While the kids were at camp, I had lots of time to myself. One day, I got an email that said – thanks to a settlement on some Ticketmaster court case – I had earned the right to:
TRADE YOUR VOUCHERS FOR UNFORGETTABLE LIVE CONCERTS NOW!
I had a vague recollection of putting my name out there, eons ago, so that a “Ticketmaster settlement” could be shared with me, whenever it came to fruition. I didn’t think it would be in the form of free concerts, but hey – that sounded good!
I discovered that I had not one or two “vouchers,” but seventeen vouchers, each good for two tickets to any eligible event. So I was eligible to get 34 free tickets!
I spent almost an hour searching through the “eligible events.” The concerts near us may have been good for the kids, but the venue is far from home and not a particularly nice place to see a concert. Plus, Dylan works – a lot – and he works at a concert venue. So he’s already seeing a ton of concerts this summer.
So I started searching out of our area – at places where we might be traveling through for college visits or vacations. And sure enough, eventually, I found one: a concert we could see on our way home from vacation. All four of us would enjoy it, and we wouldn’t be able to see that group at any other time or place – at least not anytime soon.
So I thought, hey, I have seventeen vouchers! I will use two of them for tickets to this great concert, and we will get to see this great group for free! Plus we can extend our vacation by one day, which the kids will love.
I clicked, “Redeem Voucher.” The website very happily put me on hold for a second … (Searching for Tickets…) and then it provided me with all of my options for that event:
FAST LANE ACCESS
PREMIER PARKING
VIP CLUB ACCESS
RESERVED LAWN ACCESS
LAWN CHAIR RENTAL
OVERSIZED VEHICLE PARKING
Every single one of these great options had one caveat:
THIS IS NOT A CONCERT TICKET.
I went and checked another “eligible event,” just in case.
VIP CLUB UPGRADE
PREMIER PARKING
LOUNGE ACCESS
And again, there was the warning attached to each one:
THIS IS NOT A CONCERT TICKET.
In other words, for my “settlement,” all I can get is a lawn chair rental or a place to park my oversized vehicle outside the venue.
I can’t actually get any concert tickets.
Like I said, I had lots of time on my hands during camp week. But geez, what a waste.
In order to be sure that Shane went to high school with a slew of friends and plenty of stuff to do, I encouraged him to join the school marching band. He has been a percussionist since elementary school.
I should have known, last summer when I forced him to take lessons, that he wasn’t terribly enthused. But I thought marching about on a football field with 50 of your closest friends sounded like great fun. It made me wish I played the drums.
Shane went to practice faithfully in May and June, every Wednesday. When I asked him how practice was, he said, “fine,” and then talked about the other percussionists (who are not very nice to him) and about the new drums he was playing (which he didn’t really enjoy) and about the upcoming activities (which didn’t appeal to him).
I ignored all of the signs.
“It will get better,” I said.
“You’ll like it more when you’re with the whole band,” I said.
“You’ll like it when you’re marching,” I said.
I paid $300 for equipment, transportation, a uniform and fees. “You’re sure you want to be in marching band, right?” I asked jovially before hitting the PAY button.
“I guess,” he said.
After practice one day he said, “I wish I could practice at home, but I don’t know how to set up the drums.”
I emailed his band teacher, who suggested that he take home the actual drum set. So, while Shane was at camp, I picked up his drums. I was so excited about giving him his own drums to practice.
They were heavy. And we had a little trouble setting them up. But we did it, then left him alone to practice. After about twenty minutes, he stopped playing.
We went upstairs and found Shane. To put it mildly, he was rather unhappy. Even he didn’t know what was wrong. But in the course of a short conversation, he said he was concerned about marching band. He didn’t even know what was bothering him so deeply.
“Make a list of pros and cons,” I suggested – as my dad, years earlier, had suggested to me. “It will help you see what’s bothering you about marching band and put it into perspective. Then you can make a mature, informed decision about what you need to do.”
Shane’s list of “pros” was four points, one of which wasn’t even accurate. (They do not provide free food at band camp.) “It might get better” was his strongest “pro.”
His list of “cons,” though, was massive – 11 very strong, heartfelt points, not the least of which was: “I don’t really like to play the drums.”
But the most telling “con” was: “I’m never excited to go.” I asked him specifically about that.
“Well, I always want it to be Tuesday or Friday so I can play table tennis,” Shane said. “But I am never excited when it’s Wednesday.”
Shane doesn’t like marching band, I realized. It’s just not his thing.
“Gee Shane,” I said, looking up from his list. “You might want to quit.”
The relief on Shane’s face, the relief in his whole body, was palpable. He worried about the money; he worried about my reaction; and he worried he was disappointing the rest of the band. He wanted everyone else to be happy, and he had been willing to march – no matter what – even though it was crushing his spirit.
“Don’t worry about anyone but you,” I said. “And from now on, let’s work on communicating about how you really feel.”
When this year’s AP scores posted online, we were all on a hayride near a dairy farm in rural Pennsylvania. School was the furthest thing from my mind.
But Dylan remembered. Yes. Dylan remembered.
Dylan’s AP test was a particular spectacle this year, because it’s the one that caused two weeks’ worth of agony for the special ed coordinator, the school principal, Dylan’s case manager, and his two parents. We spent hours faxing and talking on the phone with the College Board – because this was the AP test that Dylan had to take without the accommodation of a computer.
His college-level essays were all handwritten in typical, kindergarten-esque, Dylan-ish fashion.
To say I was “concerned” that he would fail would be an enormous understatement. Many blogs in late April and early May will attest to that. But when I was on the hayride, school was not even a blip on my radar. I was having farm fun with the boys.
So when Dylan announced that he was checking his test scores, just after we stepped off the wagon, my stomach clenched. This AP test is the one that will give him credit in an English class – a “$10,000 class” we called it. And this AP test is the one that didn’t allow him the opportunity to use a computer to compose two lengthy essays.
He needed a score of 4 or 5 to get college credit for the class. On his prior AP test (a computer programming test that was done on – duh – a computer), Dylan had only gotten a 3. We weren’t exactly anticipating the current AP test results.
Dylan looked a bit queasy when he looked up from his phone, having gotten his answer.
“What did you get?” I cracked.
Dylan held up four fingers.
“I got a 4,” he said. “I got a 4!”
He passed. He did well. Dylan’s got his first college credit – and he did it without even using a computer!
He got a 4. Hallelujah!
I was driving through a crowded parking lot when I was forced to stop. There was a driverless car in front of me, with the driver-side door open, blocking my path.
I had to wait for the driver to return to his/her car if I wanted to move forward. I wasn’t in a terrific hurry and, since the door was open, I assumed it wouldn’t be more than a couple of minutes.
I had enough time to consider my options, and probably too much time to think and get increasingly frustrated. But a few minutes later, a woman got into the driver’s seat, closed her door … and just sat there.
Next to the car was an area where she could have pulled over to the side, and I could have moved forward. But she didn’t move.
And behind my car was an area where I could have backed up and gotten out of her way. But I didn’t move.
I was reminded very distinctly of my favorite Dr. Seuss story: The Zax. In the story, two Zax are traveling by foot when they run smack into each other. Neither one will step to the side so that the other may pass.
And while I knew that the Zax never did budge, I also knew one of us was going to budge.
Normally, I would move. In fact, I would have backed up and gotten out of the woman’s way if only I hadn’t been so upset by the fact that the car was left right in the middle of the lot so that no other cars could pass. I felt like I needed to make a point, and that I should wait for her to move first.
At the same time, I realized that for my entire life, I’ve been moving out of other people’s way. I’ve spent so much time saying, “excuse me” and “I’m sorry” while stepping aside that I think my quota of apologies is entirely used up. So when I realized that this car was in my way, for a change I decided to stand my ground.
After about a minute of not moving, the woman got out of her car and walked over to my car.
“Is there a space you could pull into, so that I could get by?” she said – in the sweetest and kindest possible way. She was nearly apologizing for asking me to move, even though I was the one who had been waiting for her.
“You want me to move,” I growled, already throwing my car into reverse. “Or you could have moved so that I could have gotten through!”
I could see from her astonishment that this possibility had never crossed her simple mind. “But I need to go this way!” she said, still trying to be sweet. But I was already backing up, getting out of her way, and I wasn’t going to argue about whose “way” was most important.
I thought about my kids. What would I have done if they’d been in the car? Would I have showed them that it’s important to stand up for oneself? Or would I have backed up as soon as she got into her car, so that we could all go back to things that actually matter?
I honestly don’t know if I would have changed anything at all.
But I do have a new clarity, now, on why the Zax never moved a single inch.
Well. The kids are at camp. Now what?
I have nothing to do. I have nothing to think about. I can start planning our next vacation, I suppose, since – for now – the kids will be coming home soon.
Instead, I am thinking about the future. I am thinking about how bored I am going to be. I am thinking that I will have to physically restrain myself from texting one or both of them – at least for the first five years.I am thinking that I will not have anything interesting in my life, ever again, until grandchildren come. And then I will be fighting with the mother of the poor child because it’s bad enough that I don’t see my own son, but now my grandchild, too!
I have already frequented little league games where I don’t know a single child on either team. What’s to keep me from becoming a foster mom or, heaven forbid, adopting another child? I mean, well – what’s to stop me other than my husband?
And my husband – holy moly. What the heck am I supposed to do with him for the next 30 years or so? What will we talk about if the kids aren’t around? How will we ever plan anything? What will there be to coordinate? We certainly aren’t going to hold deep, meaningful conversations as we watch the sun set. He never sits down long enough for that. Plus, our yard is laced with mosquitoes.
The way I see it, when both kids are gone – in four, already-way-too-short years – I will have two choices.
- I will adopt dogs. I will adopt so many dogs, there will never be a dull moment in the house. I will rescue them from shelters and rescues and treat them as well (if not better) than I ever treated my kids.
- I will teach. I will teach one-on-one, at homes, and I will tutor and I will be the busiest doggone substitute teacher this county has ever had. I will teach five days a week, 260 days a year. I will make sure those students know that someone, even if it’s only a lowly substitute, cares about them.
I only see one problem with both of those solutions to what will be ailing me in five years:
The dogs and the students … won’t ever be my children.
In my youth, my dream was to work on Sesame Street, which is filmed in New York City. Unfortunately, I didn’t want to live in New York City.
But I did live in Pittsburgh, where Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood was filmed.
I lived in Pittsburgh as a preschooler, in the very first years of Mister Rogers. My mom said that I was watching it once, and Mister Rogers was talking about how kids can’t get flushed down the toilet. It seemed to her like a pretty ridiculous concept.
“Are you worried about that, Kirsten?” she asked me. And I turned to her, very seriously, and nodded.
If I remember correctly, I was terrified of being flushed down that toilet. I can remember, too, thinking that I’d be sucked down the drain with the bathtub water.
Children have minds that are open to spectacular concepts – both good and bad. I honestly believed that anything was possible. I watched Bewitched and I Dream of Jeannie and often tried – desperately – to create that kind of magic in my own life.
After watching Mr. Ed, I believed that animals could talk – and spent years trying to get them to talk to me.
Later, when I watched Fonzie on Happy Days, I was sure I could get change to fall out of vending machines if I just hit the machine the right way.
I believed that my stuffed animals came alive at night, and danced and played. I’m still not sure it’s not true. I may be old now, but sometimes I still believe in magic.
When I was a teenager, I became jaded. I didn’t do well in school. I had to take a summer school class at a school in downtown Pittsburgh, next door to the WQED studios, where Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood filmed.
After summer school one day, I was sitting on a stone wall, waiting for my ride, when I saw a familiar face – a man wearing a cardigan sweater – driving out of the studio lot. He saw me sitting on the wall – my hardened teenage self – and without so much as a flinch, broke into a wide smile and waved at me.
Mister Rogers waved at me. I meekly, and quickly, waved back. I probably didn’t smile.
And as my preschool self ran smack into my teenage self, I started to cry, right there on that wall, because all of my teenage angst had been suddenly comforted by an old friend from my preschool days – the same man who told me it was safe to sit on a toilet, and take a bath.
Mister Rogers smiled at me. He didn’t care how tough I was.
Ten years later, with a degree in Communications and another degree in Early Childhood Education, I went back to WQED to see if, maybe, Mister Rogers Neighborhood needed an intern. I would have worked there unpaid.
That’s the day I officially met Mister Rogers in person – a man I could never simply call “Fred” because of my undying respect for him. My stomach flipped and I could barely speak.
But like my parents taught me, I shook his hand. I said, “Nice to meet you.”
He said, “It’s so nice to meet you.”
My interview was with a producer, and he didn’t need an intern – even someone who worked for free. But it was a day I will never forget, like that day on the wall outside of the studio.
I cried when he died. I cried when writing this. And I cried at the new movie, Won’t You Be My Neighbor?
I loved him.
The kids are “bored” already, and couldn’t think of “anything” to do except to watch YouTube videos on their phones. Shane asked me for a list of possibilities, so that he could have ideas readily available the next time he is “bored.”
Indoor ideas:
READ
do summer homework
jigsaw puzzle
fingerpainting
write a book
write a poem
write a song
write a short story
write a play
READ
do a puppet show
do an exercise video
create a walking stick
juggle
run your drone camera
take nature photos
take indoor photos
learn a language
break a world record
start a collection
sort one of your collections
sort/organize stuff
play the zither
play the steel drum
play the electronic drum kit
practice your song for marching band
learn to play a new board game
play solitaire with real cards
play cards
walk the dog
walk just for yourself
create art (pipe cleaners, collage, coloring)
get a pen pal and write letters
READ
Play:
catch (baseball, football, any ball)
kickball
racquetball
tennis
badminton
basketball
Other Outdoor Ideas:
bike ride
trampoline
hose/sprinkler
climb a tree
make mud pies
go to the playground
skateboard/skate park
wade in a stream
Other Places to Go:
nature parks
hiking paths
roller skating
ice skating
rec center (ping pong, pool, basketball)
museum
library
swimming pool
Six Flags
craft store
mall
out for lunch
out for dessert
I created this list in about ten minutes, but I thought it might be helpful for other parents. Coincidentally, these are mostly things I did as a child, long before YouTube was invented.
We spent our week visiting dentists and orthodontists. Dylan had his first cavity filled this week. He went in with pain, and they discovered the cavity – but the dentist said the pain was probably caused by his wisdom teeth coming in sideways.
We switched orthodontists between children. I lost all respect for Dylan’s orthodontist. And thanks to Shane’s orthodontist, we are learning a tremendous amount about what should have happened after Dylan’s braces came off – two years ago.
For example, Dylan’s orthodontist told Dylan three times that he was going to be getting his braces off within three months. I was sitting there, listening, so I know what was said. And then – three times! – at our next appointment, Dylan said, “Am I getting them off in a few months?” and the orthodontist said, “Oh no, I never would have said that.”
But he did say that.
Dylan wore his braces for a full two years, and that was fine. But why tell him a year prior that he’s going to get them off early?
Dylan’s orthodontist did other things, too, that just made me think he wasn’t really thinking clearly.
So finding Shane’s orthodontist, who is a ray of sunshine in the orthodonture world, was a miracle for us. As a result, as we’ve gone through braces with Shane, we are learning things we only wished we had learned earlier.
For example, with regard to retainers, there was a huge difference in treatment decisions.
Dylan’s orthodontist glued a metal wire behind Dylan’s bottom teeth and said, “Leave it there as long as you can.”
Shane’s orthodontist, while talking to another patient, espoused the horrors of leave-in retainers. “I have seen so many adults come in with serious problems because they had one of those retainers,” she said. “And only four teeth are kept in line anyway.”
We had Dylan’s leave-in retainer taken out immediately, but it was too late. At least one of Dylan’s bottom teeth had already moved out of alignment.
With regard to wisdom teeth, Shane’s orthodontist recommended that we schedule a consultation with an oral surgeon six months after braces, to check on the status of Shane’s wisdom teeth.
What about Dylan? I thought. Dylan’s orthodontist said only, “Dylan will probably have to have his wisdom teeth out someday.” He didn’t tell us when or how to learn more.
So Dylan is about two years late for his first oral surgeon consult. Fortunately, ADHD has a developmental component: Dylan’s teeth came in later than most kids’ teeth, so he’s not as far behind as he could have been.
The oral surgeon requested an x-ray from Dylan’s orthodontist, so we finally got one. Two years late.
“Oh yeah,” Dylan’s orthodontist said. “Get them out as soon as possible.”
Shane, however, is prepared. We have an oral surgeon lined up, and an appointment time selected for his first consult. Plus, Shane’s orthodontist already took the x-ray which will be forwarded to the surgeon at my request.
Speaking of which, we asked Dylan’s orthodontist to send a copy of his new x-ray to the dentist before Dylan got his cavity filled. Dylan’s orthodontist had two days to send it, but it wasn’t done when we got there.
I called the office and got a cryptic, “We’ll try to email it over.”
Mere moments later, the dentist asked for a copy of Shane’s latest x-ray, so I called Shane’s orthodontist.
“It will be there in ten minutes,” she said.
And it was.
One day I plunked some popcorn into the microwave and pushed the start button – but nothing happened.
The microwave had been acting up for awhile – stopping midway through heating, for example. So I texted Bill, and asked if I should buy another one.
“Okay,” he said. Bill was visiting the tax guy and he had just had a root canal, so he didn’t much care about appliances right then.
I got online and started researching. Based almost exclusively on reviews, I finally settled on a model that was much like our old one, but with new buttons.
It was in stock at a nearby store, so I ordered it, then waited for the necessary email:
Your item is ready for pick-up!
I wanted to do what I could to make Bill’s day easier. Normally I let him do everything: cooking, cleaning, fixing stuff. And when it comes to appliances – well, I am a dunce.
But for this one day, I didn’t want Bill to lift a finger.
“He has to deal with taxes and he had a root canal today,” I told Shane, begging him to go to the store with me and help me lift the thing.
Forty-five minutes later, Shane and I were in line behind a woman who, oddly, was picking up four ceiling fans.
When it was our turn, we had to measure the bottom of the microwave to be sure it would fit in its designated kitchen space. Otherwise, it would fall off its shelf. We opened up the box, took out the microwave, turned it over and checked to be sure that, of the 19.75 inches of advertised depth, all four “feet” of the microwave fit into 16 inches or less.
Conveniently, the “feet” section measured exactly 16 inches. So Shane and I put the microwave back in the box, hauled it outside, loaded it into the car, took it home, caught fireflies for a few minutes, and then lugged the box inside. We unveiled the microwave again, plugged it in, pushed it into its new home and inserted the rotating tray.
“Let’s try it out!” I said, putting in a mug filled halfway with water. “We’ll boil some water!”
“With a microwave?” Shane said.
“Sure!”
“It doesn’t look like it’s on,” Shane said.
Sure enough, the microwave was pitch black – no clocks, no lights, no timer.
Bill was going to be home any minute. I frantically read the instructions while Shane looked all over the new microwave for a power switch. I checked the internet to see if there was a hidden power switch.
Nothing.
“Now we have to ask Dad,” Shane said.
“NO,” I said. “I don’t want Bill to do anything!”
But obviously we had a defunct microwave. So we put it all back in the box.
Again.
“Get the tray!” I shrieked at Shane, who grabbed the rotating plate just before the microwave fell into the box.
Then I called the store to see if they would deliver a new one to me, since I had already driven 45 minutes to pick up the first one. I was still pleading with the manager when Bill walked in, and Shane explained what was going on.
Without a word, Bill got a lamp and tested the electrical outlets. He checked the circuit breaker downstairs. Then he tested the lamp again.
Bill then unboxed and set up the new microwave. It suddenly worked just fine – except that it was dripping water.
Bill opened the microwave door and there, unscathed except for a lost tablespoon of water, sat my mug, waiting for a chance to boil.
Stolen from my weekly update to my family… but still quite relevant. It’s just me bragging about his awards, so no need to read it if you already know how proud I am.
I cannot ignore that Shane graduated from the 8th grade. His promotion ceremony was absolutely glorious for me, because they kept calling his name for awards!
Shane got the Honor Roll award, for being on honor roll every semester during middle school. That alone is sufficient. He also got an award for participating in student court (just lucky). AND he got an award for earning ALL of his Social Service Learning (volunteer) hours for high school graduation before the completion of 7th grade. (Yes, 7th.)
Shane also got the Scholastic Achievement Award in Physical Education, which literally made me cry. It sounds like “just a P.E. award” – but it’s not. Each subject had a handful of kids recognized, and we all kinda expected him to be recognized for his consistent 100% grades (at the end of many quarters) in English. Only three people in the whole grade got recognized for their P.E. efforts – and Shane really deserved it. He was very serious about his physical education efforts, always ran (fast) when doing the mile, and always did well with new sports. So I just couldn’t be any prouder of that ol’ P.E. award!
But then he also got the Presidential Gold Award for Academic Excellence. This is the award for the really great grades – a GPA of 3.5 or above every quarter for his entire middle school career. I couldn’t believe it when they called Shane.
I guess I should have known about all of that before graduation, but quite honestly – I had no clue. I knew Shane did well in school, but I didn’t realize how well until I saw the smattering of people who stood up as often as he did. (Most of that smattering are his closest friends.)
Okay – so this “brief” mention of his middle school successes might be overboard. But if you can’t brag to family, who can you brag to? Shane gets so little recognition. I am thrilled that, on this day, he was recognized.
And this from a child whose vision processing disorder once made him incapable of reading a full sentence. It’s a miracle.
