Every Breath You Take, Christmas Edition

 A recent holiday-themed conversation in my house...

  

Mark: "Santa's kind of a stalker..."

Me: "Wait, what? Whoa!"

Mark: "He IS. Come on, who else watches you when you sleep? And why is he watching all us kids anyway?"

Me: "So he knows if you've been good or bad." 

Mark: Silence. Then, raises his eyebrows.

Me: "He's not a stalker."

Mark: "I'm just saying...he watches me all the time to know if I've been good or bad, he watches me when I sleep, he sneaks into my house to eat my cookies and milk."

Me: "Well, when you put it like that..."

And so I had to concede that Mark had a point. Santa does leave presents, but now the idea of a jolly old man watching me all the time kinda creeps me out a bit. 

Thank you, Mark, for keeping the Christmas love alive!

Band on the run

Last week I had the distinct pleasure of attending Mark's middle-school band winter concert. And because I'm a giver, I invited Edra and my cousin Kathleen along, too, so they could share in the holiday joy. Since they graciously accepted and sat through an hour of songs by kids they don't even know (except for Mark), I hereby nominate them for Best Friends of the Year.

There are a lot of kids in the band. Actually, there were a lot of bands in the band! They included the 6th grade and Advanced Orchestras, the 6th Grade and Advanced Bands, and the Jazz Band.

Mark plays percussion in the 6th Grade and Jazz bands. Jazz band already has a drummer, so Mark is biding his time, waiting for that kid to move on to high school. Until then, he plays an impressive array of percussion instruments.

I heard the Jazz band play at the recent Dad's Donut Day, so I knew they were pretty good. The orchestra was also good. The songs all started off a bit iffy, but once the kids got into the chorus, the tunes were recognizable and even enjoyable (and, thankfully, not long).

I loved watching all the kids during the concert. They were complete professionals when they played, but when they weren't playing, they seemed kinda bored. I couldn't take my eyes off one girl in the front row who kept yawning. It sent me into a fit of giggles at one point, and only a steely glare from my cousin shut me up.

The percussion group seemed a little bit confused. I think there were just too many of them sharing too small a space. They moved around awkwardly between songs, bossing each other around. Mark talked to his buddy non-stop. I kept saying to Kathleen and Edra, "Oh my God, he never shuts up!" And then I realized I was also talking non-stop throughout the concert, and that sadly, my little apple did not fall far from the tree.

Edra made sure that Mark saw her. She waved wildly at him up onstage, and he gave her a barely-perceptible "What up?" nod. She kept on waving, and he opened his eyes bigger to acknowledge her. She still kept on waving, and finally, embarrassed, and not knowing what else to do, he turned away. He stole a look at her a moment later, and turned bright red when she started waving again. It was hilarious--Kathleen and I could not stop giggling. She kept torturing him, but he kept his cool the whole time. (After the concert, he freaked out a bit, saying, "We aren't allowed to wave back!!!")

Mark, wishing Auntie Edra would stop waving at him.

 

Mark played in three songs. He played tambourine during "The Tempest," staring at the music sheet intently, and making sure he hit every note exactly when he was supposed to. He played snare drum during a rousing version of Mozart's "Eine kleine Nachtmusik." Another drummer played a big kettle drum, giving the song an oom-pah feel, and I wanted to swing a stein of beer in the air along with the music.

Mark also busted out the bells for "Blue Skies." As I've mentioned before, the bells are really more like a xylophone than actual hand-held bells, but whatever. Mark played the heck outta those bad boys, and I hereby nominate him as the Baddest Bell Player in town. 

Bell yeah, that kid can play!

All in all, it was a fabulous evening. I got to see Mark get all dressed up, and do something he's really good at. I was so proud of him! He looked great, sounded great, and concentrated so hard during his parts.

Sean and Mark, who do NOT like their photos taken. Moody musicians!

It was fun to see his friends playing in the band, and to say hi to all their parents in the audience. And it was even more fun to go out to dinner afterwards with Edra and Kathleen to celebrate Mark's performance. That's how we always celebrated big achievements in my family growing up, and it felt great to keep up the tradition.

And, just for future reference, if anyone ever needs a bell player, you let me know. I know one who rocks the fake-xylophone.

School Bored Meeting

Mark's Scout Troop is working on the Citizen in the Community merit badge. One requirement is to attend a community meeting, so the Scout leaders picked a school board meeting.

I attended a meeting in May, and seriously thought I was going to go insane from the boredom. So I warned Mark beforehand it's a little...slow.

"Oh," he said, and nodded knowingly. "So I should bring something to play with."

"No, no toys," I said. "You have to sit there and listen. I'm just telling you it will be incredibly boring, so you're prepared for it." And suddenly, an image of the crying room at church popped into my head. My mom dragged us there when we were little, but made us actually listen to the sermon--no playing around like the other kids. Complete. Torture.

We got to the meeting right at 5, but it was already full! The guard directed us to the overflow area in the cafeteria where we could watch the meeting on a big-screen TV.

The boys sat down and immediately started arm-wrestling. I did my best mom impression, shushing them, and pointed to the screen.

"You're going in there as soon as there's room," I told them. "Pay attention!" They started  arm-wrestling again, just a little quieter.

There were 50 other families there, all carrying bright neon signs. I asked what they were protesting, and a mom told me, "Nothing, we're here to support our charter school."

The first order of business was a retiree; I think he got an award or something. After shaking hands with all the board members, the chairman suggested he go celebrate with his family (i.e., free up some chairs, buddy!).

After the retiree's family left, a guard came back and announced there were 12 seats available. The charter school mom gathered up her supporters--about 40 of them--and headed out. Maybe they don't teach counting at the charter school.

The room grew much quieter after that. Even our Scouts, now 10 of them, settled down.

I watched the charter school lady appear onscreen at the podium. I still don't know what she was there for--she didn't ask for money, or to prevent any budget cuts--she just wanted to talk about the school while all the other parents waved their homemade signs. Which they did, for the allotted three minutes. And then they left. The take-away lesson I got was that school board meetings are for saying your piece, then splitting. Seems kinda...selfish.

More seats were freed up, 5 to be exact, the guard said. I grabbed my Scouts, then gave up my space, since I wasn't earning a merit badge and they were. I returned to the overflow area so I could play on Facebook and not be rude during the meeting.

The meeting finally ended, but the boys weren't quite done--they still had to interview the school superintendent. I was a little worried about what they would ask, but they did great! They asked why the board closed 5th grade camp ("Come on, tell the truth--was it really a fire hazard or just budget cuts?") They asked why the board would close nearby schools, and what'll happen to those affected students. They asked about classes that were cut, and if the band program was safe (it is, hooray!).

Mark asked about middle school sports, and whether they would be cut next year (no! It's been budgeted for the next three years--woot woot!). Another kid asked why they had to do P.E. when it was soooooooo cold outside. I thought to myself, "Man, that is definitely a California kid if he thinks 50 degrees is too cold for P.E.!"

I was actually very impressed by the questions--they were well-thought out and very relevant.

Until the last kid raised his hand. He was indignant that there are different standards between the genders during P.E.

"How come the girls don't  do the same stuff in P.E. as the boys?" he asked. "Like, say the  boys have to do 60 sit ups, and the girls only have to do 10. It's not fair!"

I cringed and sunk into my seat. Turns out the little rabble-rouser was none other than my own kid.

"What?" said the school board member. "There aren't different standards, thanks to Title 9. We will check into that," she said to the superintendent, who nodded in agreement.

And with that, the meeting ended. I popped Mark lightly on the head, and asked why he sold out the girls like that.

"You'll never get a date that way!" I told him, and his friend Jonah burst out laughing.

"So?" Mark said. "I don't care!"

"You will someday," Jonah told him.

On the way out, the boys high-fived each other for getting on TV. Jonah fretted that the camera caught him yawning several times. Mark said he and Sean flipped their hair every time the camera panned over them.

I was just proud they behaved. Of course, the minute they stepped outside, all bets were off--the three younger Scouts took off running through the empty parking lot toward my car.

"Why are they doing that?" asked Jonah's big brother, Ben.

"Because they're spazzes," I said. But I didn't mind. Every community needs a few indignant, high-fiving, hair-flipping, sleepy citizens--and I'm happy to share mine.

We Wish You a Trashy Christmas

I spent all of five minutes untangling the string of Christmas lights for my house this weekend. As soon as I'd unraveled them and set out the ladder, Mark attacked me, begging to put them up.

I figured why not? I'd give the kid some responsibility and save myself some work. That, my friends, is what we call a win-win situation.

Unless...your kid is as klutzy as you are. Within two minutes of handing over the task, he tripped on the ladder no less than four times. I'm all for independence, but a busted head is gonna slow down my day. So I sent Mark back to the garage with orders to get this.

It wasn't foolproof, and if he tipped the ladder, he'd probably smash the helmet, but for a moment, I felt like a better parent.

Mark did a great job. He hung two strings of lights in about 10 minutes. After the second string, he jumped off so I could find and attach the extension cord to them. When I turned around, he was climbing the top rung, and surfing on the ladder. The ladder wobbled on the uneven patch of weeds I call my lawn, and Mark let out a whoop of excitement.

"Mark!" I yelled. He immediately stopped, but the ladder swayed precariously for another minute.

"What?" he asked innocently, as though he weren't mere seconds away from death. 

"What?" he repeated, but much quieter this time, more to himself, as he climbed down the ladder.

I admired the lights now covering three-quarters of our roof line.

"Hand me the last box," I said to Mark. He glanced around, shrugged and said, "There is no third box."

I looked high and low for those lights, but Mark was right. They were nowhere to be found. And after trips to three different stores all selling energy-saving LED lights, I found we were in a pickle. No one sells my old-school energy-sucking Christmas lights anymore.

Mark quickly removed himself from the equation.

"I am NOT taking those light down," he told me. I tried convincing him it was way more fun to take them down than to string them up, and that it was more ladder time. He scoffed at me and went inside.

And so my house sits, 3/4 of the roof with lights. 

My cousin Kathleen scolded me, because she knows how I think, and realized I was thinking of just keeping the existing light up.

"That's trashy!" she said haughtily.

"I KNOW," I answered back defensively, like I wasn't planning to do just that. And then, a moment later, I tested the waters. "Um...just how trashy do you think it would be?"

One icy glare told me it would be trashy enough. Looks like I'll be hitting up a fourth store for some new lights tomorrow.

Seal of (Dis)approval

I had a total Jenny-from-the-Bloggess moment the other day on my way to dinner. Mark and I came across a random garage sale with a bunch of junk tossed out on the lawn. I didn't see any big metal chickens, but one item did immediately catch my eye.

It was amazing. A giant wire seal balancing a ball on its nose; I couldn't take my eyes off it.

"Oh my God, that's AWESOME!" I gasped.

Mark did not agree. He tugged at my sleeve and said impatiently, "Come on, Mom, let's go."

But I couldn't move. "Mark..." I said, transfixed. "How great would that look in our backyard?"

He sighed, perhaps envisioning how to explain to his friends why there was a giant circus seal in the middle of their baseball game.

"Mom, it won't even fit in the car," he said.

He had a point there, but I've never let logic slow me down. It was BIG--but still, I wouldn't be dissuaded. I stared at it, smiling like a mad woman.

Mark knew he had to pull out the big guns. "Mom," he said in a tiny little voice. "I'm hungry."

And that snapped me out of my seal-induced daze. "Fine," I said. "I can't believe you're gonna make me pass on this just because you need to EAT." I was about to start in on how art--especially a sculpture as fantastic as this--is food for your soul, but Mark wasn't having any of it. He walked away.

Later on, walking back to the car, I had an epiphany. I realized what the seal really was, and I dragged Mark back across the street to confirm it.

The homeowner approached me with a smile.

"I love this seal," I gushed. "Is it a topiary?" (That's right--what's better than a wire-seal? A circus seal-shaped PLANT!!)

"No," she answered. "You plant a tree in the middle, and it grows all over the wire."

"Um...OK," I said. It seemed mean to point out that is, in fact, the definition of a topiary, so I didn't.

Mark realized I was caving and panicked. "Mom, seriously, it won't fit in the car!" he said. "You can't get it home!"

"I can roll down the window so the ball sticks out in the back," I said. "You can ride in the front seat." I could feel the crazy coming on--I NEED this seal!--but I couldn't help myself. I wouldn't feel complete unless I had a topiary circus seal in my yard.

But Mark, and the fact I only had $5 in my pocket, finally prevailed. He managed to drag me off, and though I kept staring at the seal lovingly over my shoulder, he wouldn't let me go back.

"You are no fun," I told him yesterday. I was still thinking about that seal. "I could've put it in the front yard. Do you know how cool that would've been, to have a giant circus seal out front?"

But apparently Mark does not appreciate the cool. He gave me one final serious look, sighed, and shut the door to his room. 

I keep telling myself it was because of regret, and the fact that he finally realized--too late--just how cool it really would've been. He can shut the door on me, but he'll never be able to shut the door on that regret.

Yum yum...

I love a good donut, and I love any family event at Mark's school. This morning, those loves converged.

It was the annual Dad's donut day, and though I'm technically not a father, I figure I taught the kid to throw a baseball, and that's gotta count for something. (Let's not bring up the neighbor's window, huh?) Besides, Mark's regular proxy father (his grandpa) is out sailing the seven seas and feasting on soft serve ice cream, so someone had to step up.

It was also Mark's debut with the school jazz band, who played during breakfast. The band already has a drummer, so Mark's biding his time until that kid goes off to high school next year. Until the drums free up, Mark plays the...bells. (I don't know how bells made the cut as a percussion "instrument.") I was picturing hand bells a la The New Girl (Eye of the Tiger! Ensembell!), but they really turned out to be some sort of xylophone-type thing. Which just kinda confused me, but I was proud of his performance none-the-less.

I know, this isn't the best picture. Musicians are moody--I had to use the "No picture, no donut" threat just to get this photo.

The band sounded really good. They played a Christmas tune, a few jazz standards, "La Bamba," and one song that was either the "Winnie the Pooh" theme or "Let's Fall in Love." They also played "Blue Skies," which Mark serenaded me with before school--love me a boy that knows Irving Berlin!

After the concert, Mark headed straight for the donuts. (Or, as my friend Kelley calls them dismissively, "Fried dough and sugar." As in, Kelley: "I don't like donuts, because all they are is fried dough and sugar." Heather: "Exactly! What's not to like???")

Mark then went outside, where he tried to dodge me numerous times, since hanging with your mom at school is about as cool as...oh, wait, nothing. There's nothing cool about hanging out with your mom when you're a middle schooler. So he tried to ditch me a couple times, but I'm quick. I kept on him like the sprinkles on a donut.

To Mark's relief, the bell rang shortly after, and we headed to his computer class, where I realized too late that all the other moms angling for a free donut had left. It was just me, the kids and the dads. I apologized to Mark in my head, but he was already annoyed I was there, so my gender didn't annoy him any more than he already was.

I was a little freaked out by Mark's friends, though. They're all too old for the after school kid's club now, so I don't see them on a daily basis like I used to. I haven't seen some of them since summer, and they've shot up like weeds. They've also lost their little baby faces, and they definitely look like young men now. Young men who are taller than me, and whose voices are starting to change a bit. And don't even get me started on the hair flipping...I owe Justin Beiber a punch in the head for introducing that nervous tic to America's tweens.

Anyway...we said the Pledge of Allegiance as a group, then watched the special Dad's day video presentation. This year, Mark's class starred in it, and there was a very nice shot of Mark reading a book upside down. He pointed it out to me twice. I'm awfully proud.

The dads started slipping out right after the video. I giggled a bit, because that right there is the difference between the dad's day and the mom's day events--the moms stay in class almost the whole first period--the teachers just about kick them out. I always feel guilty because I'm the first mom to sneak out (I can only take so much map-making with beans, or other such crafts), but here, finally, was my moment to shine as an involved parent. I blinked my eye and all the dads were gone. I was the last man--err, mom--standing. Winner!

And with that, I was done. I resisted the urge to kiss Mark on the head in front of his peers (social death by embarrassment), and patted him on the back instead.

"I'm outta here," I said. I whispered our daily morning goodbye--"Do good, be good" and then I was gone.

It was such a good morning that I whistled happily the whole walk home--"Winnie the Pooh," I think, or maybe it was "Let's Fall in Love." Whatever. It just felt good to be Mom again.