Le petite artiste!

Imagine our pride to hear that there would be an art show at the High School. The 6 best works from each grade level would be chosen from each of the 6 Miamisburg Elementary Schools. And Ella's work was selected to go on display!

We walked into the High School gymnasium to find a menagerie of drawings, paintings, clay pieces, and woven paper bowls. Ella ran straight to her lovely little lion. Her toothless grin said it all!

The end of FIRST GRADE!

"MOM!!!!" Ella said, "have you ever seen a UNICORN????" 

"Um...well, not in real life but in movies...and my imagination," I stammered, starting into a story...

"Ok, whatever,  but do you think you can draw one, like, right now?" Her breath was quick and she stared up at me in wild desperation.

"Sure...why?" I asked, patiently.

"We started this AWESOME NEW CLUB at school...there are 5 of us and we play every day..." 

I just grinned and nodded. 

I know the rest of the story, as do most girls who had a childhood in suburban America. It goes like this: 

There were 6 of you, but then there were five, because one of them was a cute boy who got recruited in the beginning, then realized he was the only boy and ran away. Then you needed a name, and you debated between the Pretty Kitty Club, The Rainbow Club and The Unicorn Club. 

You moved on to the important topics of colors and what everyone should do and wear, thereby making everyone else wish they were a part of it. This part marks the innately human desire for social rank that would eventually be branded Cheerleading tryouts, Homecoming Court, Sorority Rush, and so on.

Then there was a debate over who would be President. It wasn't settled. Hungry for the lead position, Ella pulled the "artistic" card, which had always won me the elected office of my choice. Every club needs propaganda. And you can't get it without good design, which is yet another reason why Creatives rule the world. 

She very diligently wrote out her club rules, and she got out her markers and went to work. The next day, Ella had Mimi and I both making photocopies of the rules and the sign. It was on. 

I woke up the next morning, feeling like such an idiot. 

"Ella!" I rushed into her room and gently shook her awake, whispering: "You've gotta re-write the rules."  While I was embracing this sense of leadership and entrepreneurial spirit, I could not bear to send her to school enforcing Mean GIrl rules like "you must wear pink on tuesdays." What if a kid was in the club who didn't like pink? (then again..could  that be possible, given the name they had chosen?) 

You can see that I WAY over thought this.

From the edge of my sleepy six-year-old's bed, I delivered an Emmy-worthy speech on democracy, and how a tree with many branches bears more fruit than from one. At one point in my rant, I even compared the Declaration of Independence to Yelp and Pinterest, which is when her tiny blue eyes glazed over. So I got to the point:
"Write down one rule and make 4 other lines for each member to make a rule. Then follow them all. That's what true leadership is about."

And so it went. For the six shining days left in first grade, they made up dances and games and secret handshakes. Most of the girls are shown here, on the last day of school.

Right after this picture was taken, The Unicorn Club disbanded. Something about a conflict between two members that probably involved a dispute over who loved rainbows more. 

We went out for dinner that night, and I knelt down to Ella to ask if she was ok. She was staring beyond my shoulder...at a dessert being delivered to a neighboring table. "LOOK AT THAT HUGE SUNDAE!!" She gasped and giggled, clearly having gotten past the decay of her very first clique. 

We ordered one and shared bites with Derek and Carson, all of us clanking spoons in a toast to a much-needed summer break.

Mother's Day Weekend

A weekend of high emotion, indeed. 

May 11-13th brought a few tall orders: 

It would have been Parker's 12th birthday. Scott and his family joined Parker's friends for a mini-celebration in Bellbrook. Peyton stood in her Prom dress among dozens of 12-year-olds as they released colorful balloons to the sky in Parker's honor. This is her photo...it just brings tears to my eyes. 

What a great activity, completely created by this tight constellation of kids who are missing one bright star.  

And despite that grief, we still must celebrate what we've got here on earth. We had a dinner party at our house that night, celebrating 8 years of Amblen! 

The next day was Mother's Day...time to honor our three matriarchs. This photo is an old one, but a treasured one...it's from 2010, when the kids had placed tiaras on all the "queen mums." This year, we took each of them flowers and hugs. 

And lastly, some Mother's Day downtime with my own two sweet peas. Carson asked to be a baby again, and after I swaddled him and cried a little from the emotional weekend and realization that I DON"T have babies anymore, we all had a good laugh making silly faces at the camera.

 

 

On weekends like this, you either laugh or you cry. Both of these can be cleansing, but ending the day with a giggle was just what we all needed to remember the most important words to live by: 

Call your mother

Remember those you've lost, but live for those you have today

Be here now.

When the Storm Blew In

I drove home from work along the highway, watching a horrible set of ominous dark clouds follow me. A storm was brewing, and I knew the sky was about to break open. 

My trip was quick and I beat the rain—but the sky was a yellowish-green color, and the air was as still as those of us who listened closely for the rumble of thunder. I pulled in the garage and lugged my purse and laptop bag up the steps. 

A search of the house: no kids. 

Derek said that Ella had led a crying Carson to the front porch.

To me, this image represents something much more than inclement weather. Carson, there will be a time in your childhood or young adulthood when you two are at odds. 

Remember, my son, that when you got scared, your big sister held you.
She held you. And that was enough.

My past, on wheels

Growing up in Germantown in the late 80's was pretty idyllic, aside from an over-sized dose of small town gossip and lack of a decent community park.

Our little town of 5,000 celebrated the "diversity" of 15 or 20 very white, (yes, very German) last names. We had a whooping culture of hard-core football fans who hardly understood that there was a world beyond our big hair and friday night lights.

We were a microcosm, for sure. Relatively no commerce and a complete lack of fast food—aside from a very busy Dairy Queen—led us to the local swimming pool in the summer. In the winter, it was Romar skating rink. It was the only roller rink for miles around. It brought dozens of neighboring school kids into our tiny town.

Fast forward 25 years.

Ella brings home an announcement:

MEDLARVIEW ELEMENTARY SKATING PARTY!!!

Romar Skating Rink, Germantown Ohio

 

We made the 20-minute journey and found that the rink is still there, the freshly-painted black letters now crumbling from years of ice and rain. We stepped inside, and Ella ran to the skate rental booth. I stood there, silent, moving my phone in slow motion to snap this very familiar sight:

 

Ella, Carson and Derek laced up their skates. I followed them in my flip flops out to the rink, where they rolled in hardwood orbit to the latest Katy Perry tune. My mind conjured a different memory; instead, my ears heard the beat of  "She Dropped a Bomb On Me...Baby." It was a trip, to say the least.

I left the rink area and headed for the restroom, where I remember hiding out as a sixth grader. I remember cowering in a stall with a kleenex and my own hormonal misery, wiping away tears because my best friend called me a "snob." I had never felt so misunderstood.

 

As soon as I got to the door, my mouth flew open. The original sign...the original horrid hand towel dispenser, and even the toilet tissue were exactly the same as they'd been the last time I was there in as a kid in 1985. I stood there wondering who still manufactures rectangular folds of toilet paper. 

And just in case there were any question, the sign still hangs:

Ella had a blast and got a little more steady on her wheels. Carson showed his usual sense of absolutely NO fear. Derek got some exercise. And I found my own personal flux capacitor and joined Marty McFly in the time machine.

Celery Art!

It was a chilly Sunday afternoon and Derek was doing yard work. I was in the kitchen with the kids making vegetable soup, and went to toss what was left of the celery. 

I showed it to Ella and we didn't have to exchange a word. We both ran to the art room and opened up the paints!

By dinner time we had a freshly cut lawn, a warm pot of soup, two budding artists, and a new set of stationery. Perfect.

Spring Gym•nap•sticks

Neither of our kids can/could say this word before the age of 4, so their pronunciation is above. That little stuff is so important. It's kind of thing that I worry about forgetting someday when I'm old and grey, lying in bed with Readers Digest, my teeth in a jar on my night stand. Although I suppose if I can't find a better magazine and I can't really chew, remembering how the kids said "gymnastics" will not be my biggest challenge.

Anyway - I digress.

It has been made clear to us by Carson's teachers that he has "extremely advanced" upper body strength, and for that reason, there is no place he's more excited about than TWIGS gym-nap-sticks. This kid is doing chin-ups by the dozen on the bars, bouncing and flipping like he was born for it.

By George, i think we've found an outlet for this little monster's excess energy!