Worry

I have a tendency to worry. It's a family tradition, you could say.

As a kid, I worried that my parents would worry. I also worried about my parents. I hated it if they were late getting home. There were no cell phones back then (so last century, I know). In the 90's, when we lived in Latvia, we didn't have any phone at all - so there was no way to get in touch and let someone know if you you missed a bus or if were just catching up with a friend and lost track of time.

In Latvia, when I was a teenager, it was jut my mom and me. Dad was, for the most part, with his parents in Belarus (there were weird residency and visa issues that resulted in forced separation for my parents). I remember waiting for her to come home from work in the evenings. Our kitchen window on the 4th floor looked out on the road that lead to the bus stop. I could see, once the bus arrived from the nearby town, a gaggle of people walking purposefully down the street. When my mother wasn't among them, I would begin to worry and pace. Back and forth, kitchen window to the opposite room window. Where was she - chatting with friends? Missed the bus? Or maybe she was hurt, or ill, or something even worse.

The mind wonders to dark places. 

I remind myself that "bad news travel fast" - my fathers' words. If something is truly wrong, I would already know.

I keep telling myself - she is probably just late, she probably missed the bus, she probably ran into a friend and chatting merrily, and will be home on the next bus.

I would get mad - and think to myself about all the angry words I would throw at her when she finally does come home. How dare she make me so worried?

I would get scared, and think to myself - "G-d, please, just let her come home safe. I will not scold her, I will just be so thankful to have her home, safe."

Because I knew how awful, how powerless it made me feel - to worry about someone, I did my best to be on time, to come home when I promised, to not make my parents go through the worry.

Of course they still worried, plenty of times. Probably about stuff that I thought was trivial, about situations that I did not feel warranted any worry at all.

When I moved away to college, it felt amazing to have the freedom where I didn't have to worry about someone waiting for me at home, worried. Does that make sense?

Freedom

We live in a suburb but very close to a small town. The town is cute, very pedestrian-friendly, and, in general, is a good place for teens. If only there were sidewalks going into town... or bike lanes... Our kids are completely dependent on us driving them into town. They can't go to an ice cream place, buy a treat, or meet up with friends in town without help from parents.

Or so we thought.

Our 14 (almost 15) year old has figured out a relatively safe way to bike into town. It involves riding on residential side streets, getting across a stream to the middle school property, then crossing over a very busy road (but there is a light) into a park, then crossing over that same busy road again at a different light a little farther down to get to the start of a sidewalk, then riding along the busy road but on a sidewalk, then getting on smaller side roads going into town.

Before you yell at me - I know you are not supposed to ride your bike on a sidewalk. But it would not be safe riding a bike along that busy road I mentioned. Sidewalk is only marginally safer, but still... And it is almost never that people actually walk in that section of the sidewalk (it starts, rather abruptly, near a merge with a major highway).

I was nervous and I made him promise that he would call, or text, as soon as he got to his friend's house.

He didn't.

For about 30 min, I was a nervous wreck. Then I finally called his friend's mom - sounding, I am sure, absolutely frantic. 

He got there just fine, he was playing baseball with friends.

I was so mad.

I was so glad that he was OK.

He eventually did call (hours later), and he felt pretty bad that he forgot to let me know he got to town safe and sound.

I am glad that there is a way my kids can experience independence and responsibility.

My son will not be biking into town in the next week or two - as a consequence of him NOT being responsible and NOT calling when he was supposed to.

But after this mini time-out... I am going to be thrilled if he does it on a regular basis (and calls me as soon as he gets there). Because he should have this freedom: to plan things, to feel independent, to be growing up. 

The funny thing was - I asked him if he had a good time... It was OK - it was good to see his friends, but it wasn't great because baseball was not particularly fun. I get a feeling that actually the process of getting into town was more fun than being in town with his friends.

End of Summer

Our daughter had her Bat Mitzvah last Saturday.

She did a fantastic job - she was poised, confident, and mature. I am so proud of her. I am so happy that the family, friends, and congregation were able to support her.

We try to stay as laid-back as possible when it comes to events and celebrations - because it's too easy to get stressed out over little things and miss the important stuff. It's good when people come together and celebrate life. 

And yet, I had to remind myself, multiple times - there is no Bat Mitzvah police (BMP). The food is not fancy enough? One of my kids' hair is a bit on the wild side? Ah well, it's not like the BMP is going to come after us. X, y, and z were not perfect? Good thing there is no BMP. 

We all had fun. There was dancing. There were games. And prizes. Honestly, I was very nervous about the games - I am not good at organizing people and telling them what to do. I should not have worried. Our 13-year old daughter organized and lead the games - and oh boy, she is good at getting people to do things!

Summer is wrapping up at a speed of light (300,000 km/s). We still  need to get a number of things for school (pencils! glue sticks! dry erasers!). Kids need some school-appropriate clothing (that's going to be a challenge... especially for the 9th grader who only wants to wear sports shorts and old t-shirts).

There are back-to-school activities coming up next week. I think we are actually going to skip everything except the high school open house. Because 1) that's the only one that's in the evening and 2) 4th and 8th graders already have a good feel for their schools and know how to find their way.

We are going to try and squeeze in a few more fun things.

 A trip to a new playground with friends.

A family bike ride.

A few more outings at the pool.

A trip to the bookstore.

A trip to the music store (to get saxophone fixed up and rent a cello for C)

And then the school starts.

Running

Our oldest wants to join high school cross country team. He started training a couple of week ago - these are optional training sessions run by their coach. Mandatory training is starting in earnest in mid-August. 

He seems to like it. 

Which is interesting because in some ways we are so much alike... but not when it comes to running.

Running was a normal part of childhood back in those days. Many kids, when they wanted to get from point A to point B, would just run in one happy pell-mell group. Not me - I just never could keep up. I honestly admitted this terrible shortcoming to my friends and neighbors - that I was a "slow runner", so that they wouldn't think I was not running along with them out of some misguided feeling of superiority. As it was, I did my best to avoid running whenever possible. 

It became more of an issue when we moved to Latvia when I was 13, where the school actually had gym classes and teachers. Gym classes were intense. We ran. We did high jumps. We did long jumps. We threw javelin. We threw dud grenades (yes, really). Your grade was based on how well you did on those tests - how high, how far, how fast. 

I routinely had a "C" equivalent in my report card for gym. It was a "C" only because the gym teacher felt bad for me - otherwise, it would have been an "F". I showed up, I did the drills, I practiced... I just never got better and never ran fast enough, jumped high or far enough to get a passing grade.

As traumatic and terrible as all that was... and let me tell you, being left behind is totally traumatic! For running practice, our gym teacher would take our class on a neighborhood run. Guess who couldn't keep up? The problem was, I was new in town, so after a few turns in and out residential neighborhoods and courtyards, I would fall completely behind and get completely lost. So I would end up wondering around random streets and mustering up the courage to ask someone for directions. It felt too mortifyingly embarrassing to ask "Where is the school?" So I opted for "Where is the hospital?" because I knew how to get from the hospital to the school (it was only like a block away). I still remember how to say it in Latvian: "Kur ir slimnica?"

Guess who was late for the next class?

So yes, so sad, so traumatic. But also - so cool! If it wasn't for those gym classes, I would have never tried any of those things. Did I hate gym class? Totally. But now, looking back, it was so cool that everyone had a chance to push themselves, to try something new... not just the kids on track & field teams.

I took a gym class in the 12th grade at the American high school. I got an A. Because it wasn't about achievements - it was all about putting in the work. I even enjoyed exercise for the first time in my life. I didn't have to take risks. I didn't feel uncomfortable or scared. I learned that I was able to run 20 minutes without stopping. 

I still dislike running and avoid it.

I do hope my kids get to try high jumps, long jumps, and javelin-throwing in school at some point even if they don't join track & field.

Air

According to AirNow.gov, the air pollution right now is at 270, "very unhealthy". It's an improvement from what it was last night and early this morning (>300, "hazardous" ). Fires in Canada are sending plumes of smoke our way, and because of weather patterns, our area is hit particularly hard.

I hope rain comes soon.

I hope the rain comes before the forests around here ignite because of extreme dryness, human carelessness, or out-of-our-control events (lightning). We already had a minor brush burn (luckily, it was brought under control) along the highway - probably because some jerk threw a cigarette stub out the window.

The temperature was beautiful (low 70's) this morning - perfect for a hike - but we can't enjoy the unusually cool weather because the air is just not good. 

Can't do: outdoor pool, hikes, kayaking, picnics, pick berries, play frisbee with kids.

Can do: stuff inside. Meh. 

I miss fresh air.

Airplanes, Military, and Nostalgia

On Sunday, I took my son and a couple of his friends to the WW2 airplane show. 

I fell in love with the Corsair. The pilot was clearly in love with it, too. There was such joy in his voice as he was talking us through all the maneuvers he was doing, flying loop after loop above the airfield.

The entire day, my head was full of memories and stories. WW2 - the Great Patriotic War - it had an enormous presence (a weight) for those growing up in the USSR. There was not a single family I knew that hadn't lost people to that war.

All those airplanes flying above, paratroopers jumping, with their parachutes opening up at equal intervals... It's funny how some things just trigger a memory, and then it's like a string that you keep pulling - more memories come out.

In the 80's, we lived near an airbase. There were planes in the sky all the time. I was a kid, and I wasn't particularly interested in airplanes (or weapons, or anything military-related) - but I remember that whenever we had guests, they were always a bit taken aback by all the noise from the planes. I was so used to it, I barely noticed.

One day, I was playing outside, and I noticed something funny in the sky - it took me a moment to realize these were parachutes! Soldiers were jumping out of a helicopter. It looked like white clouds being seeded in the sky at exactly equal intervals. The boys from my school got super-excited and ran off to the field where the soldiers were landing. I wasn't curious enough to join them (I may be regretting this now, all these years later... just a little bit...)

It's funny... so many year have passed - but the childhood, with all the wonder, disappointments, experiences, and adventures - some days, it feels like it's so close I could touch it. 

WW2 feels so recent - that was my grandparents' time. I heard so many stories - sad, happy, funny, heartbreaking - and they are all linked to my childhood in the USSR.

Down in the Grumps

I am in a mood.

Not a good one. 

How do you deal with bad moods?

Here is what doesn't work:

• Exercise (just makes me angrier)
• Count your blessings (just  makes me angrier)
• Take deep breaths (no change)
• Pet my cat (the evil thing runs away)
• Watch a movie (temporary relieve, but then it all comes back)

Here is what I'm going to try today:

• Chocolate
• Read a thriller for half an hour
• Go for a hike (if I can find the time)
• Play the piano (if I can find the time)
• Take deep breaths (because what the heck- it doesn't make anything worse... maybe if I do it long enough it'll make me feel better... or will make me pass out which would be somewhat of an improvement over my current state of mind)

Somewhat unrelated:  It's June 1 - International Children's Day (at least it used to be back in the USSR). Or perhaps not so unrelated because, in part, my bad mood is courtesy of one nearly-teenage child.