Fourteen

I am, by now, familiar with all the signs of teenagerdom: the ennui, the eye-rolling, the sassy answers to basic questions, the polysyllabic "No-ooo-oh." What took me by surprise was the abruptness, the almost-instant change from chubby-cheeked boys to angular, broad-shouldered young men.

End-of-summer shopping has borne this phenomenon out. No more brightly-colored school supplies for us. I didn't realize I was so fond of swim trunks with adorable shark, dolphin or palm tree motifs, until I became conscious of the fact that those don't come in "big boy" sizes. The Gymboree-type clothing that makes any mother's heart beat faster; dress shirts with puppies over the pocket, matching socks and shorts with race car appliqués, anything in primary colors (all of them at the same time). Alas, long outgrown.

Jeff has declared T-shirts in yellow, orange or purple to be “clownish.” Heather gray is the new preference. Dinosaur PJ’s? Forget it.

This summer, both boys' feet grew suddenly from size 6 to a men's size 8. It was a transition from the colorful world of the children's department to the monochromatic adult aisles. From Oz, back to Kansas. Rows of navy blue, brown and black shoes. Oh well, we had a decade of the colorblock sneakers. Jeff's object of desire was a pair of black skateboard slip-ons with skulls and crossbones. Trés cool for eighth grade.

Happy 1st Birthday, Chloe! (photo)

Campfire tales

On the long, long drive home from Michigan, Jeff was chatty and forthcoming about his week away. The veracity of his account is highly suspect but, like his mom, Jeff knows that a good story is all in the telling.

He was eager to tell me all about his amazing constructions. Using a glue gun, Popsicle sticks, sea shells and found objects, Jeff created a ship, a wishing well and an airplane, which by all accounts, were quite the hit at camp. Carefully packed in a computer box, they took up nearly the entire back seat.

L: Where did you get all the shells?
J: From the ocean. (That must be the Sea of Kalamazoo?)
L: Were they lying on the beach and you collected them?
J: No, I swam in and gathered them up. This one came from a crab!

Later, when describing the delights of the camp tuck shop, Jeff told me, "I bought a bag of shells. It was the very last bag they had."

Who knew that Jeff was quite the fisherman? He had the certificate to prove it. He caught a fish that was (show of hands apart) THIS BIG. "Do you throw them back in after you catch them?" Eyes roll. "No! I ate it." "Really? But you have to get the guts and the bones out first." Nods, does Ginsu-knife-chopping gesture. "Easy, then you fry it up." Mimes chef flipping crepes.

There was a field trip to a farm and each camper got to hold a piglet. "It was pink and furry. When I picked it up, there was a lot of squealing." I assume he meant from the piggy, but I might be mistaken.

Of course, there were nature hikes. "We picked blueberries. I made mine into a smoothie." (Thank goodness I packed the solar-powered blender.) I surmise that there was an opportunity for boating, evidenced by several choruses of "Rock the boat, don't tip the boat over. Rock the boat."

But the best news yet, whether exactly accurate or not, was Jeff's final announcement. "My cabin didn't need an extra counselor because I was so WELL-BEHAVED."

Jeff returns from camp (photos)

"Root Garden" Old Town School of Folk Music 50th Anniversary (photos)

Jeff at Wells Park (photo)

Hanging out with Uncle Arnie in Chicago

Somewhere in rural Michigan

Back in January, I sat down with a number of program brochures, summer calendar and school schedules to figure out how to keep both boys amused and out of trouble during the summer. Since Jeff has loved his previous one-week overnight camp experiences, I foolishly assumed that it was a sure thing: All I had to do was send the check. Wrong.

Jeff was suddenly coy when I mentioned it. "I don't want to go this year. It was too long away from home." That was such a transparent lie that I wondered what was really behind this pronouncement. "Six days is not very long," I offered. "You classmate Amy's camp is four weeks, but I think there is a two-week session." "Two weeks is fine." Pause. "Four weeks is fine, too." A few days later, I ventured my hypothesis on Jeff's change of heart. "I know a lot of the campers there use wheelchairs or don't speak or run very well. Is that it? Would you rather go to a camp with 'regular' kids?" Bingo.

So I looked at web sites and talked to other parents. It turns out Amy's experience last summer was not great--it's hard enough being a teenager, much less one with special issues--so her mother was camp shopping, too.

All four of us trekked to the outer 'burbs on snowy Sunday to attend a Camp and Summer Adventure Fair. Was that an eye-opener! The Fair was set up like any other trade fair and the presenters were just as subtle. I have had more success fending off perfume-wielding women in shopping malls. Girls-Only camps! "No, just boys here!" I announced without breaking my stride. Christian camp? Get thee behind me. Summer programs with computers, chess, foreign languages. Don't make me laugh.

Jeff was completely sold on a Wisconsin YMCA camp whose representative brought along a live rabbit. Amy was quite taken at a booth whose camp program includes a field trip to BUILD-A-BEAR Workshop. But her mother and I were listening skeptically. We were waiting for the code words, "diversity," "inclusion," "accommodation." While there are many camps for disabled kids only, it appears that regular camps who are proactive in providing staff and welcoming kids like ours . . . well, not so much.

We mothers had a visit to the twilight zone at one booth. I had phoned ahead of time to describe Jeff and the director had offered to meet with us at the Fair. Amy got the full treatment of the delights of this particular camp, her mom got the sales pitch, while I, simultaneously was told that they would not take Jeff. Yes, I think that was what the director said. It was hard to tell, because every time I tried to extricate myself with a polite, "I won't take up any more of your time then," he wouldn't release me since he had Amy, a live one, on the line.

Strolling down the last aisle, I stopped at another YMCA camp booth. While Amy admired the photo display, I asked directly, "Do you accommodate children with special needs?" The rep’s eyes lit up. "Yes, we do. We have a behavioral specialist on staff and we provide a one-on-one if the camper requires it. Our camp is committed to integrating these kids and making their camp experience successful." Oh, really? I tried to sound interested, yet non-committal. "May I have your card, your address, your email and an application? Would you like a check now?

Jeff left today. He joined a cabin of 'regular' teenaged boys somewhere in the wilderness of Michigan. I want this week to be a success, but there isn't anything I can do. I was under strict orders from Jeff to "just drop him off." That's normal, right?

My library card, a passport to . . . revenge

I have been an eBay member since 1998, back when people still said things to me like, "You send money to strangers?" or "How do you know a personal check is legit?" This was years before PayPal was invented.

So it was a surprise to be swindled on eBay when I recently purchased a flash drive/digital voice recorder. Having difficulty getting that shoddy piece of crap to work, I showed it to a techie friend, who said he suspected it was a bootleg item made with pirated software. To my further annoyance, I paid $10.95 for postage and the thing came in a tiny padded envelope with .92 cents' imprinted.

I dutifully tried to contact the seller. "Try to resolve trading disputes by communication." That's the eBay way. The seller's phone number eBay gave me was an unlisted private landline in Louisiana and unanswered, of course.

Enter SUPER REFERENCE LIBRARIAN, Bruce, who traced the domain holder's name, email and home address to someone in England within five minutes. I emailed "John" directly and asked for a refund. Right. So I forwarded Bruce's email to eBay and my short version of the sordid tale.

Guess what! John (if that IS your real name) is not a registered eBay user ANYMORE!

That will teach him to tangle with SUPER REFERENCE LIBRARIAN. Thanks, Bruce. My hero.

Hart's Farewell party (photos)

ChicagoMomsBloggers . . .par-tay! (photo)

Yahoo! BlogHer party at Viand, July 26. I think that's me near the back, a few faces from the right.




And the goodie bag! Wow! Jeff claimed the adorable mini colored pencil set from Yahoo! Hart got the Vox t-shirt. He presented his baby-walking charge Emily with all the cool baby-related items. Her mom was pleased. I gave sitter Tahra a t-shirt of her choice . . . .

Seven

It was dangerous, very dangerous, she knew. Death Eaters everywhere. Newspapers filled with harrowing news about "the Boy Who Lived" and " Undesirable Number One." A mere glance at the newspaper showed numerous photos of him and his supporters. She dared not even look closer.

New security measures were put in place hourly. No newspapers, magazines, television, computer. Except for necessities, it felt too risky to leave the safety of the house. An incautious word, an accidentally over-heard conversation certainly would spell doom.

She realized she had no choice but to carry on alone. In stolen daylight moments and under the cover of darkness, she persisted . . . reading, reading, reading.

Cryptic XIII-Harry Potter for $200

H: Is this Polyjuice potion?
L: It's actually nail polish.

Condoleezza Rice, the real-life Dolores Umbridge?

One is a fictional character (we think). Dr. Rice favors royal blue and Professor Umbridge clearly has a preference for pink, but do the dissimilarities stop there? You judge.

Toy Swindling, Advanced Course

Jeff, A.K.A the Swindler, was too quick for all of us. I understand he charmed you school folks into opening the store especially so he could buy that Dragon Beanie Baby. Therein lies a long tale of deceit and treachery.

Maybe I need to send a school-wide memo that Jeff is not to have money or buy anything without written permission from me.

I instituted a home policy in January. However, Jeff and his brother have gone to extraordinary lengths to weasel new toys and prizes out of unsuspecting teachers, relatives and friends. Constant vigilance!

Update from a friend: I've seen firsthand how the boys can charm toys from strangers. They must have some quality that inspires that.

Auto-Motive (art)

Auto-Motive II

"I've brought some friends over to play," Jeff announced as he returned from the Port-a-Potties, at last night's 4th of July festivities. Two little blond boys eagerly grabbed a few of the three dozen Hot Wheels that Jeff always has on hand.

I was slightly taken aback. "Does your mom know you are over here on our blanket?" I asked. Moments later, a tall blond man squatted down beside our encampment.

"Jeff, did you ask the dad if these guys could come over and play?" Evidently not.

This hardly qualifies as public mortification that I am used to with my boys. Still, I know that a teenager making overtures to a 3- and a 5-year-old is odd. If the dad was alarmed by his preschoolers being shanghaied by a much older boy, he did not show it.

Without formal preliminaries, the four kids dug into the cars. "How did you know these boys were interested in cars?" "We brought a few ourselves," the dad told me. How to explain that Jeff easily can smell out toy cars in a dense crowd of 12,000 people?

We adults made general small talk while the kids played. And then Jeff summarily dismissed them, "It's getting dark. You have to go now."

Hart returns from camp (photos)

Harry Potter and the Unfortunate Delay

Last year, I started a post called HARRY POTTER AND THE WISDOM OF TORAH. I decided to wait until the final book came out to rework the entry before posting it. My intent was to offer a rebuttal to any of the religious carping about the Harry Potter books. Those of you who know me know that no one insults Harry in my presence and gets away with it!

Well, someone beat me to the punch . . . there is a new book out called HARRY POTTER AND TORAH. (I think my title is better though.)

I have to read HARRY POTTER AND THE DEATHLY HALLOWS first, then read Dov Krulwich's book to see if he has additional ideas I can "borrow."

It now appears that this is hardly an original idea. (Great minds . . . ?) Here's another article on the same idea.

Thanks to Dov Krulwich's book, I learned that "AbraCadabra" means "I create as I speak" in Hebrew. We all know that the Avada Kedavra curse is J.K. Rowling's play on AbraCadabra . . . . however, I didn't know that Avada Kedavra is Hebrew, too. It means, "I destroy as I speak."

Nifty, huh?

We Miss Inky! (photo)

J. Inky is going to come to us again this winter.
L: I don't know. It depends if her owners travel.
J: They have to. They have to hibernate.

The Fairy and the Pixies

nce upon a time, there lived a kind fairy. As generous as she was beautiful, the fairy invited two orphan pixies to come and live with her. True to their nature, the pixies were mischievous, disrespectful, and a general nuisance to the good fairy-folk of the glen.

The kind fairy endured all manner of mischief with great patience and forbearance, because she truly believed that with love, discipline and a noble example, the pixies would eventually grow up and take their places among the fine fairy-folk.

Except for one thing: The pixies would not stay in their beds at night. The fairy provided cozy milkweed pod beds, counterpanes of finest fairy silk, and fluffy, down pillows. But as soon as the lights were out in the fairy glen, the pixies would rise for a gay romp.

One day the fairy summoned the naughty pixies. She showed them an ornate oaken casket, which when opened, was revealed to be full of gold. The pixies' eyes widened, for they were as greedy as they were mischievous. "This is fairy gold," she told them. "Whosoever has a piece of this gold has the power to purchase his hearts' delight. If you both will stay in bed once a week, until the last star leaves the sky and the sun peeps over the eastern hill, I shall give each of you a piece of this enchanted gold."

Sadly, the gold remained untouched. The wise fairy understood: as much as the pixies loved the promise of the magic gold, they loved their nightly capers more. The fairy was true to her word, though. Once a week, she would present the ornate chest and repeat her promise. The next morning when the last star had left the sky and the sun peeped over the eastern hill, the fairy would rise and gather the pixies. (They had been cavorting about for hours). With graceful wave of her hand, the chest would disappear
. . . until the next week.