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Sunset of the Mama Era

Dec 31st, 2013 by

As 2013 winds down, I’m left with three thoughts. The first is could I please, please stop spending money? In the last three months, we’ve replaced our car, hot water heater, and furnace. I needed two of the three and wasn’t far off from needing the third, but I’m well and truly sick of writing giant checks.

The second is could my furnace please, please survive another 48 hours until the cavalry comes in with the new one? I’m grateful to have not had a Christmas emergency evacuation. Avoiding a New Year’s one would make me even more grateful.

My third thought, and the one I logged in to write about before I got distracted, is how different my relationship with Simon is these days. It wasn’t that long ago that a hug and kiss from me could cure everything from a hurt knee to hurt feelings. Whenever anything went wrong, I was his go-to solution. I was, in a very real sense, the center of his universe.

I’m not any  more. Hurt knees require bandages and Neosporin. Hurt feelings require working things out with peers. Whenever anything goes wrong, Simon is as likely to ask Matt, a friend, or try to work it out for himself as he is to run to me. If I step in to help when I’m not asked, I get The Hand. The Hand is five fingers spread apart with palm facing me. The Hand means “back off, Mama. I’ve got this. ” Sometimes I get The Hand when he does, indeed, “got this.” Sometimes I get The Hand when he needs help but is too proud to admit it.

There are other changes, too. I still get a kiss goodbye at the bus stop (for how much longer, I wonder?), and I still get an evening, pre-sleep snuggle. But long sessions of snuggling on the couch are over. Lap sitting is over. He doesn’t want to be picked up and carried any more, and I couldn’t do it for long even if he did want it.* He pulls out of hugs faster these days, resisting the restriction and craving more physical and emotional personal space.

All of this is a sign of growing confidence and independence. It all means he’s developing as he should. At age seven, Matt and peers should be pushing me off center stage. My role should be changing. Knowing this, however, does not make it any easier to live with reduced  lines.

At the same time, I have no desire to roll back the clock. Having a child who can take a shower with little help, dress himself, brush his teeth and floss, do his homework, record a show on tv, clear off his place at the dinner table, go for a run with me, outplay me in every organized sport he attempts, and join me for a competitive game of Yahtzee (and maintain his own scoring sheet) is a blast.

I have to accept that there are no free lunches in parenting. I can’t enjoy all the awesome companionship and independence of Simon at seven and keep all the endearing and ego-boosting dependence and adoration of his younger self. The only way to preserve the delicious exclusiveness of our past relationship would be to limit his horizons and options.

I would never do that intentionally. Still, it’s hard not to be stung by the irony that the best evidence of my successful parenting is the diminishment of the same.

*It’s likely been two years since I picked  Simon up and carried him for more than a minute or two. The only reason I thought of this is that a first-grader who waits at the bus-stop with us frequently asks to be picked up by her mom while she waits. A few weeks ago I saw the girl in her mother’s arms and was struck by the fact that Simon never wants me to pick him up like that any more and that I couldn’t do it even if he wanted!

 

Posted in First Grader, Jessica | 2 Comments »

Middle of the Pack

Dec 28th, 2013 by

When is being strictly average totally exciting? When you are playing up, that’s when. For the last three weeks, Simon has been playing in the Mockingbird Valley U-10 soccer league. This division is open to boys and girls (but mostly boys it would seem) who were at least 8 and not yet 10 when the season began in mid-October. That means most of the kids Simon is playing with are 1 to 2 years older than he is, and a few are a month or two shy of being 3 years older. To put this into perspective, it means Simon is playing with and against mostly third and fourth graders.

The difference in the game is dramatic. The kids play on a full field, they field teams of 7, things like fouls and handballs are called, and an actual scoreboard reflects the actual score. It’s a faster, stronger, more coordinated game, and I catch myself finding it simultaneously easier and harder to watch than his previous division. Easier because it looks like real soccer; harder because my kid is out there and in position to have his feelings and his person harmed.

But that’s just me. Simon is having a blast on the full field with the better kids. His team won their first game and he even scored twice. They got clobbered by the U-10 equivalent of Man City or Arsenal the next week (seriously, I knew they were going to lose badly the second I saw the other team walk on the field), and this week’s game was tight until the fourth quarter, when Simon’s undermanned team got heavy legs and conceded to the team with bigger numbers.

Surprisingly, Simon has taken defeat well. I think he understands that this team is not his to carry and that he’s there to be a role player. Similarly surprisingly, most of the other boys have welcomed him as a teammate. From Alex, the good kid who always pats his back and says “good game” at the end, to the unhappy Number 11, who yelled “I hate you” and threw an elbow at the very first U-10 practice, Simon is treated as an equal. I’m not sure if the other boys think of him as a pet, mascot, or un-bratty younger brother, but the response has been heartening. Well, except for Sir Elbow.

Playing with older kids has taught us a lot more about Simon’s game. In the U-8s, Simon is a good dribbler, fast runner, and rock-solid defender. In fact, he was often the only kid who seemed interested in defending, and he could shut down an opposing team with little support. In the U-10s, Simon is a good dribbler, fast runner, and weak defender. He lacks the size–and possibly the gumption–to shut down a player who is 3 inches taller and 20 pounds heavier going full speed ahead. Hey, he’s not stupid!

But the speed is still evident, and his footwork is still solid. He needs to work on his one-touch control, but he can dribble around through other players. He’s also a natural play-maker, constantly raising his hand and voice to either call for a pass or tell someone to run ahead for a pass. The coaches tell me he plays smart and likes to jabber on the field. He jabbers less once off the field, as 40 minutes of running on the big field leaves him much more tired than we are used to seeing.

So here’s my prediction: Ten years hence, Simon will be a midfielder. One to two years hence, he’ll leave me in the dust any time we go out to run together. And I think the soccer love is here to stay.

 

 

 

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Pride & Predjudice: Cowling Avenue Style

Dec 23rd, 2013 by

You know the story, right? Elizabeth thinks Mr. Darcy is a stuck-up prig. He thinks she’s mean and low-class. She’s nasty to him. Frostiness ensues. Then, after he rescues her sister from ruin, she realizes that he’s just shy. They live happily ever after.

I’m living out a much less romantic version of this morality tale in my neighborhood. Across the street from me there is a house whose owner I had not met or seen up close for eight years. His house had been for sale (for a ridiculously high price) off-and-on until the last year or so, he had a weird habit of backing into his driveway and blinding us with his headlights, and he seemed to not be around most of the time. Also, another neighbor (who can be difficult herself) informed me that he was crazy and mean. I believed her and kept my distance.

The closest we ever got to actually meeting was when Matt yelled at him from our front porch because he was hammering nails outside after 11:00 p.m. That seemed crazy enough. Then there was the Superbowl Sunday two years ago when his girlfriend backed out the driveway too quickly and hit my car when it was parked on the street in front of her house. She was nice and had good insurance, so the incident might have bumped him up in my estimation.

This frostiness has now thawed completely owing to the unlikeliest of circumstances; we’re involved in a zoning dispute with another neighbor. The short version of  that story is that my next-door neighbor asked the city for permission to build a single-family accessory building in her back-yard for personal use. She then ended up building (or her plan “evolved” to build, in her parlance) a duplex, which was promptly rented out to two sets of tenants. The issues with this include but are not limited to the following:

  • The building isn’t zoned for rental;
  • The building isn’t zoned to be two units;
  • The building has yet to be issued a certificate of occupancy;
  • The building is not up to code for two units, as it lacks a fire separation and other fire-safety construction elements.

My neighbor intends to remedy the first two issues by changing her zoning from R-5, single family residential, to R-5A, multi-family residential. The latter would not only make her duplex legal, but would further allow her house to be duplexed or triplexed in the future.

Needless to say, I’m not a fan of this plan. Nor are my neighbors on the other side of the house in dispute. Nor are the neighbors on the shared alley behind the house. Nor is the odd guy across the street.

So we’ve been meeting. After eight years, I finally learned his name: It’s Jack. I learned why he was never around before but is now: Former travel-heavy job, now semi-retired. I learned why he seems newly settled in the house: The (very nice) girlfriend. And while I still can’t explain why he was pounding nails at an unreasonable hour, he sheepishly apologized to Matt for it two years after the fact when they officially met last week. In return, we’ve started parking our second car in our driveway more often to make it easier for him to access his own driveway.

By now, about six weeks into what’s going to be a long, hard slog with BOZA (board of zoning and adjustment), I’ve had tea at his table, chats on my porch and his driveway, have exchanged holiday greetings, and have even been invited to take Simon to his country house to explore the grounds and make use of the wild acreage there.

That is so not what I ever expected to happen. I’ve gotten to know other neighbors better out of this dispute as well. I don’t know how the giant mess next door is going to resolve itself, but I am grateful for this sliver of a silver lining and for the reminder that I should not judge people without knowing the full story. Somehow, this lesson seems more than a little appropriate for the season as well.

Posted in Friends, Jessica | 1 Comment »

The Year in Quotes

Dec 18th, 2013 by

No, I didn’t go anywhere. I’ve just been over-committed everywhere, mostly not of my own doing. (Out-of-town guests stuff, PTA stuff, household emergency stuff, and zoning battle stuff.) 2013 is looking like it’s going to be a race to the finish.

Herewith are, with just two weeks left, some of the funnier things Simon has said this year, presented mostly without context because these gems stand alone:

*****

On eating and weight: “Simon, you eat more than I do some days!”

“I know. That’s why I’m growing east-west instead of north-south now.”

*****

On genteel habits: “Simon, did you remember to go to the bathroom before bed last night?”

“No, I think I forgot. I was holding my junk all night.”

*****

On life goals: “Do you think it would be exciting to score a goal with a bicycle kick?”

“Oh, Mommy, that’s my life’s dream.”

*****

On the danger of caloric excess: “Simon, why didn’t you eat your extra snack today?”

“Because I had enough energy from lunch. And I thought if I ate my snack and got even more energy, I might go crazy.”

*****

From kindergarten writing journal; on modesty and soccer: “I am rilly good at soccer because i have rilly good control and also i can take shots from very far away and score and i pass rilly well and i am rilly fast and I am rilly good at golly.”

*****

On bad parenting [Matt’s, not mine]: “Guess what mom? Today at sharing time, I shared about that day last week when you and Daddy were both out of the house and I was alone for 10 minutes. I bet I’m the only 6-year-old in the universe that’s been alone in their house! Mr. Sowder was kind of freaked out.” [So was mama; it won’t happen again.]

*****

“Do we know anyone from Greece?”

“My grad-school friend, Despina!”

“And Prometheus!”

*****

“Oh boy, there’s Jayla the love monster!” [I’d offer context, but does it really need any?]

*****

On Louisville’s unequal housing: “Man, a lot of houses in West Ham are messed up.” [This was said about some houses near Simon’s school, which is located in a poor part of Louisville’s West End. West Ham, on the other hand, is a London-based English soccer team. Given how much English soccer he watches, the confusion makes sense.]

*****

On patience: “But it’s already been, like, two milliseconds!”

*****

On being very tired: “Just so you know, Mommy, I’m already asleep.”

*****

On why boys are more fun than girls: [at Grandparents’ house, spoken to me and Evie] Simon: “Why won’t the boys come out?”

Evie: “Because they are silly and don’t want to get wet.”

Simon: “I wish they would. When it’s girls, it turns into talking ball.”

*****

On gender equity and work-life balance: “Yeah, Caroline will drive and change the baby’s diaper. We talked about it and decided she would do it. I might be a computer programmer and work from home. But I don’t want to. I’d rather be a professional soccer player. Then I’ll have to live in New York. But whatever.”

*****

From 1st grade journal, an essay on the invigorating experience of reading: “Reading makes me feel better because it is qwyit (quiet). Reading makes me feel better because I can fall asleep after it. Reading makes me feel better because I can lay doun (down) doing it. Reading makes me feel better because it is relacksing (relaxing).” (August or September 2013)

*****

On neologisms: “Oooo, that tastes like the future. That means it tastes good. I made it up.” (September 2013)

*****

Relating to our car accident, on the nature of aging and friendship: “Menelik said the same thing happened to his dad. They were in their car when a white car driven by some old person–you know, he was like 50 or something, but whatever–some old person hit them and they had to buy a new car. So he understands how we’re feeling. He empathizes with us.” (October 2013)

*****

On Asian geography: Simon: “What are some countries in Asia that don’t crack a million? There’s Cyprus and Bhutan, but what else?”

Me: “Maybe East Timor?”

Simon: “No, no. East Timor has like 1 or 2 million I think.” (it’s 1.5 million when I looked it up. Mama is so outclassed. October 2013.)

*****

Upon receiving a sports stats book for his birthday: “If you add sports and numbers together, you get double awesome.” (October)

*****

Upon requesting more time with a computer reading program: “Please, please, can I have some stoppage time?” (November)

*****

On a new friend from school: “Katie likes dolls and stuff like Caroline. Yeah, she’s like a version of Caroline except she chases me.” (November)

*****

On combining twin loves of math and geography: “The difference between Vietnam and Germany is Lebanon.” [Population of Vietnam is 86 m. Population of Germany is 82 m. Population of Lebanon is 4 m. 86-82=4.]

*****

An illustration of how out-classed I am math-wise: “Okay, Mommy. This will be my masterpiece. What is the US + Turkey?”

Me: “Okay. The US is about 350 million, and Turkey is around 78 mill—“

Simon: “No, Mommy. Turkey is 76 million. Wait. I got this one. The answer is . . . thinking . . . thinking . . . thinking . . . 426 million!”

Can’t wait to see what he comes up with next. Now I’m off to memorize my world populations so I don’t embarrass him!

Posted in First Grader, Jessica, Kindergartener, Simon says... | 2 Comments »

Our Life in Cancelation

Dec 8th, 2013 by

“Man, it’s like the winter of 1978 out here!” [Quoth the child born in 2006.]

My Louisville peeps all know that we’ve had our first winter storm Friday. Over the course of the day, we got rain, freezing rain, sleet, snow, and “winter mix”. As a result, the following things were canceled:

  1. Preschool on Friday
  2. Simon’s school on Friday, including a presentation on Chanukah I was going to lead.
  3. Soccer practice
  4. KIP staff party
  5. Brandeis Winter Fest after-school event
  6. Jim and Dan’s birthday dinner

Saturday’s morning soccer game was also canceled, but things cleared up just in time for Simon’s drum lesson, my pilates class, and  a school birthday party. With more winter weather rolling in today, I’m not sure about tennis, and it looks like our other plans will all revolve around walking.

Now here’s my confession: With the exception of Friday’s family dinner, I’m absolutely not bummed about any of this. The Chanukah/Thanksgiving one-two punch, coming right after a fraught trip to West Virginia to get our car and a week with way too many meetings, left me feeling like the entire Q3 of 2013 was going to be a marathon run at sprinting pace.

Three days at home with Matt and Simon on a weather-reduced schedule has been a welcome respite from end-of-year over-bookings. In fact, it appears that the weather is doing what I cannot: setting a reasonable pace for myself. Maybe the return of real winter after a two year absence isn’t so bad after all.

 

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Other People’s Children

Dec 3rd, 2013 by

Between the preschool and volunteering in Simon’s class, I spend a lot of my time around other people’s children these days. They almost always amuse me, but the occasional child is particularly endearing.

These days, I’m especially fond of little Raja and Kalli (names changed). Raja is a spitfire who I suspect causes the occasional problem in class. She’s smart and feisty and has taken a liking to me, though not always for the right reasons. Last year, just before spring break, I gave a lesson to her kindergarten class. Mr. Sowder was out for the day, and in his place was a very pretty African American woman who wore a traditional west African head-wrap and was, in the parlance of the Ladies No. 1 Detective Club series, of traditional build.

This matters because at the end of my day, as I was packing up and the kids were getting lined up for buses, Raja could no longer contain herself. She broke out of line, ran to where I was sitting, and blurted out:

“I wish my mom were skinny like you, but instead she’s as big as my dad!”

This was accompanied by hand gestures to demonstrate exactly how large her mom and dad both were. I was a little mortified and a lot amused. Here’s what I said:

“I think you are trying to compliment me, Raja, and I appreciate that very much. But it’s important to remember that people come in all shapes and sizes, they can all be beautiful, and that you have a terrific mother.”

The traditionally built substitute teacher could barely contain her laughter, then told me that she thought I handled the comment well. For the record, I think what Raja was really trying to communicate was that she identified with me. She’s darker than I am, but we both have heavy-lidded eyes and dark hair, and she has the same small frame that I do. Unless she has aunts or cousins in town that are built like her, I’m closer to her in that regard than her family is. Honestly, she reminds me of my niece Olivia more than a little.

But that’s not why I like her. That’s just why she got my attention. I like her for the exact behavior that got her clip moved down on the behavior chart a few weeks back. She’s in Simon’s book-club on Thursdays, and Simon and Apurv (the group’s co-leaders) are having a heck of a time getting the rest of the group to focus. One day, the week before I started volunteering, Simon reported that book club was a mess. Elijah was flicking pencils and not paying attention, and Raja and Jack were fighting the whole time. In fact, Jack interrupted Raja every time she tried to say something, and Raja got so frustrated with him that she started hitting him with her book. Jack got moved down one space on the behavior chart; Raja two.

Frankly, I’m on Raja’s side on this one, and she’s now an absolute favorite. She and Simon are due to have a tennis and lunch date soon, and I can’t wait to hear what she has to say in a smaller group.

Then there is Kalli. Kalli wasn’t in Simon’s kindergarten class last year, so I’m just getting to know her, but she’s already made my day once. Kalli is in the same reading group as Addison and Maggie. Together, the three girls are the class’s top readers, and when I’m with them I enjoy seeing how far I can push them in their analysis of text.

For our first meeting, we discussed the story of Persephone. They could re-tell the story beautifully, so I focused our time on discussing why such a story was written. That discussion was a stretch for them, but I sensed they were close. So for our next meeting, we read a slightly dry piece on myths—what they are and why they were written. The article ended with a brief discussion of the Theogony, which was way over their first-grade heads, and a description of creation myths.

I sensed that the best way to explain what they read was to discuss creation stories they might be more familiar with. I asked if anyone could tell me a story about how the word was created. As I suspected, Maggie (who Simon adores and calls “a version of Caroline”) jumped right in with the account of creation from Genesis. Excellent! “See,” I told her, “the ancient Greeks had stories that explained how the world was created just like we do now. Every culture has a story like this. Does anyone else know a story about the word being created?”

At this, Kalli got very excited and began jumping up and down in her seat. I was happily anticipating that she would tell us a Hindu creation story.

“My Dad and I watched a video about this one day,” she exclaimed.

Excellent! Her account will have visuals from Hindu mythology. How awesome will that be? She continued:

“These rocks smashed into each other. And the one rock broke into lots and lots of tiny pieces. But then, because of gravity, the tiny pieces started to come together. [This is all accompanied by fantastic hand gestures.] At first it was a lumpy and not round at all. But after a while, because of gravity and all the swirling, the rocks became round!”

In case the story and hand gestures weren’t enough to be adorable, there is also the fact that the entire story was told with a lilting Indian accent. My cousins sounded like their Chicago-born mother when they were little,  so I know this accent will fade away before long. But in the meantime, it added to the over-all adorable effect.

“So tell me girls. Does that sound like a story or like science?”

They were split on this question, too. I have no idea what Ms. Thomas has planned for them next, but I do know it’s sure to end up giving me cause to smile.

 

Posted in Friends, Jessica, Uncategorized | No Comments »

The Tryout

Nov 29th, 2013 by

This afternoon at 5:00 was Simon’s informal soccer tryout for joining the 8- and 9-year-olds at Mockingbird Valley indoor soccer complex.  Besides being older, these kids play on a full field, use a larger ball, and play six to the field in semi-formal positions. The new youth director wanted to see Simon in action before placing him in the Under-10s this winter so he could judge whether Simon had the speed, skill, size, and maturity to play with boys significantly older than him in a sport that involves some contact.

The tryout very nearly didn’t happen because at 3:50 Simon collapsed when he learned that he wouldn’t be going to Seneca Park to play soccer with Matt. Explaining that he was going somewhere else to play soccer did not mollify him one bit. Whether it was the change in plans or the additional soccer-less hour in his life that was responsible for this collapse I’m unsure.

Things improved dramatically once he ate an energy bar and turned around completely once he found himself in a room with goals, other kids, and soccer balls. By 5:00, all was right in Simon’s world and he looked happier than I’d seen him all day.

So how’d he do? Well, he did fine in the drills, having footwork equal to all but maybe one or two of the boys in the group. His speed was similarly fine, and he seemed to be OK socializing with the older boys. He didn’t stand out, but he held his own. Then it was scrimmage time, and Simon found a entirely new gear. He asked to play midfield, took possession of the ball from the opposing team more than once, dribbled up the field through defenders several times, ran like lightening, and set up two crosses (passes in front of the goal), one of which resulted in a goal for his side.

Fists were pumped in the air in triumph. High fives were exchanged with (one-day only) teammates, and the boy was in his glory. The final verdict from the coach? “There is no reason at all he should not be playing with this group.” From the new youth director: “Yeah, he obviously needs to be with this group. Send me an email and I’ll sign him up so the system doesn’t reject him when you input his birth-date.” And from the birthday party coach who set this whole thing in motion: “If he were on my team, he’d be on the field for almost the entire game. The thing I like most about him is his passion. You don’t see that drive to constantly play very often, and it’s 70% of being a great player.”

The only questions remaining are (1) whether any teams in the current session have empty slots on their rosters and, (2) if so, can we pay a pro-rated rate to have Simon join for the last three weeks of the season? Cause honestly, I’d drive him there tomorrow for a game if I could. It will save my sanity and my living room!

 

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Is It January 13 Yet?

Nov 22nd, 2013 by

That’s when winter soccer sessions start up, and it can’t get here fast enough. I fondly remember that day, lo those many 20 days ago, when fall soccer ended. “How nice it will be,” I said to myself, “to have a bit of a break from twice a week practice and games every Saturday.” And oh, the plans I had. Not just for tennis, which is Simon is enjoying very much, but also for extra reading time, less rushed homework, and more family togetherness.

Fool!

That lasted about three days. Then soccer balls began ricocheting off every surface in my house. I used to think it was annoying when Simon kicked the ball into our storage cube or couch. Now I long for that level of potential destruction.

These days, the ball is going off of tables, chairs, door-frames, and pretty much every surface of my home. Chairs get pulled out from our table to make a series of numbered goals. The ball is being kicked shoulder height onto walls so Simon can try to catch it on his knee and then back-heel it to himself before getting around an opponent (or chair) and scoring.

Bang! Thump! Crash!

That’s on top of the constant running, spinning, and ball juggling. Simon is reminding me of a marathon runner in the taper week: His body having become accustomed to a level of exercise it is no longer getting, he is fairly jumping out of his skin in search of an outlet.

I could come down harder on the ball inside. You may even say I should come down harder. But honestly, I know a losing battle when I see one, and I have no desire to yell at my otherwise obedient and delightful child. Nope. I’m just waiting. Waiting, and planning to shell out extra money for the second practice session, and considering what it would take to wrap my entire home in bubble wrap.

 

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Gang Aft Agley

Nov 17th, 2013 by

You may not be able to translate that exactly, but I’m sure many will remember that this is what happens to the best laid plans of mice and men according to Scottish poet Robert Burns.

Allow me to borrow a device from cinema and television and begin my tale at the very end. Today, at approximately 10:45 a.m., I crawled into the backseat of a Lexus, put a coat over my lap, dropped my drawers, and peed into my tea thermos, taking great care to keep my clothes and the car’s leather seats clean and dry.

That’s enough (too much?) to let you know that some plan or other had gone off the rails. Now I’ll tell you which and how much.

This weekend Matt and I were scheduled to take a road trip to pick up our new car, the one we are buying from a friend in D.C. The friend inherited a family car that is still located in Louisville, KY. To shorten the travel for all of us, we (actually, she) hatched a crazy but brilliant scheme. What if she, I’ll call her Sharon, drove the car we are buying to the midway point between Louisville and D.C. We could then drive her inherited car from Louisville to the same midway point. Lunch would be eaten, cars exchanged, and voila! within 9 or 10 hours we’d both have the car we wanted in the city of our residence.

We scheduled the swap for today. Simon was sent to sleep over with grandparents, and Matt and I were all set to pick up the family car from Sharon’s dad on Saturday, leave our house in it by 8:30 a.m. this morning, and meet in Sutton West Virginia for lunch and the title transfer at 1:00 p.m. The car had been serviced by the local Lexus dealer earlier this week and was given a clean bill of health. All the paperwork was prepared. Cell phone numbers were exchanged. Maps were printed. We were good to go.

The first hiccup came when we miscommunicated with Sharon’s dad, missed our appointed pick-up window, fell out of touch for several hours, and ended up getting the car at midnight, just hours before we were due to leave on our road trip. Not great, but OK. After all, there would be two of us in the car to share the driving today.

The second hiccup came this morning when we left our house at 8:13 a.m. and immediately ran into driving rain and limited visibility. Not great, but we could take it slow. At worst, we’d be tired and late for our rendezvous.

The third hiccup came just after 8:40 when we hit the Shelby County line on I-64 East and all lanes came to a complete stop. Not a slow-down, but a complete stop. We eventually learned that I-64 East had been closed due to two concurrent accidents within a two-mile stretch, both of which involved injuries and one of which involved a car crashing into a fire truck that had arrived on the scene in response to the first accident.

Things started looking bad at this point. How long would we be stuck? Could we both still make the trip when one of us had to be home in time to get Simon into bed and ready for school in the morning? For the first time, our plan was seriously called into question.

The fourth hiccup came at about 9:45, when cars finally began to move. We smiled, anxiously turned the key in the starter, and, . . .  nothing. Lights briefly flickered across the dash, then grew dim, and then went dark. We were dead in the water, stranded on 64 in a car that wasn’t ours and sure to miss our appointed rendezvous.

Houston, we have a problem.

A frenzy of phone calls got made at this point. Sharon found a coffee shop at which to enjoy her paper while we figured when, how, and whether the car exchange would take place today. After another hour or so, a tow truck came to haul the car to Lexus of Louisville and my mother came to haul me and Matt to the same place.

But the interval between 8:15, when I drank my morning tea, and 11:00, when the tow-truck arrived was a long one. Too long for my bladder. And that’s how I came to use a thermos for a purpose it was never intended.

We eventually sorted out the car problem, and Matt carried on to West Virginia without me. About now he’s finishing his dinner and making his way home in our new car. It could have been a lot worse. However, I still don’t know if weather will allow Matt to make the return trip tonight or if he’ll need to stay at a hotel overnight.

I also don’t know if I’ll ever be able to use that thermos again!

Let’s hope we’ve “gang aft agley” as much as we’re going to for one day.

 

 

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End of the Aquarist Era

Nov 16th, 2013 by

I am happy to report that we are now a fish-less household. As you may recall, about two years ago we were “gifted” with a betta fish. I never planned on owning a fish, but once one was put in my hand, I went out and bought a 2.5 gallon tank, rocks, and some aquarium decorations. A month or so later, the mercury dipped and I bought an aquarium heater.  Seven months after his arrival and after three months of a disfiguring illness, Phineas died.

Simon was distraught, so we cleaned the tank and brought home three cardinal tetras. As schooling fish, three was the minimum number. All was well for a year or so, until one of the three died. Shortly thereafter, and before we could put a replacement in the tank, a second one died on the evening of Kol Nidre. That left me with a tiny solitary schooling fish and a bigger dilemma.

From what I have read, tetras need to be in a school of 5 or more to thrive. A school that large requires a five- or ten-gallon tank. A tank that large requires more space than I have in my house.

So what to do? Bring in more fish I can’t take good care of? A cardinal tetra should live for more than a year or so. Wait for the last cardinal tetra to die? That would entail more suffering than I am comfortable with. Euthanize an otherwise healthy fish? I would feel terrible about killing a healthy fish out of convenience. There didn’t seem to be any good choices.

Then Caroline’s dad told me that he had four cardinal tetras in his ten-gallon aquarium and that we could re-home our fish there. Hallelujah! I get out of the aquarium business, which I did not enjoy and which is pretty time consuming. But more importantly, I do right by the fish.

The degree of my concern over a single, tiny fish might seem disproportionate or silly. I know that. But this is bigger than the fish; this is about living by one’s principles. For the last month or so, I’ve been violating a value I hold dear: Namely, that people should only have pets if they can take good care of them. My cats have always been given good food, loads of affection, room to play, cozy places to sleep, and regular veterinary care. Whereas with the fish, I feel like I defaulted on my obligation the second I brought home a too small tank.

It was a little bit of a tough sell to Simon, until I asked him if he’d want to keep Cambria if he were lonely, sick, and shut up in a tiny room all day. That hit home. So last night, I netted my stressed out cardinal tetra who has been swimming erratically for two weeks now, presumably from the stress of being alone. The netting stressed him even more, as did the trip in a plastic container to our friends’ house. Then he got netted again and placed into the much larger tank with four fish of his own kind.

At first, he swam erratically and shivered, and I worried this was too much stress piled on top of more stress and would kill him. By the time I left a few hours later, however, I could no longer tell which fish was mine and which fish were original to the tank. Simon is a little sad, but he’s also happy that his fish is happy.

As for me, I am hugely relieved to no longer feel guilt, shame, and concern every time I look at Simon’s dresser—site of the tank—and see a struggling, improperly cared for fish. It will be much better for all parties to visit little Cardie in his new home and put something better suited to the space, like a model of the solar system, on Simon’s dresser.

Swim happy little tetra. You are my last fish.

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