underwood won. In a recent interview he said that as he stood there with Carrie waiting for Ryan to announce the winner, he was thinking, "Please, don't be me." I wonder if David C shares this sentiment.
And while David C shed a few tears, he seemed to be going with the flow, just another round for him. But David A was packed so full of emotion and intensity and a desire to knock our socks off. After his flawless "Don't let the Sun Go Down on Me" I thought he was going to hyperventilate. The nerves, the fans, the huge stage, the pressure, the judges, his Dad, the media -- it's overwhelming for anyone, let alone a 17-year-old kid. I thought they were going to have to bring out an oxygen mask.
But last night as we saw the emotion overcome him, even I was drawn in. I felt like a proud Mom. I kept thinking that I hope the music business doesn't strip him of his sweet and kind nature.
His shining night was so powerful, so stunning, so memorable, that I think he'll win. In either case, I hope the producers have some paramedics and lots of Kleenex ready for little David A.
Here's a great article about the Davids on the LA Times.
That's me, as crafted by Nicky.
The ornaments with a photo glued onto a round frozen juice lid, adorned in beads or colored macaroni -- I love it. The baby food jar with the tissue paper pieces glued on and a tealight candle plopped inside -- I'm all over it. The handmade cards and pictures ... I eat it all up. And I know lots of other moms do, too. In fact each year on my parents' Christmas tree, I search and always find it: the cute angel ornament crafted out of a pink paper plate and adorned with glitter and felt that I made in kindergarden. So this Mother's Day Nicky, in all of his 2nd-grade glory, presented me with an essay. These are always fun, too. I remember when the boys were in kindergarden, they created a story where they filled in the blanks, which were facts about mom. It was always hilarious to read these -- kind of Mom Mad Libs. Like Mom weighs 20 pounds and while I'm at school Mom's favorite things to do are go skydiving and fold laundry. Anyway, it's always good to know how your 7-year-old sees you. Here goes:
My mom is as pretty as a butterfly (I have a sneaking suspicion that the three other kids in his group might have said something similar. Reminds me of the time that Nick came home and I asked him how he did on his spelling test. "Good. I think I got them all right because I wrote down the two hardest words on my leg underneath my shorts," he told me matter-of-factly. A discussion about cheating immediately followed, but I still smile every time I think about how easily his confession spilled forth.)
My mom has gold and silver hair (blond highlights and an increasing number of grey roots ... sigh)
She is rich (Brett said it's because Nick sees me spending all the money :)).
She likes to wear running clothes. (I don't know if like is the correct word, but most mornings I put on my running clothes because that's what I do after he and Blake leave for school).
My mom makes sure we do our chores (I finally got wise to the chores game. They had been doing close to nothing until a couple months ago when they started dusting vacuuming and cleaning bathrooms. Who needs a housecleaner when you have kids who want allowance?)
I think she's the best at cooking. My mom makes good tacos (I'm a master when it comes to sloppy joes, spaghetti and hamburgers, too. If I cooked more chicken a la king, shrimp stir-fry, and other adult fare more often, I'm confident I'd lose my "best at cooking" title.)
My mom likes to go on cruises (never been on one in my life).
For fun my mom likes to play games (the most popular "How many times do I have to ask my child to make his bed and brush his teeth before it actually gets done?" game and "How do we get two kids to soccer practice, eat dinner, do homework and give baths" challenge).
My mom has a pretty smile (he's so sweet sometimes).
I make her smile by me smiling without my two top teeth. (This is true -- he's so darn cute with those two missing front teeth).
My mom is smart. She even knows what 1,000 times 1,000 is. (It's true, I was a math wiz as a kid ... but I went into writing).
My mom is special because she is good at running (gosh, what if I hadn't taken up running -- my mom is special because she is good at folding clothes???)
I love her 100 percent (the best gift of all).
Mother's Day 2008
I love you, Nicky!
So tonight we saw the final three on American Idol -- the Davids and Syesha.
First, though ... are these the three that should be there? David Cook, definitely. I love how he began as an underdog. In the early phases with the top 10 or 12, I wasn't too impressed with him. He seemed too rigid, too methodical, a little on the cocky side. But then it all changed. He had me at "Hello." His spin on that Lionel Richie song catapulted him to true contender-ship. But I have to wonder if winning will be good for his career. Would he be too restricted in the hands of the American Idol producers? Maybe he'd be better off in second place and letting his career soar in his own way, following the path of Chris Daughtry.
David A. -- I don't know. I really am starting to feel a bit sorry for this kid. There have been an increasing number of media reports that his dad is the nightmare stage parent. So now every time he sings a song and then is gasping for air, barely able to catch his breath, I wonder if it's awaiting the judge's comments that has him on edge, or if it's what his perhaps hard-to-please father will say to him after the show. I think he's an amazingly sweet kid and he really fits the American Idol mold, but I wish he could relax more.
Syesha -- Somehow she slid right in there, flying under the radar the whole way. I never would have predicted she would make the final 3. I still think Michael Johns should be filling her spot. Or maybe Brooke White. Syesha's a great performer and I'd have to say she's probably earned the title of "most improved." I'd watch her in a Broadway musical, but, honestly, I wouldn't buy her CD or download her music.
The performances: Even though none of the performances really blew me away, I thought the best by far tonight was David Cook's "First Time Ever I Saw Your Face." Like "Hello," he couldn't hide behind his guitar and a gritty, fast-paced song. His "Don't Want to Miss a Thing" was pretty good. The other was forgettable.
David A. The thing about him is that he's the same week after week. He's been consistently pretty good since Day 1. But I don't think he's improved, shown his creativity or done anything outside the box. He sings well, pre-pubescent girls scream, and he smiles and tries to breathe. It's the same routine each time.
Syesha. Her Alicia Keys' "If I Got You" was her best. She gave a nice performance, but too copycat. It's too bad that she chose "Fever." I don't know if she was trying to remind us that she's the only girl left, but it seemed she was trying to use her -- to put it politely -- female attributes (and a chair) to sway votes. And the Happy Feet song was just silly ... but that song was chosen for her. I don't know -- maybe the producers are trying to ensure her departure this week.
Sooo ... Syesha should and likely will go home. It will be the battle of the Davids. And no matter who wins the title, the big winner a year down the road will be David Cook.
Blake had been hinting around it for weeks. A few months ago, Brett got a new BlackBerry phone through work. His old cell phone has been sitting on the counter collecting dust, stray coffee ground particles, and whatever else may float in the Arizona air.
Every once in a while Blake will pick up the phone, look up at me as if he's trying to deliver a telepathic message, make small talk or ask questions about it -- like where you find the phone numbers -- and then quietly put the phone back down. He also sheepishly asked a couple times if he could have "Dad's old phone," to which I gave him uncommitted answers -- "Yea, maybe" or "We'll see."
Lately he's taken to riding his bike in the wash, the Arizona term for the patches of undeveloped land that are strategically located throughout the neighborhoods around here. He and his friends make jumps, ride the jumps, and then come home with scrapes all over their legs and arms.
There are several washes around our house. I always make him come tell me exactly where he'll be if he plans on changing locations. So one day he casually says, "Why don't I just take Dad's old phone, then I can call you and let you know where I am." He quickly follows this up with "You know, it would be good for when I'm at soccer practice, too, and something happens or you need to pick me up early."
For some reason, I've been trying to delay the "My kid has a cell phone" phenomenon for as long as possible. Sometimes I see really young kids, 6 or 7, with cell phones and I think it's just ridiculous. Or the pre-teen girls who are out shopping with their moms, hands clutched around a cell phone while their fingers furiously type text messages.
So now Blake was asking. When I was his age, the big question was "When can I get my ears pierced." I think that finally happened in sixth grade.
So, with the safety issues winning us over, we gave the cell phone to Blake. I pictured a phone call here and there.
"OK ... how do I add phone numbers?" and "How do I get rid of Dad's old numbers?" were his first questions.
So over the first Saturday of his cell phone possession, Blake went out riding bikes with his friends. Our phone rings. I look out back and can see him. "Mom, we're going to go to the park up by the school." OK, I tell him. OK -- don't be up there more than about 30 minutes. The phone has a clock on it, I remind him. Oh, yea, he says excitedly, relieved he doesn't have to estimate the elapsed time. 20 minutes later. "Mom, we're going in Trenten's back yard." OK. Another 20 minutes or so later, I'm going up to the grass area at the end of the street. All told, 5 calls in 3 hours.
On Friday night we went to the community park, meeting some friends for a music in the park event. At one point in the evening, Blake was sitting on the grass casually, kind of twirling his phone around. To anyone else, he looked like any kid. But to me, his mother, he was saying, "Look at me, I have a cell phone."
As the weekend went on, I looked on the phone and saw he quickly picked up the ins and outs of cell phone use -- he already had several friends' numbers in his address book and had already dialed and received several calls from them. I remind him that we have a limited number of minutes each month -- and that text messages cost extra. "OK," he shrugs.
So on Sunday morning, Blake had an 8:30 a.m. soccer game. We decided that instead of dragging all the kids from their early morning routine (and Nicky out of bed), that Brett would take him this time.
After the game, the phone rings, but I don't catch it in time. Blake leaves a message. I call him back and get his voicemail. I leave a message. He immediately calls back. "Hi Mom. I'm sorry I missed your call. I didn't have the volume turned up loud enough." So cute.
He continues to tell me, "Mom, we tied 4 to 4 -- I made all four goals," he tells me. "We only had 6 players this week with no subs. The other team had 15 players!" Blake was jazzed and giving me a detailed play-by-play of each of his goals. Much more chatty than he would have been had he waited until he got home, lost some of his zeal and described it face-to-face after the exhaustion of playing indoor soccer 48 minutes straight set in.
Later in the day we're at Waterworld for Brett's company picnic. Blake had slipped "his" phone into the beach bag. He pulls it out at one point to find he has a voicemail message. He quickly retrieves it, which impresses me because it took me weeks to figure out how to do the same thing. One of the neighbor kids tells him he saw a rattlesnake in the wash. Good thing to know.
And my mind keeps going back to the soccer game conversation and now I have my answer. Perhaps it's selfish, but if it takes a phone to entice him to chat up his Mom more often, I'm all for it.
