Langer Loksh

FOX!!!

This weekend, Jeff's old scouting buddy Rodney came here with his wife Jessie and set up this real Native American teepee for our Tiger Cub Scout den to camp out in. They also showed us some cool costumes and accessories that they use at powwows. How awesome is that? Here, Oscar helps Rodney with a pole, and Charlie helps Jessie unroll the skin of the teepee.

We had a campfire and roasted marshmallows, and our friend Sean read a super creepy poem. The Tigers started out in the teepee, but a terrifying scream ripped through the woods. Our den leader recognized it as a fox in heat. The kids all scrambled into tents with their dads, leaving the teepee for Jeff, Charlie, and Oscar. (Terrifying scream? What terrifying scream? Oscar was dead set on sleeping in that teepee.)

Just a couple of mornings before the campout, all of the chickens squawked up a racket at five a.m. I knew the coop was locked up because that was the last thing I'd done before going to bed. But I went out to see what about the fuss. A really big, really pretty fox sniffed its way around the coop. We stared at each other for a minute before it hopped over the stone wall and trotted off into the woods. 

So you would THINK that it would cross my mind that MAYBE I shouldn't let the hens out this evening, right? 

I let the hens out. 

I started pulling Charlie's homework folder out of his backpack in the kitchen. From the sun room, Summer screeched "A fox has got one of our chickens!" 

We ran outside yelling. "Where did it go?" I shouted. "Over there!" Summer pointed across the street. I ran to the coop and counted the chickens: ... six, seven, eight, nine. "There are only nine here!" I yelled. Summer ordered me to get them back in the coop. Charlie stood guard against the fox's return. There was some confusion over where we had last seen the big broom, which scares the chickens back into the coop. Then suddenly, number 10 came back. Dazed but determined, this plucky little gal marched the long way across our lawn and hopped right up into the coop. She has a puncture wound on her bum, but she's back home. If I can figure out how to get her out of the coop without letting the rest of them out tomorrow, I'll take her to the vet to have the wound tended so it doesn't get infected. Seriously, if Summer didn't have that stupid standardized test tomorrow, I would keep her home from school so she could help me. 

Oscar was asleep on the couch, so he doesn't even know what went down. I do hope that bird makes it. I am proud of all of us for our swift response to the fox emergency. And no, I won't be letting the hens out--ever again!

Again With the Sword! Charles Turns Seven

Charlie wanted to repeat his amazing fifth birthday party, held at the Higgins Armory Museum. Only with more boys. For some reason, with a few negative RSVPs, a big sister, and all female cousins, this is how it looked when he was five: 

I can't believe how young they look to me. 

So we did it again, with a ton of boys from Charlie's first grade class. Again he donned armor and was knighted; again I made a castle cake--but this one was way easier, and I didn't attempt to make gray frosting. And again he cut his cake with a real sword.

This all went down the same day we had swim lessons, a baseball game, and town clean-up day with the Cub Scouts. Then of course I came down with a cold, which is my usual punishment for trying to do too many things. 

And Sir Charles is now seven. This is what he looked like when he was a baby. Happy birthday Charlie. We love you so much. 

Charlie on the M.T.A. (and lots of other places)

Here's Charles at The Butterfly Place. We capped off our school staycation week with a visit to this local gem, joined by our friends Michelle, Gale, Peeper, Billy, and Ben. Billy, who is 9, explained to me that you can tell the difference between a moth and a butterfly because when they are landed, the butterfly's wings are closed, but the moth's are spread open. 

We started the week with gorgeous weather and the Z's visiting from Rochester. We rode the Duck boats--Charlie got to drive. In fact, when we rode the Green Line back to our car, the driver let Charlie drive. The T. Charlie drove an actual subway train filled with people. And honked the horn. Who knew there was a horn? 

We celebrated Patriots Day with muskets and tricorn hats as usual.

We also visited the always lovely Fruitlands Museum, where scouts in uniform--plus a parent--got in free! So we were all free that day. 

Mid-week, we were special guests at our old hearing loss support group. I remember being in that group and seeing the alums come back to talk about what it's like to navigate public school with hearing loss. It was a treat and a privilege to be on the experienced side of the table. The meeting went by too fast, and I left feeling I didn't give Charlie enough time to talk. It was very interesting to meet another family of alums who came through after I'd left. All three of their children were diagnosed with hearing loss rather late, and the mom inspired me with her dogged pursuit of insurance coverage for hearing aids, among other things. Imagine having to pay for hearing aids for not just one but three kids! 

Finally, we got six new baby chicks: Venus, Nutmeg, Chewie II, Snoopy, Sammy, and Robin (pictures to come). The original Chewbacca grew up to be the most vocal rooster we've had; let's hope these girls are all girls. 

Oscar did a lot of potty peeing. Summer has been enormously helpful around the house. And Charlie, well, the pictures tell the story. A very good school staycation week.

Love to all of our friends.

 

Mon Blog!

 

Today Summer and I attended a graveside picnic in memory of my friend Ann, who died exactly four years ago. Ann's daughter Jenny organized the picnic, and it was a lovely affair--Spanish figs, big slabs of crusty bread smeared with brie cheese, ros-ay wine. Before we left, we put rocks on Ann's headstone. Then we hugged Jenny goodbye.

Hanging out the back window of my van, Summer told Jenny that she wants to be a writer. (Ann was a journalist and a poet; Jenny is a playwright and documentary filmmaker.) Jenny said "You should do that. If you know what you want to do matter what anyone tells you about whether or not it's practical, you should do it. Besides, you need writing in just about every job." Summer said, "And if you're going to have to do writing, you might as well do it with poetry and passion, right?" And Jenny and I said, "Right." 

So here I am, ignoring my blog completely. I haven't done any writing for business or pleasure in weeks and weeks. I owe it to myself to write more often. Even though I am knitting a baby sweater that has no arms yet. And even though I have taken up the ukulele and I have UKULELE FEVER. You can't imagine how easy it is to play the ukulele if you have tried to play the guitar first. Only four strings! And the F chord is a dream! (But D is harder.) 

I'm going to start with once a week. That's my new goal. Blog once a week. Sundays. What do you think?

L.O.V.E.

Charlie's IEP meeting this year was not a big deal. His team agreed to basically keep doing what they are doing. During the meeting, they told me the following story. One day in math, the teacher asked the kids to write as many numbers as they could write, up to 100. Charlie got to 79. He saw that his friend Xavier had only made it to 39. Charlie erased his 79 and made it a 39, so Xavier would not feel bad. "We want to give him a feather," the teacher told me. 

Feathers are rewards that our school gives the kids for behaving in a caring, accountable, respectful, empathetic, or supportive way --"C.A.R.E.S." They wanted to give Charlie the rare and elusive empathy feather. But they knew it wasn't right, because you're not supposed to look at your friend's work and change your own answer. They decided to go ahead and do it anyway, but I don't think they explained it very well, because the night before the feather ceremony, Charlie told me he was embarrassed. I assured him everything would be fine. 

The next day I visited his classroom for the ceremony. The principal asked the children if they could remember what all the letters in C.A.R.E.S. stand for. Charlie's friend Christopher (above, in the green shirt) knew all the answers. Then the principal presented Charlie with his feather for "helping a friend in math," and we all clapped. 

When Charlie got off the bus that afternoon, he told me the following story. Christopher said to Charlie, "You are so lucky, you got a feather. I'm never going to get a feather!" Then he started to cry. I asked Charlie, "What did you do next?" Charlie said, "I told him, 'Look, don't worry. You're going to get a feather.' Then I held his hand."

Think they gave the empathy feather to the right kid?

(He's still not really sure about exactly why he got the feather.)

Shabbat Shalom!

Even though the closest thing to a bagel here tastes nothing like a real Sonny Amster Watson bagel whatsoever, there are several delicious challahs available in stores right in my town. Cheryl Ann's (Jeff's choice), FireKing (which seems not to have a Web site?!)--even my grocery store bakery makes a perfectly fine challah.  

But today, it was so shivery and wet out, I decided I'd rather make my own than make a special trip to the store for the challah that Charlie requested as he flew out to the school bus.

And look at what a spectacular job I did! FIRST TIME! (Oscar helped.)

O Canada, Part Quatre

August vacation is now a distant memory, what with the wet gloppy snow outside the window here. Let's bring ourselves a bit of that famous Canada sunshine (?) by recalling our trip to Prince Edward Island. 

Summer's dance buddy Katherine was on vacation with her family in P.E.I. at the same time, so we met up with them at their beachside campsite in Jacques Cartier Provincial Park, where we swam and flew kites. Thanks to the Gulf Stream, the water is actually warmer than it is at our New England beaches. 

 The sand is red and silty. The whole island is farms. There are no forests or hills. It's farms and red sand beaches. Nowhere on the island is more than ten miles from salt water (according to the Internet). The people are of French (Acadian) and Scottish descent. Katherine has great grandparents from both sides of the island, and her mom Laura likes to talk about the island in terms of the French side and the Scottish side, even though both kinds of people are really sprinkled all over the island. And Jeff likes to make fun of Laura. So when the kids (inevitably) asked us if there were sharks in the water, Jeff told them there were French sharks on the west side and Scottish sharks in the east. 

This is the cottage where we stayed. It belongs to Mary's friend Ellen. 

So cute! 

Nearby we found a quirky tourist spot, The Bottle Houses. A retired Acadian lighthouse keeper built four sweet little structures, including a chapel and a bar, out of empty glass bottles and concrete. His family continued to tend their beautiful gardens after his death, and now visitors can tour the houses and gardens and browse the gift shop. 

 

(Charlie took this picture of me.)

Of course Jeff drove us to every lighthouse on every point on the island. This one is in West Cape.

We climbed most of them. 

Our cottage was close to the pleasant enough town of Summerside. Here you can see the tremendous, one-block long construction project that co-opted the name of the project that paid for our first house: 

and the welcome sign for the world's favorite newlyweds, who visited earlier in the summer: 

This sign stands outside the public library, where we went to log onto the Internet and find out who the kids' teachers and classmates would be in the fall. I couldn't use my fahncy phone, because there was no cell reception on the island.

We took advantage of the mid-day demo at the College of Piping and Celtic Performing Arts:

and visited the International Fox Museum and Hall of Fame, where Charlie tried on this handsome coat: 

That's actually cropped from this picture of all three kids, but Oscar ruins the effect with the paci. Summer and I love Charlie in this picture so we made a special crop of just him. 

Fox farming was big for awhile on P.E.I. Today the wild foxes are like squirrels down our way:

Upstairs at the museum, there was a temporary exhibit about the history of video games, which made me feel old: 

If you've read this far, then your name is Joyce. Hi Mom!

Our Family Has Far Too Much Fun at the Dentist

 

And What is More Gentle Than My Main Man JT?

The Colbert Report	Mon - Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30c
James Taylor & Stephen Colbert - "Carolina in My Mind"
www.colbertnation.com
Colbert Report Full Episodes Political Humor & Satire Blog Video Archive

We could spend a lot of time talking about my painful, soul-crushing love for JT here. (I promise that the above video is much less painful than the one of Paul McCartney making mashed potatoes.)

Instead let's talk about the school picture of Colbert at 1:10. Pre-surgery right ear? What do you think?

Summer in Grand Central Station

I have been keeping this one for myself, but I'm going to share it now as part of my effort to be more mindful of gentleness. This is a story about Summer being careful of my feelings. She breaks my heart and sews it back up so fast, it pretty much encapsulates what it's like to be a parent. 

As I have written before, I'm always trying to find books that I read when I was a kid, and share them with Summer. There's a short story I remember, but I have no idea what it's called. It's about a girl who lives in an apartment and dreams about horses. She wins a pony in a cereal box contest. Her family convinces her to take a cash payout instead, so they can use the money to get someone out of Russia. At the end someone gives her a kitten to console her--probably a more appropriate pet for an apartment dweller. The kitten has huge green eyes. He's in a paper bag, and the paper bag is wet from kitten pee. (I will never find this story.) 

Several weeks ago, Summer and I traveled to New Jersey for a bar mitzvah. It was rare girl time for us. The day after the bar mitzvah, we took the train to Manhattan and got in line at tkts for discount theater tickets. One of our relatives was appearing in Follies, but I thought Follies was a bit dark for a nine-year-old. We got good seats to How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying, starring Daniel Radcliffe, the Harry Potter of the silver screen. I'd seen it years ago with Matthew Broderick, but I didn't mind.

After the show, I decided to go meet up with our Follies relative so she could take us to her dressing room and onto the stage. But because I have no filter, I made the mistake of mentioning that we could wait at the stage door of How to Succeed to get Daniel Radcliffe's autograph (like I have Ferris's, above). With a short window in which to catch the train, we only had time to do one or the other. Summer wanted Harry Potter's John Hancock. I decided that it would be a better memory to go backstage with a real Broadway star than to get a Sharpie scribble from a movie star. 

(No offense to Daniel Radcliffe or John Laroquette, who both performed gamely. Real stage pros have MAD PIPES. Ellen Harvey, a theater vet who plays the boss's secretary, OWNED that show with just one number.)

We dashed down the block to the Marquis, where we hooked up with a mom and her college-student daughter that we'd met in line at tkts. Kailey, the daughter, is a musical theater major at Rider University (my mom's alma mater), and her mother Denise was visiting from California; They saw Follies that day and were thrilled to get backstage and meet our phenomenal Tony-nominated, Drama Desk Award-winning cousin Jan. Kailey took this picture of Summer and Jan. 

Then we sprinted to the subway in Times Square, which we rode to Grand Central. We stopped for a slice of pizza before our train out of the city. A dad in line at the pizza counter told us he'd just taken his 11-year-old son and friends to see How to Succeed as a birthday gift. "We got Daniel Radcliffe's autograph," he said, pulling his signed Playbill out of his jacket pocket to show us. Summer's eyes lit up. "You're so lucky!" she said. I could see that even with the American Girl store, even with M&M World, and Chinese food for lunch, I might have made a mistake. I might have faltered in my frantic attempt to achieve the best ever girls' day out in New York. 

We sat at a table for two. "Mom," said Summer as she chewed on her black olive pizza (the only kind of pizza she eats). "Did you ever feel like you got the kitten in the wet paper bag?"

I was confused for a minute. Then I must have looked crushed, because just like I don't have a filter, I don't have a poker face. I said, "Do you mean like in the story I read when I was a kid?"

"Yeah," she said. Then she said, "Mom, tell me about a time when you felt like you got the pony."

"Well," I said, "I think when we got the new house I felt like I'd won the pony."

"Hm," she said. "Can you think of a time when I got the pony?" 

I said, "Well, maybe when we met up with Lauren"--her best friend--"on vacation."

"You know when I think I won the pony?" she said, going all dreamy. "When I got to stand on that real Broadway stage."

And of COURSE, dear reader, as you KNOW, that's when I started to cry. Because even though she kind of felt like she'd gotten the kitten in the wet paper bag, she knew her mom wanted her to feel like she'd won the pony.