Stormy Years

The teams are named after storms, which is really quite fitting when they are likely the stormiest times of their lives, teenagers and their raging hormones. Last week, the 5th graders got their team assignments and met their 6th grade teachers at the middle school they will be attending. Students from eighteen 5th grade classrooms of three different elementary schools in town will merge to four teams, or "pods" as they are commonly called because of the layout of the building.

Back when I attended middle school, I was in the White House. My sister was in the Red House. Guess what the 3rd house was called? *Yawn*. If you were to ask Tommy what team he was assigned to, he would tell you he was on the Monsoons, while some of his friends were with the Tsunamis or the Twisters or the Zephyrs. When he goes to 7th grade, he will be with either the Cyclones, Hurricanes, Thunderstorms, or Typhoons, and in 8th grade, with either the Blizzards, Heatwaves, Nor'Easters, or Tornadoes. All crazy weather patterns I couldn't keep straight, and that also very accurately reflect the experiences they will endure. Not to mention those their parents will also suffer.

The daughter of one of my very good friends attended preschool with Tommy. Jillian's mom and I alternated carpooling.

They both had the same teacher for Kindergarten, although Jillian attended the morning session, while Tommy attended in the afternoon. But we made sure they played on the same soccer team.

Jillian and her family came to meet Tommy's two younger brothers at the hospital after they each were born.

They would attend different elementary schools and there wasn't a chance they would be classmates again until they got to middle school, and even then, they would have to be assigned to the same team.

Jillian has 2 older sisters who doted on and adored Tommy's younger brothers during their babyhood years while we all attended a weekly play group at St. Jude's Church.
This is where Karla and I met, in fact. Many summers found us enjoying hot days at their house where we would swim in their pool.


We also took excursions to the beach.


Tommy and Jill were inseparable and Jill even told her grandmother she was going to marry Tommy someday.

As they got older, they naturally gravitated towards friends of their own genders because boys to girls were not cool and visa versa. By the time they are pre-teens, they have begun to notice classmates of the opposite sex, only not so much as the one who built sand castles in the sand or played hide-n-seek with you.

We saw Jillian yesterday at her sister's high school graduation party and naturally, I asked her what team she would be on next year and she said she was assigned to the Monsoons.

For some reason, I wasn't at all surprised.

Flying on a wing and a prayer. And in a plane, of course.

I'm going to my niece's high school graduation. That means I'll be missing out on my youngest son's preschool graduation End of the Year Celebration, to be politically correct. I'll also miss Chris and Tommy playing in their soccer tournaments over the weekend.

My niece lives in what is known as The Sunshine State, except this week and all during my short 4 day visit, it has been and is expected to continue to rain sideways. Tomorrow, when I leave, temperatures are expected to hit close to 90 here.

Since I'll be missing Jeffrey's preschool event, I went to the rehearsal today and took pictures. I will be packing the camera to take on my trip, so I'll be relying on the parents of Jeffrey's classmates to take some pictures of him in my absence. Imagine imposing that on them if we didn't have digital cameras?


After the rehearsal, we went to Mack's for ice cream.

So the last time I flew was in July of 2001. I plan to just take a carry-on bag, but now I'm wondering if it will be more of a hassle purposely packing or not packing what will not be allowed on the plane. Thank God I'm not a high maintenance person and that my sister would surely urge me to use whatever toiletry items they have to avoid having to check luggage and visit the baggage claim area upon my arrival. What are the guidelines? No more than 6 oz. in a zip-lock bag? No liquids? Maybe I should just check the carry-on. I mean, will they really think the personalized beach stone I have packed between the graduation throw blanket for Jordan is going to be used as a deadly weapon?

I'm not worried about it. I suppose I can decide when I get to the airport. See what kind of mood the authorities are in and see if I should take my chances or just check the bag. Besides, I have too much other stuff crowding my mind to have to worry about how to pack my bag.

The end of the school year is approaching, and that means teachers' gifts. I am always grateful for the room mothers who offer to take monetary donations to put towards a gift for the teachers because then it's one less thing I have to worry about. I got an e-mail from Mrs. Jones and gave Christopher an envelope to give to her son at school today. To verify that she should expect, I e-mailed her to let her know to look for it in her son's backpack. She e-mailed me back to tell me I must have had the wrong Jones because she didn't have a son named Evan, but a son named Owen who was in Joey's class, but if I wanted to give her the money today at Mack's, she'd be there.

I wondered what Evan's mom would think when he got home and handed her an envelope with $10. Thankfully, Christopher had his phone number, so I called and left her a message. I probably sounded like a complete idiot and she probably had a good laugh. Couldn't I keep my kids' classes straight and who was the room mom for each? And did I even know that Mrs. Jones had one son in Joey's first grade class and another preschooler in Jeffrey's? No, and do you know why? Because I was not one of the moms who had time to chat when I dropped Jeffrey off for school, nor did I join him for field trips to the fire and police stations. Because most of Jeffrey's classmates are the oldest of their siblings while he is the youngest and I've been there and done that three times already, and where I didn't work before, I am working now and was always rushing to clock a couple of hours while I could.

Do I even have time to fly this coop for 4 days? Hell, no. But I wouldn't miss it for the world and G will get through the weekend looking after the boys on a wing and a prayer while I'm flying high, solo. Solo. Just me. So what if it's raining sideways?

Van, go

Sienna turned over 100,000 miles last month, remember? So Murphy's Law says everything is supposed to start to go.

Remember back in the winter of 2007 when I went to open the hatchback and felt something springy unspring and the door didn't open. But I wasn't concerned because I figured I'd just have to open it using the key and so what? Minor inconvenience, but certainly the better option to going and fixing it. Only it wouldn't open with the key, either. No secret button or latch inside. No, the hatchback would forever stay closed unless I had it repaired.

One day last spring, I did happen to stop by the shop to get an estimate on having it fixed. Because it was kind of getting to be a nuisance putting all the groceries in and around the seats of the van. And what if I ever needed to transport something big? Yes, I could remove the seats from one of the passenger doors, but if the item was longer than the van's interior length, then I'd need to have that hatchback open.

But I couldn't get an accurate estimate because they didn't know how long it would take them to figure out how to open the door. The cost for the part it itself was about $100, but it could take hours and hours to figure out how to get it unlocked. And then of course, they would need to likely remove the inside of the door to be able to replace what needed to be replaced, and then put it all together again. $300? $400? $600? Maybe, maybe not.

I decided I could live with continuing to put the groceries in the passenger seat area.

Amazingly, it passed its 2008 inspection without serious financial intervention other than the standard fees because whoever did the inspection apparently didn't try to open the hatchback.

Then last fall, one of the front tires went flat and I was eventually forced to replace two tires.

But whoever did the inspection last year didn't do it this year because whoever did it this year did try to open that broken hatchback and of course, failed. "The van won't pass inspection unless all doors are functional," I was told. Like it or not, the hatchback had to be fixed.

So, Sienna earned her 2009 sticker after one new battery, 2 new tires, an oil change and a new hatchback lock. Surely I could get another year out of her as long as I was gentle with her. It doesn't have air condition, but so what? It didn't last summer, either, but I survived. And unless I can get the broken seatbelt in one of the passenger seats to give a little, nobody is allowed to sit there.

Our garage is very narrow. Before I pull it in to park, all passengers exit the vehicle in the driveway. Last Monday, Jeffrey was the last to get out, so he proceeded to close the passenger door. Remember, this is a 9-year-old van. Those fancy automatic doors didn't hit the market until the following year or so. Anyway, as is the routine, everybody gets out and heads inside through the garage and when Jeffrey didn't follow his brothers into the house, I turned to see what was holding him up. And there he stood beside the van, two hands holding onto what was the door handle, up in front of his face in proportion to where it came off the door. His face showed a mixture of shock and fear. I know he was thinking it was not right that he was holding the handle in his hands and wondering what my reaction would be to it breaking.

I rolled my window down, put my hand out. "Let me have it. Don't worry about it, it broke before, it was bound to break again eventually." He handed me the handle before running inside.

I've gotten very good at opening the passenger side door by sticking my arm through the front driver's door. Likewise, I've gotten even better at closing it without catching my fingers in the door.

Still, I just know she can go another year.