Scenes from Saturday + Massages & Masala

One silver lining to living through a kitchen renovation is the ample crazy time at home. I’ve written before about capitalizing on the garbage time with the girls: various car rides, doing chores, walking to the bus stop.

We should be just about done with the kitchen next week (famous last words) and it’s certainly provided some stories we will tell and remember for years. And no one is too important or too busy to have some crazy time at home.

These moments are the best moments. If they’re rare, you might be doing something wrong. They should be regular. Maybe not renovation projects but the crazy, stupid times that feel discardable in the moment, but stick in the mind.

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Scenes from Saturday + Cars, Chili & Commerce

It was our town’s discovery day yesterday. Sort of a cross between a block party, street carnival, and chamber of commerce power point presentation. I’m sure your town has something similar.

It was 3 o’clock and the ubiquitous plastic trumpets someone had mistakenly thought were a good idea had wormed their way into my inner ear and turned my heart as black as the Grinch’s on Christmas Eve. I was done. Ally wanted to stay longer.

As a parent, it feels as if I’m perpetually short on time and always looking ahead to the next thing. But what am I actually rushing toward and what am I rushing away from? Do I really want to rush home to a house under renovation? Do I need to vacuum the glitter off the stairs again? Or remind the girls to practice their instruments?

I’m really just moving too quickly through their childhood. How important will those extra 15 minutes seem in a few years? How much would I give for a few minutes back right now before she becomes an irrational teenager?

Why rush toward an uncertain future? Better to focus on the present.

Still, a present without the plastic vuvuzelas would have been nice.

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Ragnar: Reach the Beach Relay – ’22 Race Recap

It’s Saturday morning and the van smells like a Frankenstein combination of boiled cabbage, Febreeze, and beef jerky. I’m in the third row, half bent over with my hands on my slightly distended stomach. For the past thirty hours I’ve been conducting a delicate chemistry experiment on myself. What is the proper combination of Tums, Pepto, and carbs to keep my GI tract happy through three legs of a Ragnar?

My stomach gives a troubling burble. Or was that a purr of satisfaction? I’ve lost track under the avalanche of antacids I’ve poured down my throat.

The line of honey buckets is only yards away. As the sun has risen, the conditions inside have gotten worse at each transition area. My friendly Scottish teammate came back whistling at the last stop and happily told me his body’s response to stress was to empty the tanks. Cheers to that, mate, but mine is quite the opposite.

At the first sign of stress, TSA security lines, or unfamiliar toilets, my digestive tract clamps down like Scrooge McDuck’s grip on a dollar bill. The only cure isn’t more cowbell, but a quart of prune juice and some quiet contemplation. Neither of which are readily available during this 200-mile team trek across New Hampshire.

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Scenes from Saturday + Apples & Arlington

[Editor’s note: It was my annual 36-hours in a van with some occasional running weekend, so Cecilia is taking over the blog this weekend. You don’t need to see 17 different point of view shots from inside a Ford Econoline.]

We just finished the fourth week of school and it has gotten interesting. In Civics, our teacher is making us say a vice president’s name before anything we say to him. It started almost two weeks ago and now I am one of the last two people still standing. I have not only learned the names of a bunch of vice presidents, I have also learned about focus, no, not my Dad’s antique car, but how much we need and use it in our daily lives.

Even if I think knowing a bunch of vice president’s names isn’t all that useful unless I start going to trivia nights with Dad. 

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Scenes from Saturday + Puppies & Progress

A new co-worker found out about my book thing. Like a lot of people, she wanted to know how I got it done. How did I write books and work a full-time job?

The pat answer is that you don’t write a book in one chunk. You write it a little at a time, day by day. If it’s important to you, you find the time.

And maybe that’s how it is now after I’ve made writing a habit. But it didn’t start that way. I finished the first book because I didn’t know any better. This quote from Orson Welles when asked where his confidence came from says it better than I can:

“Ignorance! Ignorance! Sheer ignorance, you know. There’s no confidence to equal it. It’s only when you know something about a profession that you’re timid or careful.”

Sometimes it’s far better not to know. Go on an adventure, people. Don’t wait. Be an amateur, explore the untried and find new ground.

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Scenes from Saturday + Beach & Boil

The kids are back in school and I’m jealous. If I could only go back to school now, I think my experience would be so different. And I don’t just mean how much better I’d be at flashcards.

When you were a kid, what did being an adult mean? No more school. No more homework. Graduation was the final destination of learning. Being an adult was one long summer vacation. School and education are the same thing and that education inevitably stops. This obviously says something about our school systems but it also says something about parents.

I don’t want to raise kids that are good at school. I want to raise lifelong students who know that learning is an endless pursuit, to believe one never graduates or arrives at some final destination of education.

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Scenes from Saturday + Lakes & Lines

Reading the last line from Longfellow’s poem “A Psalm of Life” it occurred to me that he could have been talking about parenting:

Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.

Labor and wait. Like planting a vegetable gardening. Or parenting a teenager.

Yesterday’s labor involved water slides and roller coasters.

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