Don't Wait Until Dark

We just passed the year mark of having moved into this house, and I have been waiting to climb to the lookout.  Not waiting as in, "I can't wait, get the sunblock and repellent!", more like, "Um, yah, that sounds like fun, but maybe after I finish cleaning..." (bwahahaha!  Has any mother ever finished cleaning?).  The kids said it was an easy hike, except for the parts that are hard, but that's just at the beginning and a little in the middle, and the pine needles are a bit slippery, but you can just slide down on your butt.  That was a motivating little pep talk.  While we're at it, why don't we get a root canal?

But with the weather warming, the sun hanging around past dinner time, and with it having been a whole year without my ever having gone, I had run out of excuses.  So, one recent evening I asked Guy if he'd like to go on a walk with me.  He was what I call happy-hesitant.  Guy has to "buffer" for a little bit before he can shift gears and add something unplanned to the day.  When he was finished buffering, we threw on shoes and sweaters and set out ambitiously on "a family walk"; Guy and I, Tessa, Jonah and little Nano, the other kids being off on adventures of their own.

We walked the old pioneer road just on the other side of the creek, and when we hit the trail head where it departs from the road, I stood at the bottom of a rather steep incline with a little trepidation.  I have an old-for-me condition (back in the day it was called condromalacia, which, in Latin means "Crunchy, Owie Knees".  My doctor informs me the diagnosis has changed.  The crunching has not).  This crazy three story tree house, with my dad's place and the laundry at the bottom, and our bedroom at the top, has woken up a sleeping dragon, and my bendy-bits are starting to really complain at me, and I have never quite gotten my balance back since the blood clots.

But I HATE being dictated to by crabby body parts.  "Let's do it!" I told the gang, and started charging up the slope.  (And by charging, I mean carefully picking my way up the pine-needle covered hill).  My sweetie, who usually does things at his own pace, chose to hang close to me, his hand often reaching for my lower back to steady me on the steeper parts of the trail.  I have to say, though I am an independent chick, feeling his protective hand on my back was my very favorite part of the hike.

After the initial billy-goating up a pretty gnarly incline (ask Natalie, it was Everest.  She even stopped trotting a few times), things leveled out a skoach, and the walk was lovely.  The path widened to a fire road, and we easily made our way up the last rise.  We reached the crest of the hill in only about 20 minutes and the view that awaited us there was glorious.

The hills in every direction were awash with dusky pastels; pinks and blues and grey-greens.  It was stunning.  We could not only see Jackson, Sutter Creek, and further off, Ione, we could even see the tall buildings of Downtown Sacramento, well over an hour away.  The Littles gathered wildflowers in small mounds, free to pick as many as they liked, while Guy and I pointed out familiar sights from our surprising new vantage point.  Soon, the sun began it's slow but steady dip below the horizon, the deep pumpkin colored orb creeping away behind a low purple cloud that hugged the horizon, until it went from a slice, to a sliver, to a vanishing glowing speck.  We paused for a comforting breath and sigh, and then sort of reverently gathered ourselves, our wild flowers and walking sticks, and headed for the trail.

As we headed back down the trail, I was surprised at how suddenly the path had dimmed.  Guy and I pretended we were sure we would get back before dark, just to extend the children's fading bravery a few minutes more.  But it was a farce.  Before we were halfway home, we were struggling, and by the time we could see the distant lights of our windows across the creek, we could no longer see our own feet.  Jonah and Natalie went from questions, to whimpers, to tears.  I started to sing silly songs, and it helped for a bit, until Guy mentioned a little too loudly that because of the dark he maybe wasn't quite sure of the way to the shrub-encrusted path across the creek.  Tears became morose wails that we were NEVER going to find out way home, EVER, and we were for SURE going to be lost in the woods all night, and maybe get gobbled up by a bear and diiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiie! 

The moon began to come over the ridge, and though only a quarter, threw just enough light to completely freak the kidlets out, and we were still a ways from the house.  I tried to convince them that the moon was kindly lighting our way, and look!  We could see our own shadows!

More wails!

"It's scary!  I hate this!  Are there bears?"

Tess, much to the relief of all, finally located the hidden trail leading to the house.  Jonah bellowed that he was NEVER going to hike to the lookout again...ever!  We stumbled down the hillside and bumbled across the creek.  The last 100 yards before the house, it's path well worn by the kids own feet, gave The Little's the security to open up and tell us how they REALLY felt.  I'll spare you.

I'll admit that the house felt very warm and inviting when we opened the door.  I sat with Jonah boy and Nano on the couch and listened to the epic story of our near demise.  Then I got up to make quesadillas and cocoa, which heals all wounds.

*****

I wish I could say the rest of the night got better. 

 Not so much.  

Other stuff happened that night that is unblogable, 

and some things can't be fixed with cocoa and cheese, but that's parenting.

It's Personal

Tonight we made our last journey through the swiftly shifting springtime-green turning summer-gold hills, on our way home from Adam's last track meet.  I know I have posted a lot about these meets, but there is something sort of sad and sweet about the whole thing, and it steps me away from my daily chores of cooking and laundry, and makes me sit still and focus very hard on just one thing; this child.  Even if only for a few seconds.

Adam is the first of our 3 oldest, very introverted children to step out of the shadows for the sake of a thrill, despite the necessary annoyance of a crowd.  A few years back he told us that he doesn't actually like running...he likes winning!  I was blown away by the news.  Who would work for all of those hours, week-in and week-out, for that chance, at the risk of a fall, injury and a tenth-of-a-second defeat?  I have rolled it around in my mind a dozen ways, but it still doesn't compute.

In fact, there is one aspect that I have never understood about runners, or anyone who competes in a sport where one tenth - or one one-hundredth, no less - of a second could mean the difference between success and the loss of a dream.  When I make art, I spend as much time as I need, as much as it takes, to get the end result that I want (or until I'm sick of it and hide it in a cupboard).  In some cases (embarrassingly) that has taken years.  But once the art is done, I know... I KNOW... exactly what I am getting.  Even when I sing in front of an audience, I get about 3 minutes to try to squeak out my best effort.  If it were up to a dozen or so seconds of my performance, right next to 7 other singers singing their hearts out... well, my comparison is falling apart here, but you get the idea.  Imagine, everything you care about, all that you've worked for, coming down to a few moments in time.

This race, though, was different.  It was .18 seconds different, but not in the way that wins any medals.  As Adam crossed the finish line in 6th place, passing a boy who, were it not for the fact that he lay on the ground, would have pushed Adam to 7th, my usual chant of "Go son!  First place!" was replaced with "Not last!  Please not last!"  He crossed the finish with two others in tow, and then turned to look at the timing board. 

"Hands in the air!"  Ellie cheered, "That means he PR-ed!"

Translation:  Adam has two moves after he crosses the finish line.  The first is his reaction to his placing, smiles, maybe a jump or a high-five, perhaps a head hung low.  The second is reserved for the special moment when he sees that he has achieved his PR, his Personal Record, the very best he has ever done.

And tonight, that was 16.77 seconds.

And he is joyful

and proud, 

and we are so happy for him.

Because you can't be disappointed when you have done

 your hands-in-the-air, 

very best.

And the bottom line is, out of all the kids at 43 schools from 20 counties, 

my kid was SIXTH.

That means, in the zombie apocalypse,

 Adam will DEFINITELY be just fine.  

*****

(Ellie made Adam a cookie bouquet, 

because that is what awesome sisters do

for a brother who could outrun a zombie horde.)

A Handful of Pearls

Adam did his very, very best.  

His best took second place in both his events.

During warm ups we had noticed that Adam wasn't out there doing drills.  I told Guy he seemed subdued.  It turns out he was nursing a pulled muscle and was in pain.  

Ice, arnica, pain relief gel. 

Rest

 and then race.

He didn't mind the first "second place"; it was more or less expected.  

That 110 guy was lightning fast, and a humble-ish winner. 

 But the second race,

 *sigh*,

 and Thor;

his gloating, drop-to-the-ground victory celebration, 

 and the pulled muscle...

The second "second" killed him.

After Guy and I got home at the end of this very long day, we talked about how Adam has been all season.  Really, almost every race in high school track experience, but especially this year, baring "the fall", he has been in first place.  But as far as the league is concerned, 

a second today means Second. Period.

As we talked about Adam's string of wins over the last five years, sprinkled with a scant few losses, it reminded me of a string of natural pearls.  Pearls are not perfect.  Some are more lovely than others.  Even within the same oyster, one pearl may be nearly flawless, while another nearby is merely simple and even unimpressive.  They are only compared to one another when placed side by side, and the line up is usually somewhat arbitrary.  What if they were cut from the string, and held in a cupped hand, all together in no certain order?  In that hand, those most beautiful, flawless ones are glorious, simply because they are.

*****

Isn't it interesting how we look at life so linearly.  We take each win or loss in the order they are fed to us by the conveyor belt of life.  Isn't it sad that, if after a string of mostly successes, we are not quite able to quite reach that high once more in the final moments, we feel we have failed?

I was blessed to learn the gift of taking life out of line when little Nano was born.  As a childbirth doula who has valued the gift of natural birth very highly, it was beyond challenging, after a cesarean and four home births, to have endured another cesarean under general anesthesia.  Me, - the woman who put all of her energy into making sure a mother's birth was the sacred experience she desired, that the first precious bonding moments between her and her newborn were always private and uninterrupted-  I was unconscious for the first half hour of Natalie's life.  My most idyllic birth, ironically, was Adam's.  My second. Talk about out of order.

It took some time before I realized this simple truth.  We own all of our lessons; all of our joys, all of our losses, and all of our victories, no matter what order they come in. 

***** 

Adam came home a bit ago, and I was surprised by the lilt in his step.  When we asked him how he was doing, his answer came simple and pure.

"I'm good, I'm really good."

We talked for almost an hour, and learned that Thor is suspected of cheating, but since it was not seen by officials, he was not disqualified.  Instead of being disappointed, Adam felt better.  He said, "Its like you and Dad said, I did my very best, and I ran a clean, honest race."

No regrets.

He sees his achievements, his hard work and dedication, and the value of each on their own merits.  He is proud of his work ethic, and glad for the friends he has made and the coaches who have taught him so much.  When he looks back, he sees all the good, even in the losses.

A beautiful handful of pearls.

The dude can fly

This amazing boy is so dedicated, so focused, so... fast.  It's not just because he's my boy.  I mean, he is, and I am as proud as a mama could be, but also... this dude can FLY! 

Earlier this season Adam took a misstep.  It started in the first race when he felt like he could have pushed harder, could have given it just that much more.  So in his second race he pulled out all the stops.  ALL OF THEM.  The 300 hurdles race is 3/4 of a lap, with 8 hurdles spread along the track.  Adam had a lead over the next two runners, but not by much.  As he flew at the last hurdle with all he had, something made him leap just a moment too soon, and with that early jump came an early landing, just inches before he cleared the hurdle.  His leg came down against the hurdle, and he entangled for a moment in it before spilling over the top and pounding into the ground.  He rolled on the ground just feet away from the finish line, and, as the runners just behind him overtook first and second place, Adam saw how close he was to the line.  He rolled again, crossing the finish line on the ground, in a very disappointing third place.  The fourth place runner had to literally jump one more hurdle; Adam. I burst into mother-tears.

And with that, Adam lost to his rival, a boy we call Thor, due to his Superhero-like looks and long blond hair.  Thor gloated in an over-the-top celebration dance, only feet away from where Adam still lay on the ground.  Guy was a timer on the finish line, and ran to make sure Adam was not badly hurt.  Adam caught his breath bent over, then stood and accepted a hug from his dad, which brought out his own tears, but I think that only his dad and I knew.  To those outside that embrace, it might just have looked like loving support.

Adam came to me next, at my trusty post by the fence at the finish line.  He slumped himself into my arms, and with a trembling voice, said, "I had it, Mom.  It was mine, and I blew it."  My heart broke a thousand times.

He approached the next race with trepidation.  The fall had gotten under his skin, and it showed in a second-place finish.  Over the next few weeks, he gained back his confidence and worked on his weaknesses, and took several first place wins in his two events.  Which brings us to yesterday. 

Yesterday Adam ran in the league trials and took first place in the 300 and second in the 110 (not a disappointment, because the boy who took first has rockets for feet).  But his greatest thrill was the fact that the boy who took second in the 300 was none other than Thor.

*****

Finals are tomorrow.  

Adam will be going up against Thor 

at least one more time.

Let's hope he can fly.

A Simple Means of Disposal

A note to my readers:  Today you will fall into two camps; The "I-Nevers" and the "We Had One of Those".  Hence, this post will be received in two COMPLETELY different frameworks.  You I-Nevers (of which I am, also) will be shocked and appalled.  Disgusted, perhaps.  You W.H.O.O.T.s (We Had One of Those) will think I am making a mountain out of a slightly smelly molehill.  You will try to tell me not to worry.  You will say YOU never had any problems with yours  (Oh, but wait! a whole bunch MORE of you will say you did have trouble once in a while.  Which is it, people?!)

So here we go.

Once upon a time, cave men decided pooping in their cave was not especially lovely.  Maybe it was the smell, maybe the flies, maybe seeing little Tronk Jr. walking around with a cave-truffle in his fist was losing it's charm.  In any case, one day a cave mom, we'll call her Grunka, said, "From now on, everybody poops outside!"  Of course, to Tronk and Tronk Jr, that meant 2 feet from the cave entrance.  Grunka then clarified, "Away from the cave.  And for good measure, bury it!"

Fast forward several million years, when Somebody said, "I know what we can do with all the poop! Let's bury a big tank just upwind of the house.  It won't hold much, but that's okay, we will count on the magic of nature to "break down" the "solids"  (read "eat" and "poop").  And then once every few years someone will come along and suck the muck out of the thing.  Done and Done.  It will be awesome."

Somebody's Wife said, "Fine for the "solids", but if I do laundry, wash dishes and bathe a few kids, that thing is gonna overflow."

"Not to worry!"  said Somebody, "That's all part of the plan!  See, we'll get these LOOOONG pipes with holes all up and down them, and we will bury them in the ground!  The "excess liquid" will just drain off under the yard underground."

Somebody's Wife looked skeptical.  Um, is he really saying we let the poo-water drain off into the yard?  she asked herself.  Under the yard, he would have corrected.  Same difference, she would have grimaced.

There was some ridiculous blah-blah about microorganisms cleaning the runoff up before it heads out into the world.  But all she hears is "underground poo-water pond".

And thus, my dear I-Nevers, was born what is still known today as "The Septic System".  You can describe it in fancier terms, and produce all the science to explain why burying a poop-tank in the yard works well, and why draining poo-water into the yard is not problematic, but all I hear is cave-man talk.

*****

When we were looking at this house as potential buyers, I didn't bat an eye when they said the house had a "septic system".  I had heard those words my whole life, and it was like the ol' grocery store choice of paper or plastic; baring any ethical concerns, it's just a different way of doing things.

Well, it gets a little more involved once you become the proud owner of a subterranean poop-tank. First, you can't see it, because some bozo BURIED IT.  You get a little hand drawn map of where it supposedly is, more-or-less, kinda-sorta located.  Because everyone knows that approximations are the hall mark of excellent planning.

Then you go online to learn about it.

First, you learn that though a poop-tank only needs to be pumped out every 3-5 years with "normal" use.  Not bad I guess, til you stumble on a chart that says, oh, no darling, not 3-5 years!  You are a family of  nine, so try every 14 months.

Next, you learn that you have to budget your water usage.  Yes, the little germ-ies like to eat the fecal nibblets that come down the pike, but they can only handle so much water at a time.  Yes, ma'ams and sirs, they get full tummies.  Too much water (even the nice sort-of clean stuff like laundry and shower water) can overwhelm the system and stop the process, causing it to... GUM UP WITH BLACK SLIME!  In other words, poo-water stays poo-water.  AAAANNNNDDD... if the "Leach Field" (that's the underground poo-water pond) gets overwhelmed, the water begins to surface, converting the field into a poo-water marsh.  Good times.

(Que peppy music:)

Time for a little math lesson!...
9 people x 1-10 minute shower each at 2 gallons a minute = 180 gallons of water
2 loads of laundry a day at 13 gallons of water per load = 26 gallons of water
2 loads of dishes at 4 gallons a load, plus another 2 gallons for rinsing = 10 gallons of water
9 pairs of hands being washed (hopefully!) after every potty break, averaging 6 visits per day = 13+ gallons of water
54 potty daily breaks at 4 gallons a flush with these old toilets = 216 gallons
Food prep and sundry uses, I don't know, maybe 5-10 gallons a day?

That's about 450 gallons of water a day, folks!!!!

Now, we are gross, so I only bathe the Littles about twice (which means once) a week or when they are crusty, and in the summer let the creek do the rest.  A few of us don't shower EVERY day, and one or two un-named souls have to be forced into the shower at gunpoint, BUT, those who do shower seldom keep it under 10 minutes.  So knock the shower number in half, that still puts us in the range of 350 gallons a day.

 Last, and my absolute most favorite, we read that the Leach Field must be kept clear of vegetation.  Roots can go down and crawl through the holes in the pipes, blocking them up (OR the black slime can also clog it in reaction to the roots; which is great cuz' it's always nice to have more than one choice for how your system will fail).  The awesome water, upon reaching the pipes and finding them impassable, decides to call it a day and head back home, YOUR home.  It finds the lowest toilet, tub or shower, and creates a whole new marsh, right there, in your house.  That's right.  Poo-Water-Opolis.

*****

We are blessed with awesome friends who do not want us to have a bog in our yard, much less the whole downstairs.  In the fall, sweet and hard working Kathy and Wayne came with junior workers in tow to help us clear the leach field.  Clearing a leach field means removing about 60 trees and a dozen holly bushes (think spiky and stubborn), sizes Charlie-Brown-Tree to Smack-You-In-The-Face tall.  They are awesome, we  are grateful, and hopefully,

hopefully...

our poo water will never decide

 to come back home.