Dear John

power of the pen.

Dear John,

You don't know me, but we have a mutual acquaintance in my son William.  You and he are in the same grade and lately, you have made it part of your day to taunt him and his friends, to tease them and to make them feel miserable.  You know John how they say that sticks and stones will break our bones but names will never hurt us?  This is one of the biggest parent lies out there.  Words crush John.  Words wound and take time to heal.  Words can make our breath catch in our throat and make us want to sink to our knees.  There is a lot of power in words and you like to use it. Again, I don't know you, but I bet you are popular.  I bet you do well in school. School is easy for you and you are bored so you find your fun in lording your power over those who are finding this transition to middle school harder.  You zeroed in on William and his friends because they are good kids, but they are awkward, they are the kids who don't even know they are supposed to be trying hard to be cool.  I can see the attraction for you.

Lately you have taken to following this group around as they enjoy being outside after lunch.  You like to pick at them, tell them what they are wearing is dumb, what they are doing is dumb.  You are like a small Robespierre using your sharp words to guillotine through fragile egos and self-esteem.  You like to call them things like "loser" or "gaywad".  I am not sure what a gaywad actually is but the sound of it is offensive and I guess that is what you are going for.  You like to take their names and put spins on them.  Wyatt has become Wyatt Derp and while I give you points for historical referencing John, I just want you to know that I'm your huckleberry.  

He is not going to fight you John, or tell on you. I am not going to call the school or come up at lunch to see what goes on myself.  He's going to learn how to ignore you, how to see that the words you hurl with such accuracy and speed can be deflected.  He will learn that you are a predatory, pugilistic punk and that he is better.  He will learn to ignore you and he will learn to walk away and when he does John, you will grow smaller. 

These might be the best years of your life John, so I hope you are enjoying them.  Guys like you John become less important with each passing year.  You will probably peak in high school and early on in high school.  Your friends will grow tired of your games and your inability to grow up with them and one by one John, they will drop you.  Your texts will go unanswered, your snaps unopened and all your many status updates unliked.  You will be the kind of guy people avoid in the breakroom and I don't see you ever really getting out of a cubicle.  Forget the corner office John; you won't even see an office. 

And William?  Don't worry about him.  He will be strong because of you.  He will be empathetic because of you.  He will value friendship and a be a great friend because of you John.  He will survive you and have the skills necessary to survive the next John in his life.  True, you hurt him.  You hurt his heart and it hurts mine in turn, but he is going to get through this.  He will forget about you as he grows stronger and grows up.  Your reign of terror, as vicious and well-played as it is, will not last long.  So, enjoy this time of being lord of lunch recess and I hope the memories you make will help you through your sad adult life.  

Sincerely,

William's mom

Know When to Fold Them

We have all had birthdays that were not great.  We have all had birthdays that come and go with little fan fare and when you are older than ten, it is probably safe to say we have all had a birthday that just plain stunk.  Poor Bill is having a birthday that is all three.  And this is fifty! This is a milestone birthday that is hard to face and harder to handle when it goes as badly as this one has gone.

It all starts with me.  I am a good person but sometimes I drop the ball.  Sometimes I don't speak the same love language as my husband and as a result, I disappoint him.  My love language is words; no surprise there.  His is acts of service and I forgot this.  So when I asked him for months what did he want to do for his 50th birthday and he kept avoiding or not answering, I should have recognized he was looking for something big.  However, as I did not hear any words, I thought he just wants to keep it low key.  I continued in this thought until the night before his birthday when he said he thought I really would have planned something to wow him.  Instant stomach ache, overwhelming feelings of guilt and cue the tears because there are no words to fix this.

On Friday, his actual birthday, Bill got up at 1:30am and went to work as one of his sites was pouring concrete and he needed to be there.  That stinks as a start.  Later when he got to his office he saw a brand new company truck in the lot like the one he was promised and thought "Happy Birthday to me!".  Except it wasn't for him.  And there was no cake in the break room for him and no one even said happy birthday.  Later in the day he got a call from the owner of a restaurant that he built saying the water heater was out and he needed to get there right now.  With one final squeeze of his ten year old boy heart, he headed there thinking it was a surprise party after all.  It really was just the water heater.  When he was telling us all of this last night, both SG and I cried as he laughed retelling it.  That tender-hearted girl is going to need counseling after hearing all that.  We did give him presents and the kids made him beautiful cards (because they speak my language) and the day ended slightly better than it started.

Today we decided would be Bill day.  We would do the things he likes that we never do and no one would complain.  Maizy came over and we all crammed into the car Bill just got back after a month at the repair shop.  We were a block away when it became apparent someone smelled and smelled terribly.  Yes, it was the boy.  A mile down the road one sister threatened to throw up and the other threatened to kill him if he didn't put his arms down.  Good times.  We are now five miles from home and piece of the cowling on roof flies off and hits a car behind us.  Yes, on the car he just got back from the shop.  No one spoke for a good ten minutes.  Bill shook off his anger and we continued on.  We went to the vegan taco food trailer Bill always wants to go to and we always resist going to.  We found it and put in our order and then heard it would be at least twenty minutes.  It was forty minutes, it was blazing hot and we had to sit with strangers at picnic tables.  The strangers got the shade and we got the hot, hot sun.  Oh, and thirty minutes into the wait the boy started getting attacked by yellow jackets.  But we were not going to complain because this was Bill's birthday celebration!  Luckily, the food came and it was really good or we were starving, hard to tell.  Everyone but SG enjoyed their food and Bill was feeling if not happy, at least loved.

He and I then left the kids at home and went to go see a movie.  A movie where they serve you beer and food so it should be great.  No.  The movie was terrible! I haven't seen a movie that bad in forever because if a movie is that bad I just go to sleep.  You know when all the previews are terrible that the movie probably stinks and stink it did.  A Walk in the Woods quickly proved that Robert Redford is too old to act and direct films.  Everything about it was painful and Nick Nolte was such a mess I thought he was Gary Busse at first.  I hoped fervently that Bill was enjoying it even though I was not.  A quick glance into his glazed eyes told me he was not.  I think he even fell asleep for awhile.  We had planned to go out tonight but as we left the movie theater, Bill remarked that he was done.  He was done with this birthday because this birthday is done with him and we should just go home and call it.  So we came home laughing, a little, and wondering why it is the world has it in for him.  We then realized we had nothing for dinner and Bill had to run to the store.  Look at this poor man peeling potatoes on his day of Bill.

Sadness personified.

Forget SG; I am going to need counseling after this terrible birthday.

We think that because McMahon men rarely make it to fifty that the world was just not prepared for this McMahon man to actually turn fifty. I am grateful he was able to turn fifty and he is happy to be alive if not yet happy to be fifty.  We have decided to just put this birthday to bed and get on with the weekend.  The vegan coconut cream pie that will be made tomorrow is not for Bill's birthday, it will just because it is a long weekend and there is time to bake. I am afraid the oven will catch on fire if I say it is for his birthday.   The places we have yet to go and the things we have yet to do are in no way part of a birthday celebration, they are just because it is a long weekend and there is time to do things.  No birthday fun happening here, no sir!

And me, because all I know to do is to use words, I am using my words to try and make a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad birthday into one that at least makes him smile a little in the corners when he reads through it.  I am also writing this so everyone reminds me next year to do something big; I need to plan the hell out of fifty-one.  No words, just acts.  Well, some words, but they won't be center stage.

Week One is Done!

I am a total school geek and will admit to really liking the first week of school. I like the newness, the sharpened pencils, and the back on a schedule.  We got through our first week here in the McMahon household with very little carnage and I am grateful. I am also pooped, wiped out and exhausted.

Me.

The boy did great!  First year of middle school and while my stomach was in knots about it, he was very calm.  Probably too calm, but that is the boy.  He found his classes, he opened his locker, he found a friend to eat with in the cafeteria and he got on the right bus coming home.  All successes!  He did set down his papers the first day along with his schedule and instantly lose them, but he knew to ask for help.  He made it to the counselor’s office to get a new schedule and then came home and told me where I could go online to download the forms he lost.  He even wrote his homework down in his planner.  His lunch box made it home every single day.  I know this is a honeymoon period for him with the newness of it all, but I will take it.  Happy honeymoon to me!

For the girls, school is all old hat.  Maizy is a senior, A SENIOR, and is already harboring an advanced case of senioritis.  This should make the spring semester interesting.  She is taking it all in stride and even gave her siblings a ride to school on Friday.  Sniff.  SG in her last year of middle school is calmer than ever, even with a schedule change!  Next week she starts cross country practice and probably softball practice, oh and guitar lessons and that is all I can stand to think about right now.  A busy SG is a calmer SG so practice away I say.

The happiest member of our household this week was Bill.  He will admit to being jealous and dare I say sulky about our summer off while he worked.  The man was giddy on Monday.  There was a song in his heart and a sparkle in his eye that continued throughout the week.  He lovingly made us all breakfast twice and did so with a flourish because his joy at our being back to school was that great.

My week was crazy busy and as such it immediately wiped out all the good intentions I tried to start the year with.  No Diet Coke quickly became YES Diet Coke on Day One.  My “I am not going to eat things just because they are there” became I NEED TO EAT THIS RIGHT NOW.  I also vowed not to be so tired. HAHAHAHAH.  I don’t know what I was thinking.  I must have been wrapped up in the every day is a nap day of summer to make that deal with myself.  I am definitely tired but I did make it until 8pm on Friday before falling asleep, sitting straight up, in the chair and that is a half hour later than usual.  Small steps I guess. 

I love my job but our library is a crazy place.  We are the Ellis Island of the school and it makes our days insane.  Don’t know where to put someone?  Send them to the library.  Can’t log on to the computer or software or wifi?  Library.  Send us all your clueless, your troubled and your roomless teachers, we will light the way!  Plus we had full classes checking out books.  Oh and I am in charge of our students as teachers until they get a room assignment so I lesson planned and taught four classes as long as I had them there to practice on.  Yes, and we started having homeroom this year and there are six different homerooms held in the library.  That first day was almost hilarious in trying to get kids to the right sections for their homerooms.  My colleague commented later that we all should have held up signs with our names on it like chauffeurs at the airport and I am sad we missed that opportunity.  That would have been fun!  I have found that homeroom is my favorite part of the day.  Me and twenty kids getting to know each other and me being a teacher like person on campus they can go to for information and help, I love that.  It makes my day less tiring right there. 

So yes, full on school craziness has begun and while I admit it almost defeated me the first day by dinner, I am in it. Bring it.  Oh wait, it’s been brought and we survived it so let’s just keep on going.  Plus I am a woman who learns from her mistakes and I have set no good intentions for myself to break by day one again this week.    And as for the kids, I am trying to not set good intentions for them either.  They can set their own or not and at the end of the week, we’ll meet back up to see where we need to put in our efforts for the following week.  I enjoyed them so much this summer; I want to enjoy them this school year too.  Being a crazy, shrieking, goal-focused mom does not lead to anyone’s enjoyment.  They might sink a little but I am confident I have taught them how to swim and they can bob back up.  I am not saying I will be totally hands off, but I don’t want to be hands pressing on them either.  They can do this, I can do this and Bill is doing it as he smiles and sings, so for now, it’s all good.

August is a Giant

Natalie Babbit, author of “Tuck Everlasting”, once wrote of August that “August hangs at the very top of the summer, the top of the live-long year, like the highest seat of a Ferris wheel when it pauses in its turning... motionless, and hot. It is curiously silent, too, with blank white dawns and glaring noons, and sunsets smeared with too much color.”  I appreciate the picture she paints, but the fact that it is a Ferris wheel gives us hope that it will one day turn and move and change.  Here in Austin, August is forever.  August is really more like a giant: a lumbering, crushing, havoc-wreaking giant.

Watch out; he'll chew you up.

Like Jack’s giant, our giant is brought on by our careless prodding.  True that Jack went a little above and beyond by stealing his giant’s goose, but our careless talking brings our August giant to life.  Statements like “It’s been such a mild summer!” start our giant stirring and follow ups like “I don’t know when I have enjoyed summer more!” bring it fully to life.  Within days, our August giant is here, he is tearing up the town and we only have ourselves to blame.

The August giant comes in with booted, heavy steps and while he does not make the earth rattle, he makes it crack and fracture.  The earth groans with the weight of him and cracks appear and grow and fissure along once healthy gardens, open fields and even our front lawns.  These cracks continue to widen as if begging for water, but there is no water.  Our giant uses his shoulders to shrug away any moisture bearing clouds.  A quick upwards twitch of his shoulders takes our slight chances of rain and sends them soaring to the Midwest, the East Coast, and beyond.

This giant takes his dry, calloused, chafed hands and rubs our landscape between them until that which was once green and resplendent, is now brown and brittle and flowerless.   Grass crunches under your feet, leaves atrophy and poke when touched, cicadas come to die on your door and crunch as they are eaten with glee by your really dumb dog.  He has made everything you see brown or yellow or dead and he is still not done.

The August giant’s favorite thing to do is to breathe.  His breath is as hot as the sun. As hot as an oven.  As hot as hell.  He exhales over us and all hope is lost.  He inhales and takes away any chance of a cooling breeze and when he exhales, the air is one hundred degrees or hotter.  His hot breath lies in the air and does not move, it does not stir and it settles over us like an unneeded blanket.  We can no longer move freely, we are trapped under it and we hunker.  We hide from his breath, from his air, from his oppression. 

The giant is not done with us, not yet.  We are dry, we are thirsty, we are hot and uncomfortable and that is when he starts his favorite task: picking.  The giant’s large fingers pick and pick and pick at our nerves until they are frayed.  He unravels them until our thoughts are mean; our words are harsh and are movements are careless.  Watch interactions between parents and children at the grocery store right now, you’ll see this for yourself.  He reaches over the edge of the earth to pull the sun up early and holds it in his hands, high above his head, for longer than the sun wants to stay.  He squeezes every bright ray out and when he finally bores of it, fifteen or sixteen hours later, throws it over his shoulder until the next day.

The August giant is here and he is here to stay.  Even in September, this giant persists.  He might lay off some, or forget a rain cloud or two, but he is still here.  There is no chopping down a bean stalk to slay this giant.  The only that will kill it is the hope, the belief, that one day Autumn will come and push it out.  Autumn will slowly slide in and as she does, she makes no room for the August giant.  She will use her colors, her crisp air and her fragrant breezes to uproot the giant.  He will startle and try to take us back, but Autumn will have a foothold that cannot be shaken and the August giant will stalk away, forlorn and forgotten.  At least until next year when he hears someone say “I can’t get enough of this great weather!”, and makes his way back to settle and crush us once again.

1,562 and Whew!

One thousand, five hundred, and sixty-two miles were driven over the past six days making it our fastest and most furious road trip to date.  I have a bit of a road hangover today: trying and failing to get motivated, feeling a little bit blah and my stomach is just unhappy. Our fast trip was definitely worth it.  For me a road trip is always worth it to see something new or to just get a change of scenery.  It was humbling to see how much of America is still so undeveloped and to drive twenty solid minutes without seeing another car.  Actually, that was kind of eerie.  With Austin building up as fast as it can, it becomes so easy to forget that there are places left where it is not all strip malls and fast food and asphalt.  Let me tell you that there is plenty of undeveloped land in West Texas and Southeast New Mexico.

You know they are high when they swallow the clouds.

The mountains around Taos were amazing!  We definitely did not spend enough time in Taos.  There is a ton to do there and so many hikes to take and just beautiful scenery to take in.  We did try one hike up Wheeler Mountain but we didn't get too far up.  The boy heard us talk about how a headache is an indicator of altitude sickness and crazy enough he had a headache ten minutes later.  But even my nanny goat of a hiker, SG, was overwhelmed when she saw how high a mountain really goes.  We took a lower elevation hike the next day and that was gorgeous.  The wildflowers and long grasses and smurf-house mushrooms swallowed the trail and everyone hiked along happily because the weather was cool, it was an easy amble along and we wanted to see a cave at the end.  I both enjoyed the hike and worried that bears would eat us the entire time because if I was a bear, that is where I would live and if clueless hikers came ambling by, I would probably eat them.  I took some assurance that we had a dog with us and that the dog would either flush out the bears or the bear would grab the dog first and give us time to escape.  Sorry Oona.  

Also interesting to see in Taos is the locals.  My cousin took me to a brewery which was also holding a rave and the people watching was spectacular.  I believe what I saw is what people are asking for when they say to Keep Austin Weird.  I am sorry Austin, all your weird has moved to Taos.  I have never seen so many dreadlocks and free flowing armpit hair in one place before.  You couldn't call this group granola because they were crunchier than granola.  I'd say that they were more millet.  (Millet is supposedly a grain but I think it is really French for tiny, indigestible stones.)  I just sat there and drank my locally brewed and unfortunately not great beer and watched.  We then headed to another bar with a better view of the mountains and this one too was packed with people.  This time is was packed with mourners who were holding a memorial and yet the bar was open to the public.  Don't worry, my black sport shorts blended in well and we kept to ourselves.

Me and Billy the Kid.

I wish that I could report that the Billy the Kid museum in Ft. Sumner, NM was as moving an experience as Laura's white farmhouse in Mansfield, MO last year, but sadly it was not.  The admission fee of $11 for us all was by far the very best and very worst $11 I spent.  It was good because the people there are lovely and so very proud of their museum and bad because it had so very little Billy and so much other stuff.  Truly it might be better named "Old Stuff From Around Ft. Sumner, Junk I Liked to Collect Over the Years and Oh Yeah! Billy the Kid's Gun".  There was lots and lots of old stuff inside, outside, behind glass cases, laying out in the yard, just not much stuff on Billy.  I felt closer to Billy the Kid when I drove past the sign that said Lincoln County and I yelled out "Regulators Ride!"  Also, unfortunately the Billy the Kid Museum had that smell that antique shops and old houses get and it didn't bode well for SG's stomach.  I am not sure what that smell is?  Arsenic? Asbestos? Years of dust, desolation and despair?  Whatever it is by the time we hit outside, SG was done.  I will have you know that it was SG who broke the docent's heart this year and not me.  This lovely, ancient, old man mentioned we should see the auto yard and SG looked at me with eyes that said "I will kill you.", so I was forced to tell this tiny, crinkly, stooped old man thank you but we are done.  It broke his heart and he crumbled into a million pieces that were swept up on the hot wind and settled as another layer of detritus over the museum.  

Next up was Roswell and all of it is alien hoo-ha.  SG loved it.  I did not love Roswell.  It was hot, it was crowded and we were accosted by a crazy man brandishing a screwdriver.  I did appreciate how cool it was inside the UFO museum and they did do a nice job of presenting the material that they had.  I will now admit to being an 11 year old boy and giggling over the alien statues and the attention to detail they put into the alien posterior. 

Who knew aliens worked out?

Really.  They could have given them a gentle U butt like a Ken doll, but these aliens were given buns of steel.  This cracked me up and is still my favorite part of the museum.  So having been there do I think a UFO really landed?  All I know is this: if I lived in Roswell, NM I would pray that a UFO, airplane, weather balloon or even a tree showed up to break up the landscape, I really would.  Desolate scrub land all around, that is all this part of NM has to offer.

We are home now and while I might feel a little road-hazed, I am so very glad we took this fast trip.  It was great to see my aunt and cousin and spend time with them at their homes.  The mountains were beyond beautiful and the cooler weather was gobbled up and appreciated.  The museums may have been a bust, but they were still adventures.  SG took her role as navigator very seriously which was great because Google Maps is occasionally bipolar and I needed someone on point.  The boy played a lot of video games, but he did look up when I said "Look up!  Appreciate the mountains".  He would also provide one line of commentary from time to time that had SG and I doubled over laughing.  They were amazing and are true road warriors; they know how to enjoy a road trip for the escape it is.  The only time they complained is when I made them wait 111 miles to use the bathroom which may seem cruel but there were not a lot of places to stop.  Honest.  This year my road trip left me humbled and grateful and anticipatory:  humbled by the scenery, grateful for the company and anticipatory for where we can go and what we can see next year.    

On the Road Again

I was very confident early in the summer when I said no road trips this year.  The epic road trip of 2014 was too fresh in my mind to commit to cramming everyone in the car and heading out again.  However, summer has a way of breaking down my will and the pleading of my children combined with heat that is creeping up and up and up have persuaded me to climb in and hit the road once more.  

I really wanted to go and see my sister in Chicago, but we made that trek last year and the thought of repeating that drive made my stomach hurt.  Oklahoma with its tiny towns and tiny speed limits: gut clench.  Missouri with its up and down and up and down hills: stabbing pain.  Southern Illinois with its never-ever ending farmland: curled on floor in fetal position.  Chicago was out.  I briefly considered Nashville as well, but again, I have made that drive so many times I felt the ennui of it before I even mapquested it to be sure of the mileage.  Ugh, that section of TN between Memphis and Nashville where if you miss Jackson, you are doomed to eat at Loretta Lynn's Kountry Kitchen.  I think I am still digesting breakfast there from the last time we made that mistake.  No thank you.  

As my mother is one of twelve children, we have relatives everywhere and I thought about who was close enough, liked us enough and was an easy enough drive away for me.  Taos, New Mexico quickly won out and I am now looking forward to a road trip!  One long day drive for a normal person or a two day easy drive for me and we will be there.  We will have a scenic stop in Lubbock, TX.  This is exciting because none of us have ever been there.  The next day we will hit Taos and I can smell that cool mountain air already!!  It was 49 there at night this week!  49!  That is February weather for us and the kids are gleeful as they think about packing jeans and a sweatshirt.  Kids, heck, I am gleeful thinking about packing jeans and a sweatshirt!  We will hike, we will take a chair lift up the mountain, we will be tourists and we will get to visit our amazing aunt and cousin.

We are a little crunched for time and will only be there a long weekend, but it will be worth it.  Also on the way home we are planning a stop in Roswell, because we are so close we just have to.  Sadly for me, Laura Ingalls Wilder never lived in New Mexico so there is no LIW homestead to visit, however, there is a BILLY THE KID museum!  I am trying to decide if this museum is worth the hour of road time out of our way.  It is, right? It's Billy the Kid! I apologize because I am sure he really was a murderer and all around horrible person, but I read a very fictionalized account of his life as a young teen and have a fangirl sort of fixation on him.  That and I believe the movie Young Guns is more documentary than fiction. I made the kids watch Young Guns in preparation for the museum stop but they were not impressed.  They also did not like the Goonies, so I do not look to them for movie reviews. Their brains aren't even fully developed yet, so really, what do they know? SG just read this over my shoulder and proclaimed me to be rude.  Again, what does she know?  I am sure it is not worth the hour of extra drive time, but I feel it necessary as a mom and historian to make the stop.  Plus I will get to make them listen to the two Billy the Kid songs I have again and again and that will be a lot of fun for me.  

Zoom.  Or, as we are in a Prius, whirrrrrrrrr.

I find that I am as excited as the kids now to get on the road and have this adventure.  I know that the miles might drag and there will be goldfish on the floor of my car from now until forever.  I know we will push it a little too far and have to stop in places to use the bathroom out of desperation and then worry about our health for the next ten miles. It will all be worth it because we will laugh, we will sing out loud and off-key and we will see and experience new things.  Also, my kids will tell you, road trip mom is fun mom.  I can't wait to see their faces as they see western mountains for the first time and I can't wait to hug my aunt and my cousin.  I guess sometimes the things that you think you can't stand to do again turn out to be the things you really need to do.

Tennis? Anyone? Please?

The boy and I have had a lot of quality time together this summer while waiting on SG.  Her Strength & Conditioning camp is only an hour long and as it makes no sense to drive there, come home for two minutes and then drive back to get her, he and I hang out up at school for that hour.  I thought he would be up for tossing the football back and forth or basketball on a real court, but it is pull of the blue cement tennis courts that have captured his heart and imagination.  I have played more games of tennis in the past month than I have in the past thirty years and for good reason: I do not like tennis.

When I was ten, my mother signed me up for a week long tennis camp.  Ten was the year that my body starting gearing up for puberty and in order to do so, I went from being a short, skinny, long-haired kid to a short, chubby, lanky-haired kid overnight.  I never once in my ten year old life expressed an interest in tennis so I think this was her ploy to keep me from watching TV and eating all the sweets in the house while she worked.  My main exercise seemed to consist of walking down the basement stairs to see what kind of frozen treats were hiding in the cellar freezer.  Ever eat so many Freezer Pops you kind of burn the inside of your mouth off?  I did.  Every day.  This should lead you to know that the idea of camp alone was traumatic but then add to it I was expected to RIDE MY BIKE THERE AND BACK.  Please know that in addition to being chubby, this was a very clumsy year for me and I had more bike accidents and flat tires than successful bike rides.  The same woman who took my bike away for a week due to fall after fall was now telling me it was okay to ride there and back for a week.  My mother, in an effort to assuage her guilt over this camp, recently clocked the mileage from her house to said tennis courts and tells me it is 1.2 miles door to door.  Can I just say that for a chubby, short-legged girl riding a crap bike that 1.2 miles seemed like 12?  My father refused to fix one more flat on my sweet ten speed after fixing one a week for a month and I was stuck riding an old bike I pulled out of the depths of the garage.  It was stuck in whatever gear that is that you pedal with all your might and the wheels turn so grudgingly it is like you have the brake on.  No, I didn't have the brake on, neither brake worked.  But there I was, on this deathtrap, sent down major thoroughfares, holding a racket in one hand, pedaling my heart out and chubby legs off to get to a tennis camp I didn't want to go to.  I hated it before I even got there.  Then I got there and I hated it even more.  Short chubby kids do not make great tennis players and I was no exception.  I was terrible and as this was in Lancaster, NY, the teenagers in charge saw no reason not to tell me so.  I think they groaned as much as I did when they saw it was me next in line.  I spent a lot of time languishing in the back of the line and huddled around the water cooler dreading the ride home and dreaming of Freezer Pops.  Somehow, I made it through that terrible week and vowed to never play tennis again.

Until this summer when the boy spotted the tennis courts and said "Mom, let's play tennis!".  I quickly lied and said "Oh buddy, we only have one racket." I forgot that the boy who can't memorize math facts has the entire garage and its contents burned into his memory and he quickly came back with "We have two.  One is under the shoes by the door and the other is in the green bin by the recycling can."  I said we didn't have any tennis balls and he said we did, under the couch in the front room as well as in the pool bag.  Realizing I was not going to win this, I gave in and said alright.  This was also early in the summer when I was determined to be a great mom.

I apologize to any real tennis players as I describe how it is that the boy and I actually play tennis.  I realize it is a true sport and its players are amazing athletes.  The boy and I are not amazing athletes and we have butchered the sport beyond recognition.  Given that the boy has very little depth perception, he has a hard time recognizing that the ball is coming and where it is once it gets there.  This in mind, the ball can bounce more than once.  It can bounce ten times, but if he gets a racket under it and returns it, I will hit it.  He can knock it into the next court and it counts.  He can step on the fault line, over the fault line, in the wrong box and still serve.  It counts.  Every  now and then I will hit the ball over and somehow it will hit his racket and come back at me and we are both so surprised we stop and say what a great hit it was!  He will tell me he gets a point for hitting it and I will agree.  That's right, a point. There is no love, fifteen, thirty in our games.  Everything is a point.  I hit the fence behind you?  Point.  Hit it so hard it got stuck in the fence?  Point plus bragging rights.  Landed in the corner of the opposite court? Point.  It is Calvinball on the tennis courts and he thinks he is great at it.  I was surprised to find I was actually having fun with it as well.  It is as hot as can be, but for an hour we are kings of the court: trash talking the other, hitting as hard as we can and laughing, by God, we are laughing.  My problem with tennis now is that he wants to play it every time we are waiting on SG and while he is obsessed, I am worn out.  We are also midway through summer and I am fine with being decent mom and not great mom.  He actually thinks he is good at the game and I am wishing some random teenager would come by and laugh to give him some perspective.  But then I remember that this is the kid who stopped playing games at recess because he wasn't picked anymore and if wants to think he is a great tennis player, who am I to say he isn't?  Actually, it is probably my heinous playing that is really holding him back.

This is absolutely my face the entire time.

SG has two more weeks of her camp left and I have five more times driving which means five more days of playing tennis.  I can handle five more times over two weeks.  I will keep trying to substitute basketball, football or sitting quietly in the shade, but I know he will keep picking tennis.  He is stubborn like that and there is too much tennis in the news recently for him to give it up now.  Personally, I think they should lay off that tennis player, Sharapova, and her grunting.  I grunt like that just getting the rackets out of the trunk.  And walking to the court.  And waiting for the boy to hit the ball back.  And running across two courts to hit it back.  Grunting makes it better.  I think I will suggest that we add points for grunting and see what the boy thinks.  Ha, what am I thinking?  He is a boy, he will love points for grunting!  I think we will both really take a shine to this and bring tennis to a whole new level; plus points for grunting may give us a score higher than ten!