Dance Festival

I haven't posted much about dance festival, because it's one of those things that is too big to wrap my brain around. It's 3500+ kids doing 6 or 8 dances. Lots of practices. Lots of mistakes. Lots of funny things, but difficult to condense into a few blog posts.

So, let me share a little bit of what happened last Saturday.

For months, the kids have been practicing here, learning the routines in groups of 50-100, depending on the dance. This week, it was time for them to get together with everyone else dancing their same dance and coordinating all of the formations and such. We did this in Riverside, on a high school field. And it was hot.

They spent the first 2 and 1/2 hours standing on Astroturf trying to figure out the intro dance, and were eventually released to sit with their groups under the shade for some cooling down. As the kids filtered back in, it was clear that Evan was not in good shape. Several of the kids let me know he had a headache, his stomach hurt, and he was looking bad. His arms also hurt from having immunizations the day before. So, we plopped him on the cool grass, soaked his clothes with cold water, and made him start drinking up. Within about an hour, he still had a headache, but his skin was much cooler to the touch and he seemed to be perking back up.

And then he went to the bathroom, which was a couple of blocks away, through the sun.

I found him, slumped against the bathroom wall, out in the sun, pale as a ghost and shaking. I took him to the first aid tent, where they had buckets of ice water, and rags to soak him with.

The first thing they did was stripped him of as much clothing as possible, so there Evan sat, 1500 girls passing by, flexing his abs for all he was worth. Which was good. It told me we didn't need an ambulance or anything. . .

But I did feel it necessary to tell him that if he really wanted to impress the ladies, he should probably think about peeling the matching Tweety Bird band aids off each arm.

Surfing Pics

Serious. And addicted.

What a surfer.

"Maybe I'll wait for the next one. . ."

Paddling out to where the waves were cresting (sadly the other photos of Ellie didn't turn out).

Tyler headed back down the beach to catch some waves.

"Are you sure I can't try? I don't have a cast yet. . . and my butt crack isn't exposed."

Growing Pains

It's rather fun to watch as the kids put lessons I have been teaching them for years to the test with their friends.

I know they don't realize that in helping them deal kindly and appropriately with each other, I am giving them tools for dealing with the outside world. And most of the time, I'm not even sure they are listening to me.

But Rebi has both accepted and given some excellent advice in recent days. She has also navigated a gossip minefield, going straight to the other person involved and setting things right. I would be lying if I didn't say I was relieved. We all know what happens when gossip runs out of control.

For the past two weeks or so, we have been without television of any kind. I told them they could watch TV again if they could go and entire day without fighting. Interestingly, it is taking this long to fully sink in that I mean no bickering at all. And today, one of them said, "This not fighting thing is hard. I'm really working at it!" And they are. And the relative peace is a little slice of Heaven.

Surfing = Torture

Really, after 5 summers of "forced" beach day, I should know better than to expect my kids to jump out of bed and make sure they have everything they need, right? Which should consist of:
1) a swimsuit
2) a towel
3) drinking water
4) lunch
5) shoes

Too much to ask? Apparently, although I would like to be the first to point out that the boogie boards, surf board, and beach chair all made it to the car. Shoes were too much to ask of Nate. Of course, we didn't know that until we got turned away at Denny's for dinner 10 hours later.

And somehow, even though she had her ipod, several magazines, makeup, a brush, and a full change of clothes, Rebi realized after she got done surfing that a towel would have been a nice addition to the party.

And even though I packed the food and drinks and harped on them to get all of their stuff and get in the car, we were still an hour later leaving the house than we had agreed upon. Because Rebi was texting and Ellie was madly folding clothes so that she didn't have to stay home with Dave, Tyler and Evan were playing a game, and Nate was busily burying all of his shoes in the backyard so that I can never force him to wear them ever again. OK, not really, but honestly, it feels that way most days.

And they force me to abuse them all the way to the car because surfing lessons are so evil and mom tortures them so very much to make them go out in the balmy water on a nearly perfect Southern California day, with two teenage boys who exactly fit the surfer profile. Which, of course, is not how they really feel- although I don't think Ty cares much what the boys looked like- and not how they acted once we got there and got surfing.

Sometimes I wonder just how spoiled my kids are around other people. Because I am obviously not instilling a sense of gratitude. I did instill some pretty good exhaustion today. This is the quietest midnight I've heard all summer.

Tyler, no surprise, was a natural, learning to surf on a short board very quickly. Ellie and Rebi were both able to catch some waves and now just need beach time. Just. Getting a hotel room is probably less expensive than driving back and forth to the beach from our house.

Evan's had lessons before so he didn't go out today. And as far as Nate goes, does anyone know what the risk of a broken arm that might need a green non-waterproof cast is as a result of surfing? Until I know that, I really just can't feel that the benefits outweigh the risks.

Escape from Alcatraz

Nate: Mom, do you know that Alcatraz was the hardest jail to escape from? Because it's an island. And sometimes prisoners can't swim so they can't get away. But I could get away. First I would have to get the keys from the guard and I could do that if I knocked him down first. And then I would unlock my cell and get a ladder and climb up over the wall. But I would have to have a boat waiting for me so I could jump off of the wall and right onto the boat and then it could hurry and get me away before they know I'm gone.

Mom: Nate, why are you worried about escaping from Alcatraz.

Nate: Because Mom, you wouldn't want to be in jail. . .

Mom: Well, than maybe it would be easier not to do bad things that might land you in jail?

Speaking of the Therapy Fund

I forgot to blog about this last month, when it happened. Because I was such a well of funny and interesting posts, I didn't have any room to fit it in. . .

While Tyler was at his friend's house, his friend's sister was limping around from an unspecified knee injury. She had seen a couple of different doctors, and no one could tell them why her knee wasn't working. She and her mom (and Tyler) had a little conversation.

Mom: Come here and let me massage your knee. Let's see if we can get it working again
A: Why?
Mom: Because if we don't and your knee doesn't heal, you're going to have to go to physical therapy and it will probably hurt.
Tyler: My mom has a physical therapy fund. She puts money in it for us all of the time.

Hmm. . .close. Very very close.

From the mouth of Nate

Also known as "7 year olds do not appreciate their moms. AT ALL!"

Nate: Mom, your "about me" profile isn't really true anymore."
Mom: Why do you say that?
Nate: Because you don't do the laundry anymore.
Mom: Shut-up, you turd bucket!
Nate: What? You never do laundry anymore!

(How much money should I put in the therapy fund for calling him a turd bucket? How much should I take out to punish him for not noticing me slaving over laundry???)