September 28, 2018
By Ekta R. Garg
Enjoy these Spurts from the last two weeks, readers!
My husband wears pink dress shirts. He’s shown up at work with glittery clips in his pockets and made jokes about it. He didn’t bat an eye when I put purple sheets on the bed last week. When all’s said and done, he’s pretty confident in his maleness.
Even he has his limits, however. Last week, as he got ready to leave for his first ever violin lesson, he hefted Twelve’s violin case in his hand and took a closer look at it. He fingered the flap that covers the zippers on the case.
“What’s this?” he asked.
I glanced at it. “Oh, that’s the Belle pin [Twelve] got when we went to Disney.”
He grinned. “I’m not going to leave this on there.”
He took off the pin and dropped it on the counter next to the phone. My eyes got wide. His smile got even wider.
“She’s not going to like that,” I said.
My husband didn’t respond, just said he’d see me after his lesson and left. A little while later, Twelve came downstairs after her homework and went to the mudroom to put her books away. She stopped at the counter on the way back towards the stairs.
“Wha—Daddy took this off?” she asked.
“Okay,” she declared, “it’s on. I had some pranks saved up for April, but they’ll work just as well now.”
After that heady announcement, I have yet to see any of these pranks in play. I don’t know if that means I should be worried. I’m sure, though, that we haven’t seen the end of this.
Last week on our drive to art lessons, we stopped at a red light. Ten glanced out the window at other cars around us. Just then she saw a woman throw a cigarette out the window.
“Geez, lady, don’t throw it at our car,” she said. “Throw it…down your pants!”
Throw it down your pants? I wondered. Where do my kids get this stuff?
“Um, because that’s not dangerous or anything,” I said, trying to keep my voice light.
“Well, smoking is already dangerous, so let’s just add some risk to it!”
I couldn’t even argue the technicality on that one—about smoking being dangerous, that is. Comes with the reality of being a doctor’s child, I suppose. Still not so sure about the whole “throw-the-cigarette-in-your-pants” thing, though.
Ten has thoroughly enjoyed her soccer season. This is the first time she’s ever played a sport as part of a team, and even though she struggled in the beginning because the team lost she’s learning that it is about the team. And the teamwork.
Winning, of course, would be amazing, but for the moment we’re going to focus on one life skill at a time.
Although she’s on the JV team, the coach has been gracious in giving her and other JV players who show up to varsity games a few minutes on the field. This indirect encouragement has made Ten want to play even more. Every single time there has been a varsity-only game and I’ve mentioned the email that states, “JV players are not required to attend,” she’s replied, “I want to go.” And we’ve let her; until this past Monday.
Originally our Monday was going to look like this: pick up both kids from school, give Ten a few minutes to change into her soccer jersey, take her to the varsity game that started at 4 p.m., get Twelve to the music studio for her guitar lesson by 4 p.m., bring both kids home, prep dinner and leave for the new writing class I’ve started taking by 5:45.
I already know what you’re thinking; I can’t be in two places at 4 p.m. That wasn’t going to stop me from trying.
I decided to be kind of Zen about the whole thing and roll with it. I knew my husband would call at some point and bail me out somewhere. I just had to wait for his call. And not forget which kid was going where.
After school, however, Ten got into the car grumbling about her homework.
“What happened?” I asked.
“We have to do this puzzle thing for math, and it’s so hard, and I can’t figure it out.”
She doesn’t do it nearly as much anymore, but I could imagine her with her arms crossed tightly across her chest in consternation.
“I remember when we had to do that,” Twelve murmured.
“When is it due?” I asked Ten.
“Tomorrow,” she said, her frustration evident.
“Well, if it’s due tomorrow and it’s that hard, then maybe you shouldn’t go to the game today,” I said, steeling myself for the reaction that would come.
“But why can’t I go?” Ten protested.
“Because school comes first,” I replied, firm but polite. “Besides, it’s a varsity game, and Coach said there was no guarantee you would play.”
When he says that I think it’s more to appease the parents of the JV kids who don’t end up playing than anything else. A soccer disclaimer, if you would. But I didn’t say anything about that to Ten.
“Fine,” she said through clenched teeth as she entered the house.
She hung up her backpack, dumped her lunchbox on the kitchen counter as per routine, and stomped—actually stomped—across the great room and up the stairs. A moment later the door to her bedroom shut in what was something akin to a slam although not quite there. Twelve watched her sister’s actions then turned to me.
“Just wait until she’s a teen,” she said.
I know I’m in trouble when the kids are warning me about that.