Swim Class

Astrid starts her new swim class tomorrow night. After the swim team season ended, I wanted to find a way for her to keep swimming. In previous years, she took classes at the Y on Huntington, but since it’s been bought by Northeastern and closed for renovations, I had to look elsewhere. In a list of summer camps, I noticed Charles River Aquatics and looked at their website. They hold classes at the BU pool, which would be close (pro). But it’s expensive, roughly twice as much as the Y (con). They seem really serious about teaching kids to swim properly (big pro). The swim team is just a lot of drills, not much teaching at all. And the Y was hit or miss; she had some good teachers and some not so good. At Charles River Aquatics, you have to go for an evaluation first. On the way to the evaluation, she kept asking me what level she’d be in. I had looked at all the descriptions on the website and figured she’d be in level 4 or 5, but I kept telling her that that’s what we’re going to find out. At the pool, the head coach told us that parents aren’t normally allowed on deck, but we could stay and watch. He was very intense. He looks a bit like Guy Pearce. The whole thing took 5 minutes, then he brought her back over to us and said his recommendation was that she be in level 2. He told us very specific things that she does that are wrong. He said he knew that she’s been swimming for awhile, but she needs to get the basics right. It pissed me off that we’d been wasting our time and money on other programs that weren’t even teaching her properly, but I was happy that we found something that would help her. I turned to her and asked something like, “What do you think?” and she smiled and said, “Great!” but I could tell she was upset. We went in the locker room and she changed, but she didn’t say anything until we were walking to the car, then it all came out, “You said I’d be in level 4. I know how to swim! I don’t want to be in a baby class.” I said, “No, I didn’t know what level you’d be in. I said we were going to find out.” “Liar!” I was rather shocked, but I said calmly, “I am not lying. That’s why we came, to find out.” She was crying and we all got into the car. Eliot was telling her how this class is going to help her, so when she goes back to the swim team, she’ll be better. I told her it’s not about what level you’re at; it’s about learning, about getting better at something you love doing. She was still upset; it didn’t seem to be sinking in. Then I remembered something. There’s a boy who’s probably the best swimmer on her team, and at one of the meets, his mom said how when he went to middle school and started swimming at his new school, he told her, “every day I learn something from my coach.” That seemed to turn it around for her and by the time we got home, she started thinking that this could be a good thing. So, cross your fingers that it all goes well tomorrow night.

Oscar Night

So we hosted an Oscar party last night. For the past few years, Astrid’s wanted to have an Oscar party. We’ve hemmed and hawed, so this year Astrid took matters into her own hands. While we were talking to the couple that live down the hall about my new car, Astrid said, “I can’t wait for Sunday, can you?” When they asked what was happening on Sunday, Astrid told them, “It’s the Oscars! Do you want to come over and watch it with us?” Then she did the same thing with the woman that always seems to be in the gym when she and Eliot go. And again when they ran into some friends on the street. So that makes 9 of us. It’s going to be cozy. I was sort of freaking out about what to make (I decided on vegetarian sushi) and having enough stuff to drink and Eliot kept saying that no one was going to show up anyway. We had said to come over around 6 and at 6:15, no one had come yet and Astrid was camped out by the door, almost in tears. Then suddenly everyone arrived at once, with desserts and wine, and we all had a wonderful evening. Thanks, Astrid! I love how social she is. She’s so different from me.

Swim Banquet

This is the last of the old posts...

The swim banquet was last night. Astrid was so excited about it. She talked about it for days beforehand, about how she was going to have a cupcake and a piece of cake. She wanted us both to wear dresses and picked out my new Boden dress for me to wear. After school, she and Eliot went to the Charlestown library to do homework. I met them there after work and when I walked in to the library with her dress for her to change into, she barrelled into me. “Let’s go put on my dress! Let’s go, Mama!” In the bathroom, she was doing jumping jacks and screeching.

 At the banquet, she gave the book she wrote to Marci, the coach, who seemed very impressed by it. Then we stood there wondering where to sit. It was so nice at last year’s banquet when Marty and Elena and Goenna and Brian saved us seats at their table. I wish they were still part of the swim team. Anyway, we found a table and Astrid was wriggling in her seat and kept asking if she could eat a cupcake. The cupcakes were arranged in the middle of the tables, for some reason, so of course all the kids were eating them. I told Astrid she’d have to wait until after dinner.

Then the coaches gave a little speech saying what a great year it was, blah, blah, blah, and announced that the ribbons and medals for sectionals were on a table in the back and the kids should go find theirs. Astrid just kept walking around the ribbon table, searching. Eliot and I were confused. Did everyone get a ribbon? If not, why would they make kids go look for a ribbon that wasn’t there? I went over to Astrid and she said “I can’t find my name, Mama. Help me look.” We both looked and I said, “I don’t think you got one, honey.” Marci walked over and I asked her, “Did Astrid get a ribbon?” She shrugged, “I don’t know. I haven’t looked at them.” We went back to our table, but a few minutes later, Astrid jumped up. “I’m going to go make sure” and walked back to the ribbon table. I said to Eliot, “She doesn’t have a ribbon.” Then I saw Astrid motion to me. I followed her into the bathroom, where she burst into tears. I hugged her and asked if she wanted to go home. She said, “No. I want to stay and show them how they made me feel.” I told her she couldn’t do that. Either we’d leave or we’d stay, but if we stayed, she couldn’t cry.

It was just cruel. Why make a kid go look for a ribbon that might not be there? And get it rubbed in your face that other kids have more than one? Last year, they passed out the ribbons one by one, and the kids walked up to the front while everyone clapped. Astrid didn’t have a problem with not getting one last year, when it was handled like that. And I’m not one of those people that think everybody should get a ribbon; you should get one when you deserve one. It was the way they did it. Only Eliot and I really know how much it took for Astrid to get through the season. Every day it was a struggle for her to go to practice. She loves swimming, but she always said that she has no friends there, no one is friendly to her, everyone is paired off, etc. And every day we told her she has to finish what she starts, that she needed to focus on her swimming. For someone as social and loving as Astrid, we knew it was hard. But she did it. She didn’t miss a single practice or a single meet. And now at the banquet, when she should be feeling good about what she accomplished, she was in tears. Eliot whispered to me, “Chipotle?” and I nodded. When I told her we’d take her to Chipotle, she smiled for the first time. “But what about the cupcake?” “You can eat it now, then we’ll go.”

The coaches were handing out sweatshirts to all the kids, and Marci came over with a sheepish grin on her face. “I have to tell you they spelled Astrid’s name wrong.” She showed us the sweatshirt with “Astros” embroidered on it. “But I spell my name “A-s-t-r-i-d.” “I know!” Marci said, “I’ll get you a new one, but you can hold on to this for the rest of the night.” I told her we were leaving in a little bit, so she could just keep it. I wasn’t upset about the shirt; that wasn’t her fault, it was just one more thing. So we went to Chipotle and brought our burritos home and sat at our table, toasting Astrid and telling her how proud we are of her for finishing the season and doing her best. Then I gave her another cupcake that I had snuck home.

Wabi-Sabi

I haven’t slept well all week. I don’t know why I have so much anxiety about this. It’s just a car, as Eliot keeps telling me. But it’s a lot of money. And I don’t do so well with decisions. I always need to make the best decision, so I tend to second-guess myself, which drives everyone around me, including myself, crazy. I told Eliot it feels like an arranged marriage. Suddenly, I’m going to have this relationship with a total stranger. He reminded me that I chose it, so it’s actually nothing like an arranged marriage. Anyway, I picked up the car this morning. I like it. I really do. It’s such a beautiful color, a deep blue that sparkles in the sunshine. I’m so sick of silver, which always looked gray. Last night, while cleaning out the Jetta, I realized how old and dirty it was. Even when it was clean, it was dirty.

After the guy explained all the buttons on the dashboard and everything, he asked if we had any questions. Astrid asked, “What’s going to happen to Bessie?” He said, “She’s going to another family that’s going to be really good to her.” I was feeling a little emotional—after all, I’ve had Bessie for 12 years—but was fine until Eliot said to Astrid, “that’s the car we brought you home from the hospital in.” Good Lord! It’s just a car, my ass.

Driving home, I felt happy. It was so bright and shiny. It was perfect. I parked in our parking garage, as far away from other cars as possible. We went home and had lunch, then I had to get to work. On the way, I’m driving, shifting smoothly, listening to the Car Wash soundtrack on my bluetooth, when I notice a tiny speck on the windshield. Huh. What’s that? Water from when the guy showed us the wipers? Bird poop? It couldn’t be a crack. Definitely not a crack. It’s a brand new car! Couldn’t be a crack. I get to work and get out and look. It’s a crack. WTF? Did that really happen ON THE WAY HOME FROM THE DEALER? ON THE FIRST DAY? Can’t I have something be perfect for ONE day? My life sucks. Why does this stuff happen to me? I debate calling the dealer, but what can I say? By the end of the day, I’m feeling more philosophical. It’s kind of like a birthmark. Astrid’s been saying lately that she wants her “dots” removed, but without her three lovely birthmarks, it wouldn’t be her same beautiful face.

Another Snow Day

Another post that I wrote last week...

Mayor Mennino called for another snow day for today, Tuesday, making it 5 days of being home. I was almost happy to go into work yesterday, and Eliot was feeling stressed about yet another day with Astrid. He kept asking, “What am I going to do with her?” They ended up having a calm and happy day. Astrid played on her floor for almost the entire day. She loves doing that and never gets enough time to just be. It’s kind of weird. I remember my entire childhood as just playing or reading. But now kids are so scheduled. She has friends who have a different activity every day: gymnastics, chess, ballet, theatre, soccer, piano... My plan was for her to take one music class and one sport and we couldn’t even keep that up. How do people find the time? When do those kids do homework? And when do they play on the floor? Part of me feels guilty like I’m not giving her the advantages other kids are getting. But when we tried to add piano practice to an already full day, it was way too stressful. So we quit and now she uses the keyboard as a shelf to keep her drawings on. Eliot keeps saying we should sell it, but I think that someday she might want to play it and it’ll be there.

I bought a car today!

I hate buying cars. It’s so stressful. It’s why I’ve had my Jetta for 11 years. I planned to buy a hybrid. I researched them obsessively over the past several weeks. I test drove the Ford C-Max and Toyota Prius. I loved the Ford, which I didn’t expect. I fully expected the Prius, being the hybrid standard for so long, to be the one. But the Ford felt roomy although it’s actually smaller than the Prius, and accelerated well. And the salesguy was really laid back and nice. The saleswoman for the Prius was just plain weird. After telling her I was on my lunch hour and just wanted to test drive the Prius and Prius-C, she wasted a lot of time putting my information into her computer and asking me all about the car I might be trading in. Then after driving the Prius, she said they didn’t have any Prius-Cs on the lot but we could look at the one in the showroom. I did, then said I really needed to drive it to tell. She said there was one in their other lot, then looked at me like she was hoping I would say never mind. I told her I would like to test drive it, and she repeated that it was in their other lot. Finally, she took me there, which was only about 2 minutes away and I test drove the Prius-C, which felt really claustrophic. I asked to sit in the Prius again. I said I needed to get back to work, but I just wanted to compare quickly how it felt. She said she needed to get back to work, too. Really? Isn’t what you’re doing your work? Then when we got back to the dealership, she really put the hard sell on me, asking what it would take to buy a Prius right then.  I said I needed to think about it and talk it over with my husband. She said “if he’s the one making the decision, then let’s get him in here.”  I replied it was my decision, but I just wanted to talk to him about it. Man! I flashed back to when I was buying my first car and my dad came with me and the salesman talked only to him, like I wasn’t even there. Grrr, I’m done venting about the Prius experience. I really liked the C-Max, but after thinking it over for a week, I realized I don’t drive that much, so the savings on the gas wouldn’t equal the price for a hybrid. I’d be doing it so I’d feel green, but was that worth a higher price tag?

So if not a hybrid, then what? Honda Fit? Yuck, although a couple people recommended it. Ford Fusion? Or Focus (I always mix those two up)? Mazda 3? After doing minimal (for me) research, I thought I should test drive the Mazda. I had a Miata (when we lived in LA, pre-Astrid) and loved it. Then as we were leaving for the Mazda dealer, we ran into the couple that has lived down the hall from us for the past 5 years but we're only recently becoming friends with and they have a Mazda and love it. So that’s what I got. Mazda 3 iTouring sedan 6-speed. I don’t feel excited about it, like I think I would have with the C-Max, but it seemed fine and was a lot less money. I don’t know what I would have ended up paying for the C-Max, but most likely it would have been at least $5–6,000 more. And $5,000 pays for a nice vacation, which we’re hoping to take later this year. So, I’m happy, relatively. Not being in love with the car made it easier to negotiate. I kept thinking that if they don’t accept my offer, I can walk away. But they came close enough that it was hard to say no. Maybe when I actually get the car, I’ll feel more excited. They didn’t have the color (Indigo Lights, a sparkly dark blue) I wanted, so I have to wait until this weekend.

Lincoln

A few weeks ago, we watched the movie Lincoln with Astrid, on the computer. Yes, yes, I know, but Astrid was really interested in the subject after reading the Addy American Girl series, so Eliot found it on the internet, and once in a while, it’s okay to do something illegal for the greater good, cough, rationalization. We covered her eyes during the battle scene and paused it every few minutes to answer her myriad questions. I don’t think I was ever so interested in an historical film at her age. Then tonight after watching a segment on 60 Minutes about the movie, Astrid asked, “You know his wife, Mary, well, what happened to Tad after his dad died? Did he go to an orphanage?” It would never have occurred to me to wonder that. According to Wikipedia, he and Mary and Robert Todd Lincoln moved to Chicago, but I couldn’t find anything to answer the spirit of Astrid’s question, which was if Mary was so overcome by the death of Willie to be a good mother to Tad, what was Tad’s life like after the death of her husband?

Snow Weekend

This is one of several posts I wrote last week, so pretend you read this last week.

Astrid had a snow day on Friday and surprisingly, my work sent out an e-mail saying it was up to each person to decide if they should come in to work or work from home. So of course I worked from home. But now it’s Sunday and three days of snow-bound togetherness is tough. We went for a walk yesterday, after a 30-minute meltdown over wearing snow pants. I finally said, “OK, fine, don’t wear snow pants. In fact, just go out in your dress” (which was short-sleeved). She was screaming, “I’ll do it your way! You always get your way!” Eliot suggested I just go out by myself, which I did, gladly. It was so weird out, with no cars, people walking in the streets, snow piled shoulder-high. I walked to Thorton’s that had a “we are open!” sign taped to the door, then down to Ramler Park. By then I was freezing and made my way home. I opened the door and Astrid had her snow pants on and very sweetly said "I'm sorry I made such a fuss," so we all went out again. Astrid was climbing up and down every snow drift and laughing. Living with a child is like living with a schizophrenic. 

Astrid’s been writing her next book, Lost!, and I got tired of sharing the computer with her, so I set up the old laptop and moved her book files over. We’re working across from each other at the table with our laptops touching. Eliot’s at his computer, redoing some vocals. We’re all pursuing our own creative impulses. It’s a cozy domestic scene, but we’re going to go out sledding shortly.

Just got a phone call that school is cancelled again tomorrow. 

The Road Taken

So I started writing blog posts without having a blog set up because I couldn’t think of  a name. I didn’t think it would be so difficult. I kept making lists of names, but didn’t really like any of them. I thought when I hit upon the right name, I would just know it. Kind of like finding the right wedding dress. I wanted to think of the name myself, but when Eliot suggested The Road Taken, I thought, that’s it. That’s exactly my struggle. I often wonder what would my life be like if I had...went out with Jim D., studied oceanography, stayed in Champaign, not left Los Angeles, etc., etc., etc. But this is the road that I’m on, this is the life I’m living.