Latest Spurts: Missing soccer games and planning pranks

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.

I nodded.

“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.

Silence, first.

“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.

Latest Spurts: Sister talk and lots of swag

May 26, 2017

By Ekta R. Garg

Enjoy these Spurts from the last two weeks, readers!

Today is the last day of school, and because of that we’ve talked a lot lately about moving to higher grades. Ten and Eight will be sixth and fourth graders, respectively, this fall. They’ve already thought ahead, though.

One morning at breakfast they were talking about going into the eighth and sixth grades. Now, mind you, technically Ten hasn’t even started middle school yet. But my kids often extrapolate their current lives into the future.

“You’ll be in sixth grade when I’m in eighth,” Ten said.

“That’s when you’ll be doin’ your thang,” Eight said with swag.

As long as neither of them let their pants fall halfway to their shins, they can “do their thang” all they want.

***

Last week I received an Evite from the parents of one of Ten’s classmates. The invitation announced a backyard bash for the fifth graders to celebrate their “graduation” from elementary school. Because Ten gets along so well with the classmate hosting the party, I replied “yes” right away.

Later in the day, when the kids came home from school, I told Ten about the party.

“Finally,” she exclaimed, “someone understands how important this is!”

I didn’t want to give her my spiel about the whole concept of a fifth-grade “graduation,” especially because the family hosting the party is incredibly gracious to do so and really wonderful overall. But I wonder at this eagerness to create milestones out of things that are nothing more than a part of regular life. Like giving kids five dollars for losing a tooth. Why? I don’t get money when I put on my shoes, and putting on shoes is a learned skill. Losing teeth is not.

Instead of saying anything, I just smiled at Ten. The party is slated to be a casual gathering, so I figured I wouldn’t dampen her enthusiasm for it. At least we’re not being asked to get ready to march in to Pomp and Circumstance.

***

Earlier this week Ten and Eight’s school held Moving On Up Day. On this day, kids from every grade spend some time in the grade they’ll enter in the fall. Each child is assigned a “host” from the current class for their time in the new classroom, and kids get a mini course on what to expect come August.

Because Eight has been at the school since kindergarten, she already knew many of the fourth graders. The 4/5 classroom, too, is right across the hall from 2/3, and Eight already knows the fourth-grade teacher fairly well. I didn’t really worry much about how her day would go.

More curious for me was Ten’s entire experience. Even though this is her first year at this school, she has fit in beautifully. She’s always been a social, confident child, so I knew once she got the first-day jitters out of her at the beginning of fifth grade she would be fine and she was. But now we’re talking middle school. Whole new ball game.

So far she’s approached the entire idea of middle school with nonchalance, but the night before Moving On Up Day when I finished saying good night to her at bedtime she stopped me with a question.

“What do you wear in middle school?” she asked.

I have to admit, I was a little slow on the uptake. It didn’t occur to me in the moment why she was asking. But I sat on the edge of bed anyway.

“You just wear what you’ve worn before,” I said, “and anyone who doesn’t want to be your friend because of the way you look or your clothes isn’t a friend worth having anyway.”

She seemed satisfied with my answer, and I realized that maybe some of the nonchalance—just a little bit of it—is as much to bolster her own courage as it is to reassure us that she’ll be fine next year.

***

On Saturday morning after cleaning the breakfast dishes away, I went upstairs to take a shower and stopped at Eight’s room. She’d set up a few of her stuffed animals on the bed, and she was reading to them from a National Geographic book. Most of the other animals sat behind her on her window seat. One, her white horse, lay on top of her panda pillow pet on the floor.

“Oh, what happened to him?” I asked, entering her room.

“He’s sleeping,” she replied.

“Is he okay?”

“Yeah, I just put him to sleep. I had to…what do you call it? Sedate him. Yeah, I had to sedate him.”

“Why, is he sick?”

She grinned, and her impish self shone through.

“No, I just felt like doing it.”

“But…” I didn’t know how to ask the next question or even what to ask, truthfully. “Well, normally doctors sedate a patient if he has to go for surgery or something,” I said finally, trying to give her an ethical out.

“Yeah, I know,” she said, ever the experienced physician’s kid. “I just felt like doing it.”

“Um…okay,” I said. I went down the short hall to Ten’s room.

“Your sister sedated her horse just because she felt like it,” I said in a conspiratorial whisper.

Ten’s eyes got a little wide, but my announcement didn’t seem to faze her as much as it did me. It struck me, again, how well the sisters know each other. She was surprised but not shocked.

“That’s why we don’t want her becoming a doctor,” she said in a low voice. “If she did, the world would go rogue against doctors.”

Hmm. Maybe I should get my husband to stop trying to convince Eight to go into medicine. We don’t need people under sedation “just because.”

***

Last Sunday Eight had a cello recital, and the girls and I ended up going to it alone. Eight’s piece didn’t last too long—about 33 seconds, according to the counter on my cell phone’s video camera—and the entire recital ended after about 20 minutes. We grabbed Eight’s cello, congratulated a few of the students on playing well, and went to the car. In the parking lot, one of Eight’s classmates from her group cello class called, “Good job!”

“You too!” Eight replied politely.

As we got in and got settled into our seatbelts, Eight turned to her sister. “That’s K.”

“Oh,” Ten replied. She turned and looked through the back windshield. “Is she one of those kids?”

“One of what kids?” I asked.

A pause from the backseat.

“Nothing, Mamma,” Eight said.

“What kids?” I repeated.

“Nothing.”

“What do you mean, ‘those kids’?” I asked again.

“Nothing,” Eight replied patiently. “It’s just sister talk.”

I think this is actually the first time the girls have shared something with one another that they haven’t shared with me. I was torn, simultaneously proud of their relationship and as curious as Alice in Wonderland at what they meant. Whatever their code for “those kids,” it’s clearly something that belongs only to the two of them. And in some ways, that’s heartwarming.