Hey Mark, just shake it off

I have a two-hour daily commute, so I hear a LOT of songs on the radio. All of them, in fact, which means I can sing any current song, because I hear. them. all. 

The only problem is the words. I know all the songs, and none of the words. This is not a new phenomena--I've been that way since I was a kid, confidently belting out the wrong words. I don't let a little thing like, oh, not knowing the lyrics, slow down my music appreciation.

Mark is the exact opposite. He knows all the songs and all the words, and loves to throw that in my face. He loves to mock me, repeating the phrases "Mom, that's not how the song goes..." or "Mom, that's not what they're saying" fifty times a day. It bothers him waaaaay more than it bothers me.

But Mr. Know-It-All apparently doesn't. 

Taylor Swift's song "Shake It Off" came on the car radio the other day, and Mark sang along in a silly, girly voice. He was being funny, and making me laugh, especially when he started mashing his hands together like he was kneading dough.

"And bakers gonna bake, bake, bake, bake, bake..." he sang, continuing his fancy patty-cake moves.

I couldn't stop laughing.

"That's not what she's saying!" I said, for the first time EVER.

He just rolled his eyes and sang louder. He knew I was the last person alive who could declare a song's lyrics right or wrong.

"That is what she's singing," he huffed, swiping my smartphone from the center console to prove me wrong. He searched for the lyrics, and I could see him mouthing the words in my peripheral vision.

We stopped at a red light, and I turned to look at him. He turned a tiny shade of red.

"Well, that's what it sounds like she's saying," he argued. 

I didn't answer. I just smiled at him and started wringing my own hands together.

"Bakers gonna bake, bake, bake, bake, bake!" I sang, laughing, until Mark smacked me.

"That's what it sounds like!" Mark insisted, but he was kind of laughing, too. Because like me, he recognizes when an embarrassing moment really is too good to waste on something as dumb as pride or being right. We just turned up the song and sang about bakers as loud as we could.

(For the record, the real line is "Heart-breakers gonna break, break, break, break, break"...which is nowhere near as funny as bakers who are gonna bake, bake, bake, bake, bake!)

Julia Child, eat your heart out...

Between all the booster club meetings, Scout meetings, fundraisers, and shuttling Mark between band and basketball practices, I've had very little time (and even less motivation) to cook dinner. My cooking hasn't just suffered--it downright disappeared. 

I felt guilty, and decided to cook at least once or twice this week. In my house, "cooking" means turning on the slow cooker, and I'm a pro at that.

But why should I have all the fun? I realized Mark needs some culinary practice as well, so I enlisted his help.

"Why do I have to make it?" he whined in his most supportive voice ever.  

"You don't have to, you get to," I answered brightly. "I'm gonna show you what to do this time, and you can make it on your own next time." 

And thus began another episode of Child Slave Labor, the ongoing show running in Mark's head.

Together, we whipped up a batch of homemade macaroni and cheese. I'd pre-cooked the noodles, then Mark mixed in milk, condensed milk, butter, salt, pepper, eggs, and a dash of paprika. I helped him fold in the cheddar cheese, and I could tell this was gonna be a good recipe, because the bag we put it in weighed a ton.

"Cheesy!" I said, placing the bag in the fridge. "That's gonna be good."

I showed Mark how to set up the slow cooker timer, and reminded him to spray the slow cooker before adding the mac n cheese. I asked if he had any questions, but he just grunted.

The cheesy pasta turned out really good. I'll make a few modifications for next time (pre-cook the pasta a little less, use sharp cheddar instead of mild, and actually follow the directions that said reserve 1/4 of the cheese to sprinkle on top instead of mixing it all in at once). But overall, it passed my successful dinner test--it was a hot, tasty meal, with enough leftovers for a second meal tonight and a few frozen packages for future dinners. I was very proud of us.

"That was super easy," I said to Mark. "You think you could make it again all on your own?" 

Mark grunted again.

"Can I make macaroni and cheese for dinner?" he asked. "Yeah, I can. I can even go to the store and buy the ingredients." 

"Really?" I asked, excitedly. This was very encouraging news! I didn't think he'd be so excited about cooking.

Turns out, he wasn't. 

"Yeah," he grumbled. "I'll go to the store and look for the blue box of mac n cheese. Then I'll come home and cook it. Boom! Dinner's done."

And my happy mood deflated. So much for teaching valuable lessons here.

"Don't burn yourself out on boxed pasta and ramen noodles," I reminded him. "Or else you'll starve in college." 

Because he certainly won't be putting my cooking lessons to use then! 

Music to my ears

Saturday was Mark's second marching band competition. It was a bit further from home, so this time I dragged my friend Edra along with me. 

"Oh, great," Mark grumbled when I told him. "She can see me in my dumb costume."

I'd forgotten about his new costume--the pit kids all got a new wardrobe for their Americana-themed show. Mark was now a Minute Man.

Edra and I had a lovely day, visiting the super cute historic district of San Juan Capistrano, where we enjoyed a fabulous lunch and wine at a local wine tasting room.

We then drove to the high school competition, although I got a little confused by the parking signs. I ended up near the school buses, where a nice volunteer told me to make a u-turn. 

"There's parking on the right for $5," he said. "All the money goes to supporting our band, so you can park there if you'd like to help out."

"I'm already supporting a high school band," I told Edra, steering toward the free lot. But karma laughed at me, because I missed the free lot and ended up at the paid lot instead.

"Just pay the five bucks," Edra said, so I did. Sometimes you can't beat the universe...

We got there just in time for the 45 minute dinner break. We were a little bummed about that, until we saw a bake sale, which took the sting out of sitting around the bleachers for an additional 45 minutes.

The bake sale was unbelievable! There were trays and trays of gourmet treats, all individually bagged and tied. There were s'mores cupcakes with roasted marshmallows on top, and hand-dipped pretzel sticks. There were homemade cookies, three to a bag, and brownies with thin, perfect layers of frosting on top. There were cookie bars and rice krispie treats with M&Ms, and all of it was beautiful--everything looked fresh, like it came straight from the bakery.

"Did the parents make all this?" I asked, incredulously.

"Yep," the parent volunteer answered. "Everything is only a dollar each!"

I couldn't believe it--I barely got my kid to practice on time, and he left with a barely-nutritious lunch and 10 bucks for a snack bar dinner. And here, these Orange County parents had time to bake and bag tons and tons of beautifully crafted treats, and decorate them with ribbons. 

"That would be my contribution," I told Edra, pointing to a pink box of purchased donuts. "I'm a terrible parent!"

"Don't beat yourself up," she said, as we walked away. "Parents didn't make all these--the nannies did!" 

I took a look around the swanky neighborhood and agreed with her.

Finally, it was time to start again. The Millikan band marched out to the far end of the field. I craned my neck, looking for Mark and his new costume, but all I saw were blue and gold uniforms, and the flag team.

Then the announcer called the team onto the field. Immediately below us, the pit raced by, pulling the percussion instruments with them. Mark appeared maybe ten feet away, and Edra and I called out to him.

Here was his reply:

That's right, as soon as the little stinker saw us and saw my camera phone pointed at him, he turned the other way. He refused to acknowledge us at all. (Ahhhhh, teenagers.)

But no worries, I still managed to get a photo once they were all set up.

The kids sounded and looked great. They even added a third song to the show, and new marches. They did a phenomenal job, and we cheered wildly for them at the end.

We stayed to watch the bands in Millikan's level, five bands in all. Edra loved it--she'd been on the color guard team all through high school, and said this competition really brought back a lot of memories. She had a lot of great insight, and explained why the teams did what they did--how some kids marched quickly in big steps to cover a lot of ground, while others took tiny steps or just moved in place. She pointed out how they marched heel to toe. She pointed out that marching is really hard to learn, and even harder to learn while playing instruments. And she pointed out the color guard moving seamlessly between the musicians.

"We used to get so mad at the band," she said. "Because we knew how to move around the field, and they didn't. They were used to playing, not marching, so they were always messing us up."

We also talked about college bands, and how complex their shows are. Edra told me it's because the college kids already know how to march when they get in--they don't have to perfect the basics, like high school kids do. 

It was awesome--I learned as much about marching, dancing and competing from Edra as I did about music from Mark. Between those two, I may actually figure out what's going on by Mark's senior year!

The other bands did a great job, too. I'd seen one of the other bands before. They have an awesome marching show, but the musical part was definitely lacking. I'd told Edra that they spent too much time on marching, and not enough on the music--but now, I understood why.

Edra and I left happy and proud of Mark. And of his band and band directors, too. Every time I see them, they've improved by leaps and bounds, and you can see all the hard work they've put into their show.

Rock on, Rams!

My new job: Concert reviewer

This week I attended my first high school instrumental concert at Mark's school. It was pretty darn cool!

So far, I've seen the marching band perform at a pre-game show for parents (awesome!), a couple football games (too distracting), and at a marching band competition (super awesome and distraction-free). But this was my introductory formal concert.

The first thing I noticed was how the kids all looked like waiters in their black pants and white shirts. (I waited for someone to come take my drink order, but apparently, they were too busy tuning their instruments!) Mark and a few other boys upped the look by adding black jackets, and of course, Mark wore his favorite black bow tie. He looked very fancy and professional.

The second thing I noticed was wow, those kids are amazing musicians! Seriously. I attended all the elementary and middle school concerts, but only because my kid played in them, not because they were world-class performances. The younger kids, though they started off rough, usually found their way by the end of the songs. But these high school kids were on a whole different level--they sounded great right from the get-go, and each group sounded better than the last.

In addition to playing more and longer songs, the high school orchestra and bands were also a lot bigger. There were a lot of different groups, too--a jazz band, a jazz combo, an orchestra, the symphonic winds, the concert band, the marching band, and the chamber orchestra. They took turns onstage, waiting for the stage lights to shine on them before playing, and then exiting the stage quietly an precisely after the lights dimmed. 

The kids were far less squirrelly onstage prior to performing. Which was a little sad, since that was always the best (and funniest) part of the show at the elementary school concerts. 

The show started with the jazz band, which consisted of all boys (most of them on electric guitar) and one girl (on bass). They had a full drum-set and a couple horns. They were pretty good.

The orchestra sat onstage during their performance. The number of violins and cellos was impressive, as was the quality of the music. They played well, too.

Next up was the concert band. I'd read over the printed program multiple times by now, so I was surprised to see Mark onstage, as he was not listed as a member of the concert band (turns out, he played for a kid who couldn't make it). At first, I thought maybe I was wrong and that wasn't him--there are a handful of brown-haired kids with glasses, all dressed alike, so from a distance it's hard to pick out your kid sometimes. But I knew for sure it was Mark when he leaned in and kept talking to the kid next to him, and talked right up until the music started. (Mark's a very social kid!)

He was standing behind the orchestra, so I couldn't really see what he was playing. I thought it might be his regular timpani, but he was using regular drumsticks instead of the timpani mallets. I thought it might be snare drum, but I couldn't hear a snare, so I finally settled on cymbals. 

Which I dug for another reason--prior to Mark's concerts, I never realized there were so many different percussion instruments, or ways to play them. I'd always thought of cymbals as something you just hit to make a crashing sound, or hit together to make an even louder crash. But there was Mark, drum sticks in hand, playing a mounted cymbal like a snare drum.

Mark did play the snare for the next band, the symphonic winds. He'd very patiently explained to me what symphonic wind instruments are--"anything that uses wind to make a sound"--and then again, when he saw the confused look on my face --"anything you blow into, like horns, or flutes." But I was still puzzled at how drums are considered wind instruments.

"You move the air to make the sound," he'd said. "The air interacts with the drum head to make the music." I still didn't think of drums as wind instruments, but hey, what do I know? Mark's the true musician in the family.

Next up was the chamber orchestra. These all looked like older students, upperclassmen for sure. They filed into their seats, tuned their instruments, then sat quietly until Mrs. B, the conductor, appeared onstage. She explained to us that this was the most advanced band on campus, and boy, was she right. I don't know any chamber music at all, and if you asked me to a chamber music concert, I'd probably decline. But these kids were spectacular! They were totally at home on stage, playing those violins and cellos in a frenzy. Their bows flew across the violins at rapid speed, until the musicians stopped suddenly, plucking at the strings with their hands. Those kids had a razor-sharp focus, never once looking at their instruments, only staring straight ahead at their sheet music. 

I just couldn't get over those kids. They walked onstage as young adults, but the music they coaxed from their instruments betrayed their youth. I was only a few months out of middle-school concerts, but it felt like I'd traveled light-years ahead, musically.

The chamber orchestra left the stage to deafening applause. Apparently, I wasn't the only one they impressed. 

I watched the stage crew roll out the instruments for the next group, including the four giant timpani drums, which meant Mark was up again!

I've seen the marching band numerous times, but only outdoors, in big, open spaces. Watching them all cram onto this small stage was really interesting. They had lots of big, loud instruments--the tubas, of course, but also the trumpets, trombones, clarinets and flutes. The concert band used those, too, but the marching band used them completely differently. Their music is much louder, meant to be projected in a stadium, traveling over distances and loud crowds. The band tried to pare that sound down for the indoor auditorium, but it didn't quite work.

It was also funny to watch the musicians. They're used to moving, marching across the field. Obviously, they couldn't do that onstage, so they marched in place, stepping forward every so often in formation. 

And they brought a whole different vibe to the concert--a sense of fun. The jazz band brought a sense of cool, and the orchestras brought an air of culture. The band and symphonic winds brought a sense of class--"we are accomplished musicians, listen to how we've mastered our instruments." But the marching band--they brought the beat, the show, the I-wanna-get-up-and-dance. They whipped the crowd into a cheering, clapping, hootin'-and-hollerin' frenzy, exactly what you want at a football game or pep rally. They were limited by the size of the stage, but not by their enthusiasm.

I left the auditorium on a high after that, tapping my fingers and whistling their songs. It was a really great night.

Anyway...this was a very long-winded (symphonic-winded?) way of saying...boy, my kid has come a long way musically in the past couple months. I've run the gamut of emotions during his short career so far--sad that I never see him anymore (he's always at practice), proud of his focus and determination (not usually Mark's strong suits), and pure joy, admiration, and inspiration while watching him (and the other kids) perform. 

And excitement. Definitely excitement, both for the progress Mark's made so far, and for the progress he'll make in the next few years. He's come so far in such a short time--I can't wait to see where he'll be a few years from now! 

Public Speaking 101

Mark recently became a Diabetes Youth Ambassador, which means he rocks. More specifically, it means he'll mentor younger kids with diabetes, and become a diabetes educator, which he explains as "telling people 'YES, I can eat that!'"

The youth group will speak at schools about diabetes. To prepare them, the group leader invited a guest to teach the kids about public speaking.

"How'd it go?" I asked Mark, on the ride home.

"Fine," Mark said.

"How was the guest speaker?" I prodded.

"He was really good!" Mark answered. "He gave lots of good advice. For example, he said you should always use a hooker in your speech." 

I almost crashed the car.

"He said WHAT?" I asked.

"A hooker," Mark repeated. "You get people interested by using a hooker--the hooker draws them in, and makes them listen to your speech."

I looked at him in a stunned silence, picturing a lady of the night luring listeners in to hear Mark's speech. 

"Step right up, boys," I imagined her saying, winking and blowing kisses at the crowd. "He's gonna tell you all about the 'betes."

It was a funny--and disturbing--image, innocent little Mark giving a speech next to a woman like that.

My silence made Mark a little nervous. He flipped frantically through his notes, until he found the correct word and started snickering.

"A HOOK," he corrected. "You use a hook in your speech--a funny story to draw people in."

This time I giggled, more than a little relieved.

"Not a hooker," he reiterated, snickering a little harder. "Because...well, that would be weird."

"It would," I agreed. "I was nervous for a minute there. Wasn't sure this was the right group for you."

He looked at me, and we both burst into laughter.

"Maybe you need to practice your listening skills instead of your speaking skills," I said. 

He agreed, and promised not to use any hookers in his future speeches.

See, he's already learning a lot! 

50 ways to die at work

We recently had an emergency preparedness meeting at work. I wasn't sure what to expect, but I heard there were cookies, so I went.

The presentation was about what to do if a disaster occurs while we're at work. Since we're in California, the main focus, not surprisingly, was on earthquakes. We did earthquake drills at school when I was a small child, and I have emergency kits in both my car and at home. I felt well-prepared and maybe a bit smug. I got this, I thought. When the shaking starts, I'm good.

Before the discussion, the presenter handed out surveys. 

"Please rate the presentation at the end," she said, "to help me improve it."

I skimmed over the paper--it listed a series of disasters and asked me to rate my level of concern for each. I tossed the survey onto the seat next to me.

And so started the presentation. There were lots of helpful tips, such as "Drop, cover and hold-on" in case of a quake. That is good advice, although I usually resort to my default panic mode when the ground starts rolling--screaming, panicking, and running outside. You know, all the things they tell you not to do. 

But the presentation wasn't solely focused on quakes. Turns out, I work smack dab in the middle of a disaster zone. Earthquakes are the most probable disaster in this area, but they aren't the only threat. In fact, they're just the starting point, setting off a chain of life-threatening events.

The presenter walked us through 46 slides, methodically addressing the environmental threats in great detail. She pointed out all the nearby fault lines, and reminded us that we're situated on top of them. She showed a slide predicting a 6.8 quake or bigger within the next 30 years.

"Just so you know, I've been doing this for 27 years," she told us. "They said 30 years when I started this job 27 years ago, so you do the math on when it's coming..."

I couldn't; I was too busy nervously biting my nails.

"Earthquakes are dangerous," she said. "They will certainly knock out the infrastructures, such as the freeway overpasses. You may not be able to get home for at least a week." 

I live 23 miles from work, mostly freeway miles. It only takes a minor fender-bender to shut down the 405; if the freeway cracked or was damaged, a week might be a generous estimate.

"But the real threat is what happens to the surrounding infrastructure afterwards," the presenter continued. "Let's start with tsunamis."

Like most SoCal residents, I've seen the tsunami warning signs at the beach. I always thought they were a joke, until the I saw the tsunami that wrecked Thailand. (Which was triggered by--you got it!--an earthquake.)

The presenter reminded us of our surrounding landscape; the coast, a couple miles away, houses a water treatment plant and the Department of Water and Power (which I learned has two 9 million gallon reservoirs that will flood the surrounding neighborhoods if damaged). There's also an oil refinery down the street, with 150 miles of pipelines pumping crude oil under the ocean. It also has an active line pumping jet fuel to the airport on our northern border--the 4th busiest airport in the world, the presenter informed us. 

Which lead to the next possible disaster--a possible plane crash or terrorist attack at the airport. 

"And don't forget the military base over there," the presenter said lightly, motioning toward the distance. "They definitely prepare for terrorist attacks, especially with the entire aerospace industry surrounding us." 

She pointed out the last threat--urban fire. A slide appeared onscreen, showing a multi-story office building burning. 

By this time, I was a little numb and completely overwhelmed. We have threats bordering the entire city; in case of a real disaster, we're in trouble here.

At the end of the presentation, I completed my survey. At the beginning of the presentation, I would've marked the boxes for each disaster as "Somewhat concerned." Now, as I turned it in afterwards, every box was checked at the highest level, "Very concerned!" 

"That wasn't about being prepared for disasters," I told my co-workers later. "That was about the 50 ways to die in El Segundo. Seriously, I'm coming to work wrapped in bubble wrap tomorrow!"

"And she didn't even mention the metro," the receptionist reminded me, as a train rumbled past, just outside our building. "You don't think a train could fall off those tracks in an earthquake?" 

I hadn't until just that moment, no. But I was thinking it now!

By the time I got home that night, I'd calmed down a little bit. I'd checked all our emergency supplies, which are still good for another year. I packed a couple bags with clothes and good walking shoes--one for my car, and one for my office. I discussed emergency plans with Mark, who scoffed at first when I said I might not get home for a week during a disaster.

"Psh, I stay home by myself all the time," he said, dismissively.

"Without running water?" I asked. "Or electricity? At night, in pitch black, with no house lights or street lights, or TV, or phones, and maybe people looking for food or water?" 

That made him pause. 

"Well, no," he admitted. And then he listened a little more closely, as I told him the best info I'd learned--in an emergency, we should text each other, not call, to keep the phone networks free for emergency personnel.

So maybe the shakeout wasn't such a disaster after all. It certainly freaked me out--my parting statement from the presentation was, "Ack, now I need a drink!" But it also made me think about my readiness, because here in quake country, it's not if, but when. So in that sense, the presentation was a success.

Even if I'm still a nervous wreck, two days later!

This is what happens when teenagers get bored

I dropped Mark off at school this weekend for marching band practice, then drove off to breakfast with my parents. We were approximately five minutes away when my cell phone rang. I knew immediately it was Mark.

My dad answered it, and listened as Mark quickly told him he needed a new pair of jeans and a backpack.

I just sighed--it'd taken him 30 minutes to find the first pair of jeans and to pack his bag.

"Seriously?" I asked my dad. "We literally just dropped him off--how did he already ruin his bag and clothes?" 

"His chocolate milk spilled in his backpack," my dad relayed back. He thought for a moment, then said, "He must've thrown his backpack pretty hard for the milk to explode like that." 

"Probably," I said. "Or somebody else threw it for him."

I shared the story Mark told me earlier that morning. Mark said he liked to run up to the drum section leader, Kai, and slap him whenever Kai's girlfriend was around. It wasn't hard to imagine acting like that might get Mark and/or his backpack tossed around on campus.

But either way, Mark was in a panic. 

"He wants you to bring him a new bag and pants," my dad said.

"Tell him I'll be there after breakfast," I said. Mark's life is a continual stream of crises to correct; there was no reason this couldn't wait until after our meal.

At home, finding another bag was easy; the pants were a whole different story. Mark refuses to wear jeans, so I refuse to buy them (I have wasted enough money on clothes he won't wear). As a a result, he has a limited supply of jeans to choose from.

In his earlier quest to find a pair that fit, he'd tossed all his other clothes on the bedroom floor. I waded through the mess, eventually finding a pair of size 12 jeans and pair of size 18 (he wears 14 or 16, depending on how skinny the legs are). I opted for the 18s.

"Did you bring me a belt?" he asked, when I handed him the bag.

"Did you ask for a belt?"

"No, but..." 

I just stared at him, and though he mulled it over for a minute, he ultimately thought better of asking me to run home again and find one.

"Let me have your wet backpack," I said.

"I threw it away," he answered.

We stood there again staring at one another.

I finally broke the silence. "Go get it," I said. "So I can wash it."

"I threw it away," he repeated, very slowly. "It's in the trash can."

I stood there some more. If there's one thing I've learned about being a mom, it's that sometimes an uncomfortable silence is waaaaaay more effective than a loud, yelling voice.

"Fine," Mark griped, disappearing to the band room. He returned moments later to reward my good mothering skills with a soggy, dripping backpack.

I didn't get the full story until the next morning.

"How'd the milk box explode?" I asked him. "Those little cartons are pretty strong."

"Oh," Mark laughed, as if recalling a funny story. "It exploded when it hit the ground."

"You dropped your backpack?" I asked.

"No, my friend threw it over the fence," he clarified.

"Why?"

"Because Mr. D. wasn't there yet, and the gate was locked."

"So you climbed over the fence?" I asked. (None of this story made any sense!)

"Nooooooo," Mark huffed. "We climbed under it."

As with most of Mark's stories, now I was completely confused.

"So...you fit under the fence, but your backpack didn't?" I asked. "That's why you threw it over the fence?" 

"No, we threw it because we wanted to see how far it would go," he said, slowly, because clearly, I am an idiot incapable of following such a simple story.

I suddenly realized that I was looking for clarity in a mud bog. Mark was right--whatever the story really was, I wouldn't understand it.

"Why didn't you just wait for Mr. D to show up?" I asked, grasping at one last straw. "He eventually let you in, right?"

"Well, yeah," Mark admitted. "But we were bored. That's what happens when teenagers get bored."

I opened my mouth to point out they had literally been bored for five minutes. I dropped him off, the milk exploded, the phone rang, all within five minutes. It was hard to believe a group of kids could get that bored that quickly, but then again, we weren't dealing with the most patient group here.

I closed my mouth. And this is why you're in the band...and on the basketball team...and in Boy Scouts...and all the other positive activities you complain that I "force" you to do, I thought. Because man, if he was bored enough in five minutes to  break into a school and commit vandalism (on his own belongings, anyway), what would he do with hours of free time if I didn't keep him busy after school??? (And this example totally affirms what I tell Mark daily: I keep you busy doing good stuff so you don't have time to do bad stuff!)

But what I finally said out loud was, "OK. Whatever." I was never going to get enough info to fully understand this story, and my head was starting to hurt just trying to. 

Keep him busy, I reminded myself. Just keep him busy.

And maybe send his milk boxes to school in Ziploc bags from now on...

And the band played on...

I've learned a whole lot since Mark started high school. 

The first is that apparently, I'm no longer the head adult in charge of raising my son anymore. That duty has been passed on to the marching band director and the basketball coach, both of whom spend more time with my child each than I do. Mark's at basketball practice at least three hours a day, and the time he isn't there, he's in the band room or on the football field practicing.

I've seen the marching band perform a couple times so far--once during their weekly 3-hour night practice. I didn't know what exactly to expect--the kids had only been in school a week, so I didn't know how much they'd learned. Turns it, they learned a lot.

I slipped into the bleachers as they were playing. I listened to the band director yell at them to start at a specific passage, which they did, immediately stopping when he yelled at them to stop and re-set. I watched the kids, tired and grumpy, quickly return to their starting positions on the field, raise their instruments, and begin the music and marching all over again. It was impressive.

I'd also watched them at the first home football game. The kids played a pre-game show for the parents, which I loved.

The game itself was a little bit of an ADHD nightmare for me--I don't know if you've ever been to a high school football game, but turns out, there's a LOT going on there. At one point, the band was warming up in the left hand corner of the field, the drill team was dancing across from them, the color guard was waving flags and throwing rifles in another corner, and the football game was playing in the middle of the field. There were cheerleaders--both the home team and the visitors--jumping and shouting in front of us. All around me, parents were cheering on their kids, and students were strolling through the bleachers, calling out to each other. It was a little overwhelming to pick one thing to focus on, so I gave up and stared at my smart phone instead. I paid attention when the band was on field, but only then.

This weekend was the second football game--homecoming! My parents came up to watch the band (although they liked the football as well), as did my cousin Kathleen and her husband, Juan. We braved the massive crowds, and the football game, until finally, half-time arrived and the band took the field.


They were great! It was amazing to see my kid, completely focused, staring intently at the drum major leading the band. Mark watched his every move, playing his timpani drums perfectly. He also played a set of blocks before returning back to his drums, and not once did he goof off or become distracted. It was enthralling to watch. I was so proud of him, and--I'll admit it--I was a little emotional by the end of the performance.

Mark got home late after the game--I picked him up at 10:30. He was still wound up, but I sent him to bed anyway, because the next day was a big one--his first marching band competition.

I spent the day running errands and going to the movies while Mark was gone. Finally, in the early evening, I drove to Newport Beach to watch them perform in the competition.

I watched four different bands perform, and they were all vastly different. Gone are the days of bands simply playing upbeat songs and rallying the crowds--now it's about performing just as much as it is about music.

As the first band set up, the stadium announcer started reading off "air grams." For a dollar, you can write up a message to your kid, which the announcer reads as they set up. There were lots of generic predictable messages--"Brittany, mom and dad love you and we're so proud of you!" But my very favorite was from a funny dad. The announcer said, "John, this message is from your dad--Pay attention!"

The whole stadium burst into laughter, as a small kid on the field raised up his arms incredulously toward them. He shook his head and held out his hands, like "Really, Dad???" It was hilarious--and now I can't wait to send my own messages to Mark at the next competition!

The first band was a little---surreal. I don't want to be mean, but it played almost like a Saturday Night Live skit. It started with a couple singers. Behind them, the band marched across the field, while the drill team danced between them. One girl carried a glittery beach ball, dancing very dramatically. It was all kind of funny.

Mark's band was up next. They. Were. AWESOME!!! I know I'm totally biased, but I loved it! The best thing was that there was no one else on the field, and no other activities going on or distracting me. It was just the band performing, and I could totally focus on them.

Mark rocked the timpani (timpanies?) and the blocks, changing up his mallets and moving where he was supposed to. It was a great performance, the best one I've seen so far!

The next band was pretty good, too, although their music was a lot more dark and moody. It was ominous, like the music in a scary movie that warns you something bad is about to happen. They performed well, but it was not my favorite.

The last band was also good. You could tell they've practiced a lot, and really perfected their show. They moved seamlessly across the field, cutting across chaotically, and then suddenly appearing back in straight lines. The kids added a lot of movement, dancing, swaying dramatically, and just putting on a good visual performance. The only thing I didn't like was that their music suffered a bit because of it. The movement was definitely the focus of their performance, not the music.

I left after that. There were still a couple hours left, but I saw my favorite band, and left on a high note.

When I picked Mark up at 10 that night, he'd had a full day. I expected him to be exhausted, with a side of grumpy and hungry, but he wasn't. He was happy, and reported that his band won first place in percussion. He was thrilled to be part of that.

And I was thrilled for him. He'd spent the past 36 hours deeply enmeshed in band practice and performances, and he loved every minute of it. For him, it wasn't work, it was time hanging out with his friends. 

And for that, I am grateful--grateful that he's learning so much and getting along so well, and grateful that he's enjoying himself. I'm also a little grateful to have some time to myself, although now that my kid's always at practice of some kind, I kinda miss him, and would enjoy some time with him, too.

But in the meantime, he's having a blast. And I'm having a blast  watching him blossom and grow from all of it...