We took Kyle to see his beloved teacher Miss Amanda. Meera and I took a little walk and threw rocks in the canal. Saturday mornings can be so right.

Today was K & O’s last swimming lesson of the 2010 season. This was their third summer in a row of “Calvin Days” (i.e., swimming lessons with Calvin). When we started this, K & O were 4 years old and Calvin was still at Lehigh, living relatively close by. Now the boys are 6 and Calvin is a PhD student in The Big Apple. We worked with his schedule and found a whole bunch of dates that would work. Not every week — but many a week — he has made the trip out here (3+ hours round-trip) for K & O. It is hard to write about Calvin. I mean, where do I even start? Do I talk about how it practically brings me to tears to think of his devotion to my boys and my boys’ adoration of him? Do I speak from the perspective of his old professor– so proud of his accomplishments, what he’s making of his life, and his commitment to being an outstanding role model for young black boys? Or do I write as his swim students’ mom– recording how far he’s brought K & O in their swimming abilities and how amazed he (and we) are in what they can do in the pool? The thing is, Calvin is just all-around-great. We are just lucky to have him in our lives. I don’t know how to write or talk about that without getting all sappy.

So, today we ended another summer of “Calvin Days” with a Thank-You Lunch for Calvin after the swim lesson. For the first time ever I gave Owen a good camera and let him do the honors of taking the photos. He did a good job. I picked three of the many photos that he took:

Calvin

Kyle digs in to a platter of panini sandwiches

for dessert we had K & O's new summer favorite -- blackberries & sweet cream

At the end of the swim lesson today, Braydon and I went down to the pool for a little demonstration of all that they’ve learned from Calvin this summer. They are doing all of the swimming strokes, diving really well, doing flip-turns, etc. The big thing they mastered this summer was treading water. Calvin makes them do it in the deep end for 30 second intervals. They do great at it. Calvin wants us to sign them up for competitive swimming this winter. We’ll see.

As we end this third year of swimming lessons with Calvin, I am left with the same feelings that I’ve had the other two summers: I don’t know which I’m more happy about– what Calvin is teaching them in the pool, or what Calvin is teaching them outside the pool. I’m glad I don’t have to choose just one, and I’m so grateful to Calvin for both.

“The way I see it, if you want the rainbow, you gotta put up with the rain.” ~Dolly Parton

Rainbows have been really big with us here this summer. Ever since the boys’ birthday we are all full-believers that K&O’s birthmother sends us the rainbows. Rainbows are special, always and for everyone (I assume), but in recent months –for us– they have become more special. We don’t get them very often, but when we do lately they seem pronounced and they seem to appear at the most profound moments.

The night before last, Meera was asking me to “draw rainbow!” “draw rainbow!” “draw rainbow!” I sat with her at her little table in the kitchen and obliged her commands for three rainbows in a row. I’d draw them with her pencil, then color them in with her crayons. She sat, enthralled, watching. She is heavy into drawing-coloring-etc. (and, in all truth, has probably already spent more time doing these activities –at age two– than her brothers have ever spent in their two entire lifetimes combined). After my third rainbow Meera moved on and started in with, “draw rainbow Ky Ky!” “draw rainbow Ky Ky!” “peeeeease draw rainbow Ky Ky!”  Kyle, who probably can’t think of many things he’d rather less do than to draw rainbows, and who was playing basketball with his brother at the time, worked actively at fully ignoring her. Owen, who surely was just relieved that his sister wasn’t begging for him to “draw rainbow,” helped out his brother by keeping right on with the basketball game. Kyle and Owen basically hate drawing/coloring/anything-related-to-fine-motor-skills. While they can waterski, shoot hoops, hit a baseball, or do a backward flip into the swimming pool with the best of the best of ’em — writing, drawing, coloring, even buttoning a shirt, is a major challenge for them. And the honest-to-God truth is that some combination of them being ‘naturally’ (physiologically?) weak in this area, us not forcing them to do it much, and them simply hating it, has led to this result: now, at age 6, K&O are way below average in their developmental abilities to do anything related to fine motor skills. This is a tough one for me because while I am amazed and awed with their natural athletic ability (i.e., gross motor skills), I also have some heavily conflicted feelings (and just recently beginning to verge on worry) about their lack-of-ability and lack-of-interest in anything related to fine motor skills. Plus, I am a professor after all, and put no small value on capacities such as… ummmm…. writing (penmanship! etc!!). Their teachers tell us not to worry, and for the most part I don’t, but I do think about it. And as the years go by I think about it more. Aside from the obvious school-work-related issues that may crop up with this, I also think a lot about what the ramifications will be (both positive and negative) for my boys apparently fitting right into the mold of popular stereotypes about black boys (i.e., black boys are awesome athletes *and* black boys are awful students). I will leave it at that– but if you are reading, and if you know anything about any of this stuff, then surely you can imagine my trepidation. Anyway… so… back to Meera and the “peeeeease draw rainbow Ky Ky!”… most often I just let it slide, but I have been vowing to myself of late that I will begin in earnest to actively and in the most positive-upbeat-ways-possible encourage K&O to do more practicing in the fine motor skills department. So, I called out to Kyle and together with Meera, with a little wink in my eye to my sweet Kyle, I began in with the “oh peeease Ky Ky! draw your baby sister a rainbow!” “come on Ky Ky! she wants big brother to draw a rainbow!” He pretty quickly relented, and came over to the table– all sweaty and out of breath from his basketball game. The next TWENTY MINUTES were spent PAINFULLY (and I’m not sure for whom it was more painful– Kyle, or me) producing the above masterpiece. Meera lost interest after about two minutes and ran off to play with Owen. Kyle desperately wanted to take off too, but I made him stick it out. And I made myself stick it out too. It was not easy. And we sat there — him and I — with him working on this for twenty of probably the longest minutes of my life. No joke. In the end, he was very proud of his accomplishment (although, in all honesty, he was, more than that, just plain glad the ordeal was over), and watched as I taped it onto the refrigerator.

This summer held a week of baseball camp for Kyle (post here) and gymnastics classes once a week for Owen. Owen, it turns out, is really good at gymnastics. Like, really good. At the start of the summer, when I registered him for class, they asked a bunch of questions about his capabilities. They decided to place him in an advanced beginner class because, although he had never taken any gymnastics/dance/etc. before, he was already doing cartwheels, handstands, etc. He was the youngest in the class and all of the rest of the kids had taken beginner or advanced beginner gymnastics classes already. He was nervous, but he did great. At the end of that first class the teacher came out to talk to me. She said, “It says on your registration form that Owen has never taken gymnastics before. Was that a mistake?” “No,” I said, “he has never taken gymnastics before today.” “Has he ever taken dance? or acrobatics? or anything like that?” “No,” I said. She then proceeded to tell me that Owen was “way too good” for the advanced beginner class, and that she wanted to move him into the intermediate class. The next week we went to the intermediate class. Unlike the advanced beginner class, which was pretty large and included at least half boys, the intermediate class only had only eight kids in it and they were all girls– all of whom had been taking gymnastics for at least a year or longer. Owen wasn’t thrilled about being the only boy, but he did great in the class, and loved it, and for the rest of the summer went on to excel more and more at gymnastics each week. It was clear from watching that he was quickly the best in the class. Last week was the final week of the summer session. After class the week before, his teacher came to talk to me. She invited Owen to join in the highest level class that they offer for his final week. So, on Friday, Owen went to the “Exhibition Team” gymnastics class. Right away you could sense the difference. Again there were no boys, and this group of five girls was serious about gymnastics. They have all been taking gymnastics classes for a long while, and it shows. It was kind of nice for Owen to be in a class where he was not the best. He jumped right in took on the challenge. The class was fast-paced and struck a good balance for Owen– quick but with lots of constructive criticism, and tough but with lots of fun. It was his favorite class yet. After the class the teacher encouraged us to sign Owen up for more gymnastics, and invited Owen to join that “Exhibition Team” group for the fall session. I had been bringing Owen to gymnastics all summer, and had been watching him each week, but luckily Braydon had come for the last 15 minutes of that final class so he got to see just how strong Owen is in gymnastics. We’ve talked a lot about it in the past few days and we both agree that while we don’t want to pigeon-hole him so young (and we want him to explore a whole host of sports and activities), we also don’t feel that we should hold back an obvious talent. So, today I am signing up Owen for the fall session. He’s thrilled. (and Kyle, who has been asking for a year now to play ice hockey — we have no idea how he got that into his head — is going to be taking ice skating class this fall. phew!–navigating the twin terrain with this kind of stuff is –let me tell you– not easy.) We have no clue what will happen with Owen and gymnastics down the road. What we do know is that at least for now he loves it, he is really good at it, and he is incredibly obedient, well-behaved, and never bored in class (which, to us, says a lot). Owen can do cartwheels, round-offs, and is very close to mastering back handsprings. He can do a cartwheel on the balance beam. He is very good at the uneven bars (can do almost perfect dismounts, etc.). And he loves the springboard/vault-type stuff. Owen’s gymnastics teachers tell me that they “show him something once and he picks it up immediately.” But for me, the bottom line is that after after gymnastics class the first thing Owen says to me is, “How long was that? Was that a whole hour?” I say, “Yes, that was a whole hour.” And then he looks shocked and dismayed every time and tells me that  he “can’t believe that was only an hour because it seemed like about five or seven minutes.” We shall see what happens this fall.

• We are just back from a trip to Atlanta. Big post about that (awesome) trip coming soon.
• Our flight home from Atlanta was delayed, and after a long day, we pulled into our driveway just a bit after 1am Tuesday night/Wednesday morning. Braydon clicked the garage door opener and nothing happened. He clicked it again. Nothing. He clicked like a madman. Nothing. With no other way into the house, we started to panic. Leaving the three kids sleeping in the backseat, Braydon and I got out of the car and walked to the front yard of the house— seeing no lights on (not even the nightlight that is always on in the upstairs bathroom), it quickly became obvious that our power was out. Nightmare. We will forever now carry a key to our front door with us… but prior to Tuesday night/Wednesday morning we stupidly did not. After a call to the power company (who said, “call back at 8am,” and with no other viable options, we had to call Margie at 1:30am, waking her up, and asking to borrow our own house key from her. Nightmare. We drove to her house, got the key from our rudely-awoken-pajama’d-in-the-middle-of-the-night-nanny-from-heaven, drove home, got into the house, somehow found flashlights in the pitch dark, and managed to have the three bambinos miserably, but safely, in bed and semi-asleep by 2:15am. It is very hot here (not as hot as Atlanta, but still– very hot), and with no AC [AC required for M to sleep– she’s spoiled like that], no fans [fan required for K to sleep– he’s spoiled like that], no nightlights [nightlight required for O to sleep– he’s spoiled like that], etc., etc., etc., we were in some kind of hazy-fuzzy-surreal-pitch-dark funk. Nightmare. There were tears shed. {for the record: by Mama only.} We spent the entire next day and night without power. No water, no stove, no way to shower or bathe after traveling… lost everything in our freezers and fridge… etc., etc., etc. Nightmare. More tears shed. {for the record: by Mama only.} Finally, Thursday the power came back. But the thing with things like this is that the aftermath is almost as nightmarish as the nightmare itself. Life seemed totally and completely derailed by the time the power came back on. More tears shed. {for the record: by Mama only.} We are currently working our tails off to get back on track and cope with the messy, messy aftermath. More tears shed. {for the record: by Mama only.} We have re-realized for the millionth time what we already knew we were: we are wooses, wimps, wickedly-spoiled people who have become utterly and sickeningly and pathetically dependent on our creature comforts. While camping in Assateague Island (with twin three year olds) or trekking across the Yucatan (with an infant) don’t phase us, while at home we are mercilessly at the mercy of the power company and all of the other powers-that-be that make our house our home. We like our adventures but we rely –heavily– on coming home to our smooth-as-silk-oasis-that-we-call-HOME. We are a pathetic bunch who have no right complaining about anything. So, I’ll just stop there. But suffice it to say: Lots of tears have been shed. {for the record: by Mama only.}
• The MRSA is back. (click here) Oh yes it is. With a vengeance. We first noticed fresh new very-MRSA-like-looking-abscess-type-things on the legs of Owen and Meera while we were still in Atlanta on Tuesday. We got M and O to our (angelic) family doctor as soon as the power-outage-dust-had-settled on Thursday afternoon. She confirmed what we suspected: MRSA is again amongst us. This is gross, gross stuff people. I’m talking seriously gross.  If you’re unfamiliar with it just send up a prayer right now that you’ll never have to familiarize yourself. So, our three are on another round of the MRSA-antibiotics. Three times in three months for our three now. And on top of it, our pediatrician suspects that (given the come-backs) one of them might be a carrier. So… we also have to smear an antibiotic cream on the inside of their nostrils every night before they go to bed for the next SIX WEEKS. That is in addition to dealing with the actual MRSA (think wounds, boils, abscesses leaking fluid and draining puss and emitting blood and stuff). Again: gross. Oh, and Meera and Owen are both running fevers and needing Tylenol every four hours. Round the clock. Nice.
• Because of the MRSA we had to cancel our weekend plans. Those plans had been set since New Year’s Eve. It was supposed to be our second annual pool bash with the Slavins. It is just such a bummer to have to cancel a weekend like that with your college roommate. It practically broke my heart to have to do it. Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa. And I was so looking forward to all the margaritas that we’d drink together poolside. Lots of tears have been shed. {for the record: by Mama only… although the other 4 J-Ms are totally heart-sick about this cancellation too.}
• The day before we left for Atlanta I spent the afternoon at the hospital with Kyle. The day before he had stubbed his toe very badly. Like, the entire toe nail was pulled off and was left only hanging on by a tiny piece on the left side of the nail bed. Being the uber-responsible parents that we are(n’t), we put him to bed that night without thinking much of it. But when we went to check on him before heading to bed ourselves he was drenched in sweat, and moaning and groaning in his sleep with pain. And this is a child who– like his brother– has the highest pain tolerance you can possibly imagine (think skiing and skating and sledding for a week with a broken collar bone). Tylenol didn’t touch it. We then loaded him up with Motrin too. I had to sleep in his bed with my arms wrapped around him to get him to fall back to sleep. He was in serious, serious pain. Braydon took him to our (angelic) family doctor the next morning and she took one look at the toe and told Braydon to get him to the hospital. Braydon went to work for the afternoon and I took over with K. We saw a specialist and the toe got cleaned out and bandaged and — big deal for our boy — Kyle had his first ever x-rays. Turns out the toe is not broken, but it was a pretty serious foot/toe injury. Toenail is now completely off and the doctors give it a 50/50 chance of growing back. We are hoping for it to someday grow back (pllleeeeeeeeeaaase grow back!!!!!). Kyle loved the hospital trip and savored every second of the adventure (crazy, crazy kid). I was worried about his toe, but also worried about missing work and frantically trying to wrack-my-brain to figure out how we were going to pull off getting the five of us to Atlanta the next day. Here are some photos taken with my iPhone while there:
  

  my best-effort photo of Kyle. you can see he was loving the whole experience... especially that orange Fanta (a VERY special treat).

Kyle's best-effort photo of me. not sure what, exactly, to make of this. so I'll just let the photo speak for itself.

the x-ray. Kyle absolutely INSISTED that I take this photo for him. he proudly showed it off to his brother and sister as soon as we arrived home.

• Also right before we left for Atlanta, Meera suddenly and unexpectedly and out-of-the-blue determined for herself that she was ready for a “big bed” and began demanding that we get rid of her crib. This is a major development. As shocking as this has been, it is so Meera’s style to just decide this for herself and take it upon herself to make this next step happen. What is bizarre is that we had never mentioned anything about a “big bed” (in fact, we had actively avoided it since everything was going so swimmingly well with Meera’s sleeping). This shouldn’t come as a huge surprise, however, since it is how it went with sleeping in her crib in the first place (moving out of the co-sleeper from Mama and Papi’s room), moving from nursing to bottle, and starting solid foods, potty-training, etc. She’s got a mind of her own that one. It makes our hearts sing and sting at the same time. Anyway– Braydon took the crib rail off and she was sort of happy with that at first. But then we went to Atlanta…. where she slept in a real bed… and now she’ll never be the same again. She wants a bed– like with a pillow, covers, blankets, the whole 9-yards– and she’ll settle for nothing less. So, she’s been sleeping with us IN OUR BED (this is unprecedented for us) and the plan is to set up a real bed in her room this weekend. We will see how it goes. No matter what happens this weekend with the “big bed” this new stage of life for Meera has brought with it a flood of emotions and I am just soooo soo sooooooo sad to see my baby becoming a non-baby. Please can’t I freeze time? Please??? Why can’t she sleep happily in that crib forever? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Lots of tears have been shed. {for the record: by Mama only.} (not really; no tears have actually been shed; but almost; and — complete truth: a little piece of me crumbles and cracks with each of these growing-right-up-developments… that is the absolute honest-to-God truth. I hate it whenever my baby birds start to show any signs of spreading their wings and GOD HELP ME when they start to get close to actually leaving my little nest).
• So, given Kyle’s toe, Meera’s bed development, the trip to Atlanta, the power outage, the MRSA, and everything else…  we have been playing Musical Beds each night. Last night, for example, we went to bed with K&O in K’s bed, and Meera in our bed with us. But given all sorts of issues that cropped up in the night, we woke up with Kyle alone in his bed, Owen and Papi in Owen’s bad, and Meera and Mommy in Mommy and Papi’s bed. Lots of tears were shed. {for the record: none of them by Mama.} Also for the record: this Musical Beds thing is not conducive to healthy sleep patterns or sane minds.
• This afternoon in the midst of doing the umpteen-millionth load of post-trip and post-power-outage and MRSA-related laundry, we found our laundry room floor flooded. Luckily Braydon quickly diagnosed the problem (something about the drainage pipe coming unhinged???) and was able to fix it. But there was water everywhere and the rug and everything else on the floor was drenched. Ugh. When it rains, it pours. Right???

Never a dull moment.