Losing Track

Today, we lost track of time with friends in the nearby creek. Meanwhile, we found that others lost track of: a steel bike lock, a baby monitor, a chair, a scooter and many, many cans and wrappers. All found in the bottom of the ditch.

Transportation there and back was entertaining, especially for John.

Priorities, Parties, and Pictures

Today, Will had a birthday party with five close friends. Realizing Will's dream since birth, they had a fencing lesson, and then came back to our house for cake and play. The build-up, however, brings to mind that parenting - life, too - is all about priorities. Here is how we prioritized our lives today:

Priority: A celebration for Will with friends.

Price: Humility. Despite my best efforts, the house remains an absolute wreck.

Priority: A celebration for Will with friends.

Price: Amidst the preparations, I forgot about lunch, which translates to fire-breathing daughters.

Priority: The opportunity to see our kids wielding swords in fencing suits.

Price: $100+

Priority: Family togetherness at the party.

Price: John's second nap, and therefore desperate measures to distract him.

Priority: Transport the kids back to our house safely.

Price: Clara (lunchless) rides separately from Will, unleashing all her fury on the poor souls who kept her from her brother.

Priority: A homeade cake.

Price: Baking in the bathroom so John can sleep. (Loud mixer.)

Priority: A homeade cake.

Price: A quasi-decoration of a book, without the longed for Narnia lion symbol. (Tasted good though.)

Priority: Pictures.

Price: No pictures. Since I perilously lug my camera around with the kids to take so many pictures, the camera finally broke. Sadness.

So there you have it. My priorities for today are pictures, parties and cake. And I'd do it all over again.

EIGHT

Will turned eight this past week. He is big. And wonderful. And twice June's age, which comes up often in conversation.

We spent his birthday in the mountains: biking, wandering around a gorgeous park and garden, walking in the river, eating good food. In fact, that's what I want for my birthday.

Will paves the path in our family, for his sisters, and sometimes for his parents, too. He likes lots of freedom, lots of responsibility and lots of food, but lots of family and home time, too. He's a true Cancer.

Will has many lists in his notebook du jour, which capture his state of mind as he enters his 8th year:

• All the Greek Monsters
• Names of characters for his upcoming book
• Chapter names for his Harry Potter / Percy Jackson spin-off book
• Books he'd like to read for the remainder of the year
• Potions
• Places he has been in his life
• Greek Mythology Class topics (to teach his family)
• Instructions for the tennis / bean-bag / basketball game he invented
• Instructions for the rock magnet game he invented
• Ideas for painting the ocean in his room (yes, the ongoing project)

Will is getting bigger, as evidenced by his feet (see below), but he's just right. And we love him completely.

Chickenchaser

Clara is at farm camp this week, chasing chickens. She has yet to catch one, though she talks about it incessantly. If I were a chicken, I would RUN from those flailing limbs.

I think about having chickens some day. Clara can take care of them. Just like the kids take care of their gardens. Right.

Eccentricities

I got a laugh today, sitting around the dinner table. It is Will's last day as a seven year old. Jeff was elegantly discussing what a great year he had. He made such great strides in reading, in soccer, in biking, in skiing. He's had such a great time with family, with friends. It was a sweet reflection really.

And all the while, Will is at the end of the table, mouth wide, eyes focused, miming a tiger, crawling up his chair, stealthily moving onto all fours, climbing under the table, roaring, hissing. Never breaking character. As Jeff's background reflection plays on, seemingly oblivious of his subject, the juxtaposition kills me.

Earlier today, all week actually, after her tennis camp, Clara licked her racket strings for like 5 minutes. Is it the texture? The taste? Is there something on it? Did she rub it in syrup? I don't know.

I do appreciate the parental privilege, to marvel at these, umm... eccentricities.

NOT our Best Adventure

On the heels of our magical biking trip, we had a very unmagical adventure over the weekend. It went like this:

• Determine on Saturday morning to go camping;
• Spend all morning packing up;
• Drive to the store to get missing gear;
• Drive to the store to get stuff for s'mores;
• Stop by home to pick up yet more things we forgot;
• Head to the mountains, finally;
• Meet "Campsite full" sign #1;
• Meet "Campsite full" sign #2;
• Meet "Campsite full" sign #3;
• Meet "Campsite full" sign #4;
• Go on a meager consolation hike.
• Go home. With a migraine. And throw up.

Embarassingly enough, we had (roughly) the same experience about 7 years ago. Hopefully this time we learned our lesson, again, and will not repeat the adventure any time soon. OK, ever.

Our Best Adventure

Not long ago, I had what I think may be the best adventure of the (my) summer. Selfishly, I wanted to complete a bike ride I started in my 20s. Now in my 40s, I had the great idea to finish it with my four kids.

The first day was a total flop. Our attempt to bike around Lake Dillon turned into a 20 minute ride in hail and thunder, followed by hours in a parking lot, regrouping and wading down the cliff into the Lake.

Then we ate beef jerkey and jello and stayed in a cheap hotel. Through the night, I tried to think of ways to convince the kids to just go back to Boulder, but woke the next morning with an optimistic, come-what-may feeling. So we hopped onto our bikes and rode the beautiful path from Breckenridge to Frisco.

Clara and Will rode on their own. June was in the trailer behind me, with John in the burley behind June. Our challenges included:

• deciding who would lead;
• deciding who would follow;
• a crash in the parking lot just before we started;
• finding shelter during a thunderstorm;
• convincing June to part with a 5 foot stick;
• one mile of desperate sadness for John;
• a few uphills;
• a few downhills;
• putting back on a shoe that got soaked from stepping into a wetland;
• cold rain.

Personally, my favorite part of the ride was a long, easy downhill stretch towards the end, when everyone was pretty tired but quietly biking along, in the zone, far apart but within sight of each other, through gorgeous aspens, with the smell of the rain. I felt so proud of them. So in awe.

We grabbed a late lunch in Frisco, then took the bus back to our car. They were tired, but proud, too. I am ready to make it an annual event.

ONE

Today, John is O-N-E. We had a great day celebrating. Will and Clara went to art camp:

June played dress-up:

Will and Clara and June climbed trees:

Will played with a bow and arrow.

Will and a friend played "Balls and Spinklers on Tramp." (See the feet?)

Clara played on the swings,

I did a lot of laundry.

MEANWHILE, John had zucchini bread for breakfast,

mac n' cheese for lunch,

snacks in the burley,

corn (his favorite, obviously) for dinner,

and carrot cake for dessert (little shriner).

Honestly, John had a great day, but it's hard to have a day all about John.

But still, we adore you John. We really really do. We love your huge eyes, your huge bum, your hum when you eat, your single syllable outbursts "mom" and "gyum," the way you curl your toes, the way you cross your feet, and the way you are always around.

So even though not much is about just you right now, you are everywhere. And that makes everything better.

Tooth Fairy

Today, Clara lost her first tooth. All day she kept saying, "Mama, my tooth came out." I am starting to catch on to her budding sense of humor. In the past, I would have thought that she was unaware of the repetition. Now, it's a joke.

For so long now, I have been immersed in and consumed with my very young kids. Yesterday, I had a reminder that the future will come. And that it's good to be a little bit prepared. I went to a great introductory talk about Nature-based Rites of Passage for girls. It was inspiring and daunting at the same time. I am inspired to have this new great road, but I do have fears about the loss of innocence.

Then I spent today making a tooth fairy pillow. I had to re-sew the tooth pocket three times to reach Clara's satisfaction. She was worried that the fairy wouldn't be able to get through the pocket to the tooth. No loss of innocence yet here.

While I sewed, Clara couldn't part with her millimeter tooth (Gosh, they are so tiny!), but she lost it probably 12 times. Wise older brother Will kept telling her not to panic. (His wisdom is knowing that she would.) But remarkably, she didn't.

I do know she's growing up. They all are. And with that thought, I like that she says, "My tooth came out." Somehow, not using the word "lost" reminds me that nothing is lost. It's really not. That thought helps me embrace the future, and to let go a little, too.

Family Friends

On a recent trip to the mountains, our family learned how to make family friends at a Colorado Fun Park:

John: Cry loudly during the picturesque Friday night outdoor movie under the stars.

June: Get your ball stuck in a putt-putt obstacle, and persist for a l-o-n-g time to get it unstuck.

Clara: Descend the alpine slide at an ant's pace with a deadpan expression as about 40 disgruntled patrons follow, inches away. Then jump off immediately bragging about how fast you were.

Will: Throw up during a brave, lone ride on the Gyro-Extreme.

Jeff: Spew profanities in the company of young children when the USA soccer team loses.

Alice: Run around hysterically looking for a lost child as the information desk points about 20 feet away to the described little girl, waiting at her assigned post.

I try to avoid sarcasm around my kids. I also try not to lie. However, this post is obviously sarcastic. We didn't make any friends. And I confess. One of the descriptions is an exaggeration, for dramatic effect. Not that we need extra drama.