Juggling Life

7 Surefire Ways to Piss Me Off

1) When I arrive at the hotel after a 8+ hour drive invite me to go to the store for some "adult beverages" with you. Because I'm a nice person and your son is a recent addition to the team so you don't know a lot of the moms I will say "sure" (even though a car ride was not high on my list of things to do right after I just got out of the car). After you pick out $20 worth of stuff I don't drink tell me you didn't bring any money. Bonus points for never paying me back over the next 5 days.

2) Every time we go out to eat as a group, lowball your meal price by a wide margin, don't add the 10% tax or the 20% tip or your share of the coach's meal. Stare off into space when the money for the bill doesn't add up.

3) Loudly bray things like "You're cheaters" when the other team is beating us fair and square. When all the parents on the team move away from you it might be a hint to shut up--ignore it.

4) Loudly bray "Put in the freshmen" repeatedly when we're down by 2 at the half and could conceivably win the game if we keep in the starting lineup. The coach won't listen, but it sure will suck the enjoyment out of watching the remainder of the game for the rest of us.

5) Make the coach turn around and drive back to Stanford in rush hour traffic for the beach towel you loaned him to sit on. Who cares if the boys are waiting for the coach to have a team meeting? The four people that offered to just BUY you a new towel are sending you a message about the relative importance of your towel--ignore it.

6) Talk about food and where we are going to eat non-stop. It doesn't matter what other conversation people are having--bring it around to food. Bonus points for suggesting "The Sizzler" at every meal. 

7) Complain vociferously about the fact that we have to drive to different pools instead of having all our games at one pool. Refuse to consider the fact that the tournament organizers may not have arranged a national tournament for over 200 teams simply for the sole convenience of our club.

Oh yes, she did. I debated posting this, but I don't think she'll ever find my blog. And if she does? If there's even a remote possibility that she picks up the clue phone and realizes she behaved in a rude, obnoxious, cheap and narcissistic way and alienated everyone around her, I will have performed a public service.

Thank goodness for all the other wonderful parents on the trip. Our collective "bunker mentality" when in the presence of this woman ensured that we still had a great time. A shout out to my new friend, Julie, who made me laugh just at the point when my head was going to explode.

A Fly on the Wall

When your kids are in a certain age range, say 13 to 18, there is a definite finesse to your involvement with them and their friends in social situations. The past few days, at the Junior Olympics, with Danger Boy and his team and Social Butterfly and her friend, I got to put my finesse to the test--especially on the two 8+ hour car rides and the many trips from hotel to pool and back. I would say that the fact that we all--kids and adult--had a blast was due, in some part, to my technique.

Basically, you need to realize that your role is to be in the background. A fly on the wall if you will. It's not that you can't ever speak, but do so sparingly and with full awareness of your audience. Even if you're funny (which I like to think I am) use your sense of humor in a targeted and limited way. Also, this is not the time to be uptight. Rules that you enforce at home may need to be suspended in the interest of not being a perpetual wet blanket. Specifically, I'm talking about cursing. Let it slide. In addition, if you can be open to their musical tastes and volume levels that works in your favor.

If you play your cards right you'll be rewarded with a drive home that is as fun as the one I had Tuesday. I was on the verge of exhaustion after 4 nights in a hotel (the sleep is never as good as what you get at home) and a 6 a.m. rising that morning (have I mentioned that I really like my morning sleep) as I set out on a trip from San Jose to San Diego that didn't commence until 3:15 in the afternoon. Along for the ride were DB, two other players, SB and her friend Peanut.

When we encountered an absolute jerk of a driver on the 101 (what is it with Bay Area drivers?!) and DB asked if he could moon him I couldn't think of a reason to say no. I'm not sure if the jerky driver appreciated it, but the rest of us did. When we were playing musical iPods with DB as the deejay I gave a very brief statement that I was not condoning misogyny by playing the rap music, but rather choosing to appreciate the poetic skills of Snoop Doggy Dog and Tupac. Then I turned up the volume.

I was rewarded with all-car sing-alongs to music ranging from Taylor Swift's Love Story to 3OH!3's Don't Trust Me (Do the Helen Keller and Talk with your Hips) to Mickey Avalon's My Dick. I got to introduce their next generation to Meat Loaf via Wasted Youth. The impromptu duet of Irving Berlin's Anything You Can Do, by Peanut and one of the boys, was a priceless moment that passed with no comment from me.

Did you know that teenagers with iPhones will actually communicate with each other via writing on each other's FaceBook walls while sitting right next to each other in the car? Mind-boggling but true.

We all shared the bonding experience of a near-death experience as we drove through L.A. on the 405 South at 10 p.m. We were cruising down the freeway at 70 mph (the minimum you can do on an L.A. freeway if you don't want someone to mow you down) when a car came right into our lane (what is it with L.A. drivers?) with no warning. I braked and swerved and and a beat later we released our collective breaths (and a few choice epithets). "Excellent evasive maneuver, Mrs. Juggling" was the comment from the backseat.

It was 12:15 when I pushed the button on the garage door opener at home. I was tired, still a little wired from caffeine and adrenaline, happy to be home safely and grateful for the chance to spend some quality time with some kids that won't need me for road trips for much longer.

Junior Olympics 2009: In Progress

The boys started off on Saturday with a bang--a big win against a Florida team. Sadly, the rest of the day did not go so well and they lost 2 ina row to California teams. This dropped them out of the Platinum division and into the Gold division. One game was a particularly hard loss as it was one of those games were the ref had a very quick whistle--it seemed like especially against us, but I am always aware that might just be my filter.

Sunday began with our team trouncing another team 15-1. Danger Boy spent a couple of periods as goalie just for the heck of it--he hasn't played in goal for a good 3 years, so it was fun to watch.

Sunday afternoon brought a true battle against a team from the Chicaco area that has a player that is about 6'1 and 200 lbs. of pure muscle. Picture an adolsescent Arnold Schwarzanegger. I'd really like to see his birth certificate and his bloodwork. The game started out evenly matched--it went to 3-3 fairly quickly, but by the third period the score was 6-3 Chicago. If we lost the game the boys were out of medal contention completely. Backs against the wall our guys gave it all they got and tied up the game with 4 seconds left. The tieing goal was a pass from Danger Boy from full tank (that means all the way across the pool) to his good friend who scored the goal. 

The tie-breaker went to a shoot out--which we won! Excitement abounded. Just before dinner we realized the score of the game was reported incorrectly and the official standings had the other team as the winners. Drama ensued--but my emails to everyone I could email at USA Water Polo resulted in us getting a call during dinner at P.F. Changs that a correction had been made. Relief. 

What else . . .?

These two appear to be making headway in their campaign to become team managers this fall (a job usually reserved for senior girls). They are in charge of the coaches clipboard and the cooler. At night they play poker with the boys (all 15 of them). It has been rumored that Danger Boy is actually being nice to his sister. 

And?

There is no better feeling in the world than driving a group of athletes home after a win like the game against Chicago. Adrenaline, excitement and a feeling of having accomplished something as a team make for a real feeling of euphoria. I'm lucky to be along for the ride.

Read This Aloud With Your Best Portuguese Accent

and picture it coming from a guy who looks a whole lot like this:

It's not all about winning. It's about playing with heart and playing as a team. Life goes too fast . . . you need to be in the moment. Look around you--these other players are your friends for life.

Is it any wonder I think water polo is a great sport?

On the Road Again . . .

    We're off--to the 2009 Water Polo Junior Olympics in San Jose, California 

My kids have played a lot of sports and done a lot of activities, but water polo is far and away my favorite. The reason? Paid coaches. Parents generally coach the more common sports--baseball, soccer, softball, etc. I appreciate their time and effort (I've coached softball myself), but almost always a parent as coach means a vested interest and either being partial or bending so far over in an effort to be impartial that the coach's own kid gets shafted. There is generally nattering away behind the scenes and politics of every stripe--especially as the kids get older and more is (perceived to be) at stake. Tiresome!

Water polo coaches are almost always youngish guys with no agenda save passing on their skills and the love of their sport. Sure they like to win; who doesn't? But their egos don't depend upon it. Refreshing!

I love our coach because he is a great role model for the boys and is interested in them as people not just as athletes. Also, he has a crazy-sexy Portuguese accent (he's Brazilian) and if we're losing and he's frustrated we get to listen to him yell (in the nicest possible way, of course) in that accent. The winning is good, too.

If your kid(s) ever have the chance to participate in a Junior National event, I cannot recommend the experience highly enough. There is a positive energy and excitement that is electrifying. This will be Danger Boy's third trip to "the show" and I've enjoyed all of them immensely. Okay, there was that one snafu. But other than that? Immense enjoyment.

If I'm not around on Monday (and even if I am), be sure to check out things over at The Women's Colony.

The Feeling was Mutual

For over a decade our family has made an annual pilgrimage to a mountain resort. We go with another family and we stay for one to two weeks, depending on everyone's schedules. For 95% of our group, the trip, and all it's attendant activities (hiking, kayaking, mountain biking, game playing and general revelry) are as close to Heaven on Earth as it gets.

There is one member of my family who doesn't see it that way though. My now 16-year old son, Danger Boy, enjoys the same activities and environment as the rest of us--just in much smaller doses. One afternoon kayaking on Lake Mary? Fun. Four afternoons? You've got to be kidding. Ditto for the horseback riding, mountain biking and general revelry.

Hiking is something that the majority of our group does because the payoff is phenomenal. You don't get a view like this at sea-level.

Hiking is not really something Danger Boy does. His version of hiking includes a run to the top of the mountain--eschewing trail--and then when he gets to his destination he takes a quick look around before running back down and (in his perfect world) heading back to the condo to play video games. Meanwhile we've steadily made our way halfway up the trail and when we get to the top we are damn skippy going to relax and soak in the ambience.

This year Danger Boy was possessed of both driver's license and car, plus he had some sports obligations that made a 10-day absence on his part problematic. My husband and I decided we would let him stay home alone for the first few days and then meet up with us.

We had the usual reservations about leaving a 16-year old home alone, but he is a really good kid and the entire neighborhood was on alert. I made sure to call the house phone occasionally during the times we agreed he'd be in the house.

I have to confess that it was an unequivocal success. We were happy to do our thing without having to persuade, cajole, or manipulate someone into believing, "It will be fun!" He was happy to veg out with his dogs and his video games in the blessed solitude that is so hard to come by in a family of six. When he joined us he was an enthusiastic participant in all our activities. It was a definite win-win.

As much as any parent--a mom, especially--wants to have all her family together for vacation, it's important to realize that our kids are people with their own likes and dislikes and needs and wants. It sounds hokey, but I am reminded of the old "If you like something, set it free . . ." saying. I'm hoping that by not making him come with us I'll make him want to come with us.

Flower Fetish

            A few of my favorite flowers--taken on my recent vacation.

Fun in the Sun (and, in other news . . . )

Other news first: Hopefully you are all already reading The Women's Colony--the online magazine that is Mrs. G.'s brainchild. You may or may not know that I am a regular contributor there and responsible for selecting pieces for The Confessional. I'm looking for work that is raw or funny or touching (or all three) and of very high quality. If you see something in your travels through the blogosphere you think would be fitting, email me a heads-up. If you have something you think would work, polish it up and send it my way--the greater variety of voices the Colony has, the more it will be the place Mrs. G. dreamed of when she started it.

                                  Youthful exuberance who?

        Social Butterfly, Olivia (liltingly pronounced Ohhhh-livia!) and Bear

Olivia is Bear's cousin, visiting the U.S. from Denmark for a month. I'm confident the girls showed her a good time. Things about America that befuddle Olivia include our health care system, Smart and Final (she's never seen a bag of potato chips that "giant") and that fact that Danger Boy can legally drive, but still can't drink.

She was a little frustrated with the fact that American girls (or at least native San Diegans) can both hold their breath and strike a pose under water while Danish girls have their hands full with just staying under water. Personally I think there's a direct correlation between the percentage of your life spent in a pool and your ability to vogue underwater.

Thom Would Want You To . . .

We have made an annual pilgrimage to Mammoth Lakes, California for the last 13 years, 12 of them with our best family. In that time we've missed only two summers--one when Mr. Fix-it had just started a new job and couldn't get enough time off to make it worth going and the summer Thom was newly-diagnosed with cancer. This year was our second trip since Thom died 15 months ago.

Time doesn't necessarily heal all wounds, but it does make a new normal possible. We all know that Thom would love being remembered and having stories of the great times we all had in a place he loved so dearly. And remember him we did.

You know how almost all family vacations result in an inside joke or buzz-phrase that ends up becoming family lore? I still remember the summer of "Ichiro been bery, bery good to me!" Repeat ad nauseum while laughing hysterically and you'll get the picture.

One morning the little girls (we still call them that even though they're high school sophomores) were having trouble getting going. OMomK finally said to them, "Girls! Thom would want you to get out of bed." That was it. From that moment on we used Thom's memory to manipulate each other in endless fashion. "Thom would want you to pour me another drink." "Thom would want you to come to the pool." "Thom would want me to buy these sandals." "Thom would want to eat at Gomez's tonight." And Thom? Would want us to laugh and kayak and hike and drink and shop and play Ping-Pong and Rummy and Scattergories all the while thinking of him and what he meant to all of us.

                      Summer 2002 or 3--Our group 

                 Our "missing man" photo from last summer.

This summer--there was only one day where all of us were present and doing the same thing--visiting and celebrating Thom at one of the places we scattered his ashes last year.

I know exactly what I'm going to do next summer.

An Experiment: Shooting Landscape with a Zoom Lens

                      All Ansel Adamsy and whatnot