Winter Sports

Yesterday I took Roan skiing for the first time.  I hadn't been skiing in over 20 years, when I switched to snowboarding, (and it's been at least 5 years since I last went snowboarding) so it was a learning experience for both of us.

Skiing was easy.  The chair lift was a bit harrowing, but overall, I remembered how to do it, and got my groove back quickly.  I drove up with another mom friend and her 5 year old daughter, and we did some runs by ourselves while our kids were in a lesson.  And it was absolutely thrilling.  The runs were nothing special, but lets face it, we are doughy Brooklyn moms whose sole adrenaline rushes happen when our kids get hurt and we think about rushing to the ER, or when we are told by the cashier at Whole Foods how much money we just spent on groceries.  When it comes to activities that don't involve our children, we are easily impressed.

Other things were not so easy.  Schlepping all the ski gear for two people. Realizing that it's 50 degrees and you totally overdressed both yourself and your son, so schlepping half your gear back again to a second locker.  Walking in ski boots. Remaining calm while your son learns to walk in ski boots, and whines about walking in ski boots. Remaining calm while it takes your son half an hour to "ski" slightly uphill to the lift, and refuses any help from you. Remaining calm while you put your son's gloves back on for the hundredth time.  Reminding yourself not to feel superior to the crazed mother who is screaming at her son (who cannot, for the life of him, get his boot to properly latch in his ski binding), because this is, in fact, how you felt like reacting when you couldn't for the life of you get Roan's boot to latch into his ski binding, after 5 solid minutes of trying, until a little girl tapped you on the shoulder and pointed out that you'd mistaken her rental skis for Roan's rental skis.

Skiing with children requires patience and self control.  By lunch time, I was exhausted.  In the lodge, listening to a band perform Steve Miller Band covers, we knew that the runs without children were behind us - no more racing down the mountain and getting air off a small jump.  From here on out, it would be the bunny slope, over and over again.  Though there is a certain thrill in that - seeing Roan get more confident on skis, watching his obvious enjoyment.  But he was tired too.  Around 2 or 3pm he said, "3 more times Mommy and then let's go get a hot chocolate."

We cleaned out our lockers and returned our rental equipment in shifts.  Then we drove home.  As soon as we got home, Roan was chattering on and on about how he wanted to make a volcano, and first we needed to make dough to build a mountain, and it would be a white mountain with snow on it, and then the volcano would explode, and the lava would be red, and we need baking soda and vinegar and food coloring and flour and his needs were unending. I was literally cross-eyed with exhaustion at this point, I think it was dinner time, we had been gone for over 8 hours.  I wanted to scream: "I took you skiing today, I carried your body weight in awkward ski equipment all over the mountain, WHAT MORE DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!"  Instead I remained calm and said, "Daddy would love to help you make that volcano," and walked into our bedroom, shut the door and flopped face down on the bed.

Later that night, I talked to my parents about our day.  With my new-found respect for what a pain in the ass it is to go skiing, I thanked them for taking me so many times.

And here's a photo from two weeks ago, when I took Roan ice-skating for the first time, at a new rink in Prospect Park.  He loved it.

Evolution

A few weeks ago I walked in on Jay explaining evolution to Roan. Roan's had a lot of questions about origins lately, and Jay laid it all out for him.  Roan was definitely interested, but you never know how much these things sink in.

This week Roan asked me for an extra glove.

"What for?" I wanted to know.

"For my extra hand," Roan said. "I'm growing another hand."

"Why?"

"Because I need three hands. So I'm going to get one from evolution."

"You're going to evolve a 3rd hand?"

"Yeah. Daddy said that evolution gives us what we need. And I need three hands."

"Oh." I was quiet for a moment, trying not to laugh, and deciding how to play this. I really didn't want to be the one to crush this train of thought.

"You know Roan," I started, "evolution is a really slow process. Even though you need a third hand now, it's going to take a really long time for you, or even future generations, to evolve one."

"I know Mommy," Roan said, sort of exasperated, "Daddy told me. I'm not going to get another hand until I'm 6 or maybe 7. But can you just buy me the extra glove now?"

"Okay."

Beach in Winter

Catching Up

Lots of things happened this fall that I never got around to mentioning on this blog.  Here's a quick overview:

Roan turned 5. He had a party at Buzz-a-Rama, where he raced slot cars.

We went to San Antonio for Thanksgivakah.

We celebrated Hannukah. My father-in-law gave me this bicycle hanukiah years ago and I LOVE IT.

Ilan turned 2. We didn't have a party, and Ilan didn't get any presents from us, because I ended up using his birthday present for Hannukah, because really, 8 nights of presents just takes more organization and planning than I can currently handle. Lest you feel bad for him - don't. His grandparents mailed him gifts, which Roan helped him open.

I'm a little bit terrified for next year, when both my boys will be aware of Hannukah, and will expect a gift each night. This year I was bailed out by a pretty clueless Ilan, my wonderful inlaws and a very early Hannukah (it started the night before Thanksgiving), so I didn't even have to provide the first 3 days of gifts. I'd like to be one of those families that starts a tradition of doing charity work on one night, or donating to charity, or participating in some unique family activity, or doing *something* that's not so present oriented, but in all honesty, that seems like a lot more work than just buying my kids an extra book or two.

As I'm fond of saying, all this is a problem for Future Cameron.  She'll surely be able to handle it.

Brothers for all Seasons

When it gets cold

We try to remember what it felt like to be warm

Soccer

I took some photos of Roan's last soccer game.  He's made a lot of progress from game 1, when he refused to step on the field, and even from the middle of the season, when he subbed in, but ran away from the ball, or ran in patterns that no one could make sense of.

The games were 3 on 3, so the kids would learn to play in the triangle formations that soccer is made of.  Not that that ever happened for our team, but that's what we were aiming for.

I grew up playing soccer on the west coast, where the temperature rarely dropped below 60 degrees. I wondered what we would do when it got too cold for shorts and a jersey, and here's the answer - you wear your warm clothes *under* your uniform.  I'm finally understanding why the uniforms are cut so enormously big.

Jay's college friend Kabir was the head coach, and I was the assistant coach. Though Jay ended up taking over my assistant coaching duties when it became clear that Ilan was going to follow me around the entire time and be a nuisance. Kabs had to miss 2 games, and so "Coach Daddy" was in charge.  The first game we got killed - the score was something like 14-0, which is impressive when you consider that the games are only 20 minutes long.  The second game the tables turned.  We were quickly up by 9 goals, and Coach Daddy tried to rein the kids in, making them pass a few times before they could shoot, but after the humiliation of the previous week, our team was out for blood.

We came up with a lot of names for our team, but the one that seemed to stick was the Black Thunders. Roan  misses the Black Thunders, and asks to play soccer all the time now. But the season is over and this week we had our first snow, then the temperature dropped into the low 20s.  The best we can do is dribble around the kitchen.

To everything there is a season.  Soccer, we'll see you again come Spring.

Kindergarten

Dear Roan,

You have been in kindergarten for about 50 days now.  NYC public kindergarten is a lot different from your preschool program, which you attended 3 days a week, had two teachers and an aid for 12 kids, and when you weren't in the play yard, you spent most of the day in the same room.  In K-206 there are 25 kids and 1 teacher, which is the ratio mandated by the state of New York.  Our class is lucky because we have a student teacher who comes three days a week to help out.  There are 6 other kindergarten classes in the building.  There are 925 kids in the school.  Half of them all eat lunch at the same time, in the same enormous cafeteria, and then they are let loose in the play yard for about 15 minutes of recess.  You spend most of your time in K-206, but you go to dedicated rooms with dedicated teachers for music, art, science, gym, and library.  Honestly, Daddy and I are still not sure about your schedule.  And every time we think we've figured out, there's a field trip, or a curriculum day, or that time when a British brass band came to school and spent the day following the kids around with horns.

You are kid who likes order, and likes knowing what to expect.  You have said to me, on many occasions, "mommy, I don't like things that I'm not used to." which I think is absolutely true.  You've also told me that you don't like new things.  I asked you once: "how many times before something changes from being a new thing to a thing that you are used to?"

"Um.... um.... at least 100 times, mommy."

We put you in a soccer league this fall, and it took 7 games before you really started to enjoy yourself.  Sadly, there are only 8 games in a season.

The first few weeks of kindergarten were terrible.  I dragged you up the hill, down 7th Avenue, and literally pulled you up the two flights of stairs to your classroom, where you screamed and cried and had to be restrained by the teacher (or whoever else happened to be available) when I left.  It was dramatic and I think, though you were clearly upset, that you were overplaying it.  Though the reports I got from the teachers were heartbreaking.  You spent entire days laying under your table, refusing to come out.  You wouldn't talk or even look at any of the other children or the teachers.  You brought your lunch home completely uneaten. A neighbor reported that he saw you in the recess yard, sitting alone against the chain link fence, staring morosely at the asphalt.  One day you cried so hard that you vomited.

Your Daddy and I disagreed on how to handle all this.  By the second or third week, he was ready to pack and up and move to the burbs, or enroll you in some private school for sensitive geniuses.  I think there is some value in you trying to find your place in this big ole machine.  And also, the very thought of moving makes me want to crawl into bed and take a long nap.

Now, 50 some odd days in, things are getting better.  I wouldn't say you are excited to go to school in the morning, but you don't give me any shit, and you are definitely a few steps above resigned.  On Veteran's Day, you were upset that there was no school, though I couldn't tell if that was because you like school or because you usually go to school on Mondays and you dislike changes in your schedule.  You said to me, "I'm used to 5 days of school and 2 days of weekend, so I don't like when it's 3 days of weekend."

In any case, drop offs are easy now.  From the feedback I get, you participate in small group activities, but not in large group activities that involve the whole class.  Sometimes, you go into the closet and put on your winter coat, zip it up, put on your hood, and sit silently at your desk, ignoring everything.  It reminds me of when I make Daddy watch a movie with subtitles, or engage him in some conversation he doesn't want to have, and he puts on this old gray sweatshirt, slides the hood over his head, and pulls the drawstrings tight, blocking everything out.

When we walk into school the other kids greet you with enthusiastic, "hi Roan!"s and you either ignore them, or, if it's been a bad morning, you scowl at them.  I feel bad for these kids, getting shafted by you day in and day out, and I want to pat their backs and say, "it's not you, it's him."  Or, "he really likes you, he's just grumpy and shy."  But despite your surliness, you seem to have friends.  I was surprised when you were invited to a classmate's birthday party - he could only chose 5 kids from class, and you were one of them. I dropped you off at the party and all the other invitees were the friendly extroverts who you'd expect to see... how did you make the cut?  In the mornings you go straight to your desk and sit down, and somehow this behavior results in several kids surrounding you and wanting to know what you're doing. A shy Chinese kid named Wilson has declared you his very best friend, though I've never seen you pay any attention to him.

You have a metal lunch box with a space ship on it that says ROAN in huge yellow letters.  Everyday you bring it home broken, and every day Daddy and I have to come up with a new way to fix it.  The lunch box looks as though it's been run over by a truck, and the handle and metal clasps have all been replaced with duct tape and string, which Daddy and I re-install every single week night.  What the hell are you doing to this lunch box?  Maybe I will ask Wilson for the truth.

The other day you came out for pick up without your backpack.  "Roan, where's your backpack?" I said.  You were nonchalant, and a little girl stepped forward to say, "we all told him 5 times to put on his backpack but he didn't listen and I just didn't feel like getting his backpack for him today."  Which gave me a glimpse into the group effort it must be to get you out the door and down the stairs with all your stuff.

More and more, you are starting to have a life that's independent from mine, and that I know nothing about. It's strange to just have a big question mark for what you're doing 5 days a week, between the hours of 9 and 3. Maybe it's just my mood at the moment, but it doesn't make me feel all schmaltzy and weepy sad, doesn't make me long for your babyhood.  I'm happy for you.  You're kind of a weird kid, but I think you'll be alright.