The Worst Idea Ever

It's hard to believe, but high school is looming.....and this, THIS, my friends, is who we're releasing into the hallways alongside the swarms of cunning and obnoxious teenage male hormones.

Orientation was today and, to the administration's credit, the whole production was impressively efficient. She got her school ID at one table, her schedule at another, and books at still another. With so many tables, I was initially hopeful and then terribly dismayed to discover that although I could walk right up and even rent her PE uniform, there wasn't a single table for parents to rent a good reliable taser for the year. You know, teenage boy deterrent. Hell, looking around at all of those boys' faces, I would've joined the PTA on the spot had membership come with a big 'ole can of bear spray. Clearly, school administrators are overlooking the seriously untapped revenue stream available from the hand-wringing parents of newly-minted freshman girls.

We walked toward the door after orientation, Sydney open-faced and starry-eyed, me stone-faced like dead man walking. Tim paused for a moment, looked around, and made reference to Lord of the Flies.

This high school thing is the worst. idea. ever.

The Old Grey Mare, He Ain't What He Used to Be

Over the past couple of weeks, I have been waking up to Tim's shrill interpretation of a sick cat meeting a moaning banshee, the result of his back seizing up like puckered lips on a sour lemon. Like clockwork, I hear something that stirs me from early morning dreams and in my grogginess I open my eyes and there he is. On the floor. On all fours. Peering over the bed at me while moaning and swearing like that girl from the Exorcist. It's a disturbing and slightly comical mess all wrapped up into one cussing heap on the floor. If he were an animal, we'd have to seriously consider putting him out of his misery.

Apparently, the Universe doesn't mind kicking the newest member of the old guy club while he's down because during the same time period, Tim has been asked via mail (twice!) to consider relocating to Rose Villa....Portland's newest old folks home.  (Which has resulted in him being bestowed with the new nickname, Old Man Larson.)

All mail for Tim should be directed here.

 Strangely, the first time he was invited, the invitation 'mysteriously' disappeared and I was told, in no uncertain terms, that if I repeated this to anyone, he would have no choice but to retaliate. I half expect a counter-blog to pop up defending his virility and describing the torment of living with a wife who possesses a wild imagination and a knack for spinning tall tales about her ever-loving husband.

Of course, he'll most likely will be writing from the floor, on all fours, from his lovely new room at Rose Villa.*

*You're such a good sport, my dear.

Just One of the Family

Ahhhh, yes. There was quite the milestone to be witnessed in our world this week. There was the obvious one, of course; the one where Sydney graduated from the 8th grade and officially became a newly minted freshman in high school..... I'm not talking about that shocking little reality (mostly because I can't seem to wrap my head around it).

No, I'm talking about the other milestone. The one where Sydney single-handedly struck. dumb. the unsuspecting members of her family all at once. Believe me, it's not an easy task....we're a zany, sarcastic, unpredictable troupe, and generally one of us will be of sound enough mind to throw a zinger or a dance number in when the time calls for it. But this time: crickets. chirping.

Here's how it went down in pictures (you'll have to excuse the blurry nature of the photos. Tim wasn't prepared for the spectacle that was about to occur).

I'll give you the play-by-play:

Sydney is preparing to get her diploma in front of a crowd of 500+ people....

....suddenly, she does the side step......

 ...and breaks into some strange version of 'Walk Like an Egyptian'.....

.....and as I sit with my mouth gaping open, I'm wondering if she's gone into some sort of seizure.....

 .....and I look at Alex who is equally bewildered (yup, she's still going)......

....and Tim can't take a clear photo to save his life......

.......and she composes herself and walks back to her seat as if nothing has happened....

......The other 500+ people clapped and laughed for her....I didn't get to put my hands together once, being shocked to death and all. And all Tim could say as he sheepishly walked back to his seat was: "Yep. That's our kid."

Indeed, she is. Well played, madam. Well played.

As a side note, I'd almost be worried about this little shenanigan if I didn't know that it runs in the family. She gets her moves from her uncle....feast your eyes on this:
http://www.facebook.com/#!/photo.php?v=526226246673&set=vb.45207917&type=2&theater

Them's The Rules

I'll be the first to admit that Alex has always been a Momma's Boy. His soft, consistent devotion has Tim worried that I'll be tucking him into his bed well into his 20's, but like any mother of a momma's boy, I revel in it. I love that he'll still save me a seat next to him at the movies even if his friends are there. I silently beam when he waves to me from across a field during one of his soccer games. And, yes, tucking him in bed never gets old.

Which leads us to the subtle shift...

 Alex is playing both soccer and lacrosse this spring. Lacrosse is a venture that he's found that he's both good at and enjoys. Two of his best friends are on the team with him. It's the first time he gets to wear a cup and enough padding to make him feel tough (and make me comfortable enough not to go screaming onto the field like a banshee on fire every time he gets hit).

 With his new venture, comes new personal rules in the mom/son department....I have been informed that I am strictly forbidden from kissing him anytime he wears his lacrosse gear. Strictly. Forbidden. As in, don't even think about it. In his Yoda-esque wisdom, he explains that boys who wear pads and a mouth guard can't be seen kissing their moms. It just doesn't happen.
But in his soft, devoted sort of way, he has offered me a consultation prize; he says that I can kiss him all I want when he plays soccer. No cup, no pads, no problem.

Not to worry, Tim. It looks like I'll only be tucking him into bed until he's 18.

Cliffnotes From the Fray

Did anyone else come through March and April feeling like they walked out of a tornado, skirt over their head and missing a shoe? Or was that just me...?

Here's how it looked from here: there was the lead up to and performing of the big ballet production at the Newmark Theater, my parents visiting from Wyoming, and a surgery (in which Tim alleges that I thoroughly entertained the room by cheering for the Timbers while eating crackers in my drug induced haze). There was healing from said surgery on the Coast over Spring Break. There were Timbers games to go to, March Madness brackets to win and lose with my ever obnoxious but genuinely lovable extended family (if any of you looked at my facebook page in March, you know exactly what I'm referring to). There were leprechauns to try and catch on St. Patrick's Day, and don't even get me started on the social and athletic lives of my children.

Now we're dancing through April (or wrestling with it, depending on the day). Beyond getting over a wicked case of the swine flu that's only virtue was letting me revisit my love for the Sopranos, we're 'remodeling' our backyard. There are flowers and vegetables to plant, a sliding glass door to add onto our bedroom so that we can look out onto our gardens and Tim's beloved petanque court, a shed to paint, a couple of stone paths to finish, and a chicken coop to build for our soon-to-be acquired chickens (Yes, chickens. Stay tuned).

Carpe Diem doesn't even begin to cover it.

Walkin' In a Timbers Wonderland

The Timbers season is starting! The Timbers season is starting!

For those of you who don't understand the gravity of my excitement, the Timbers are Portland's major league soccer team and the start of the season means some happy things:

1) We get to hang out with friends and family in the ruckus of the Timber's Army, doin' things like the 'Tetris,' which is a chant with a Portland twist, that requires thousands of people to move side to side en masse....a ridiculous amount of fun.

2) I get to focus on talented, athletic men with absurdly attractive legs for an extended period of time without Tim batting an eye.

3) It's just another opportunity for David Beckham to see me and realize that he's made a terrible mistake in marrying Posh Spice.

So bring on the season.

Timbers! Timbers!

We Can Dance If We Want To

Another year, another grand experience being in a large ballet production. Alex managed to wiggle out of the performance this year, but Tim got dragged in, so our family still made a solid showing (and my dreams of going gypsy and starting a traveling show are still very much alive).
The lights, the energy, the drama behind the scenes...in a parallel universe, I do this every day of my life. I'm sure of it.

As a side note, I have to say that Sydney overwhelms me with her grace as she grows into herself as a dancer. It's a privilege to be a part of something so encompassing and majestic with her year after year. 

Taking in the Newmark Theater

In the Wings

The Amish look is in

Backstage

We were so busy that the only photos of us together are from home taking off makeup