Last week, the girls and I were on Spring Break. But, on Monday morning, I had to go back to work. The girls had one more day off and they were home alone. As I sat at my desk, I was reflecting on the lovely week that I had spent with the kids and the memories that we had created. The events that occurred the last time they were home alone never entered my mind. That was the day the washer overflowed and they tried to use the turkey baster to clean it up. (http://minihanadoption.blogspot.com/2014/12/home-alone-sequel.html)
Suddenly, my phone rang. It was Cassie. I knew it was her by the wonderful ring tone that she had created last week. It goes something like this, "Mom, pick up the phone! Mom, pick up the phone!" I could hear Lacey yelling in the background and I was getting ready to tell them to call me back when they had stopped arguing.
Cassie explain that she had just been over to a neighbor's trying to find someone who was home who might be able to help them decide if they needed to call the fire department. Maybe being 20 miles from home helped keep me from overreacting because I didn't scream WHAAAAAATT?????
As Lacey yelled that "it" was smoking again, I was finally able to interrupt Cassie. She explained that water was dripping from the fish tank into an electrical outlet that's in the floor, causing the outlet to "pop, hiss and smoke."
I immediately knew the source of the problem and figured that I could solve this via long distance. One of our cats had discovered that the open space at the top of the fish tank was just big enough for his paw. I had actually witnessed him stick his paw in, grab a fish, and flip it across the room into a pile of Christmas gifts. Lucky for the fish I was there to grab it and toss it back into the tank. Since that incident, I had tried covering the open space with packing tape. But, the cat could still see the fish and kept climbing on top of the tank. My current solution had been to fool the cat by laying a dish towel over the top of the tank. I told the girls that the towel had probably gotten wet and was dripping onto the floor. I didn't think the tank was leaking.
The girls removed the towel but hollered that the outlet was still smoking and popping. They claimed the popping could be heard all the way in the basement. I asked where the outlet cover was. Of course, they couldn't find the plate. I suggested they place something else over the plate. Cassie replied that she didn't want Lacey to get hurt.
I then began to wonder if I needed to be more proactive. I told the girls to hang up to let me call a non-emergency number for the fire department. I called and tried to explain that I didn't think I had an emergency but that my kids were home alone and I wondered if they could get some kind of non-emergency help. I really didn't want a fleet of rescue vehicles descending on the house. Before I could relay all this information, the friendly guy who answered the phone needed to determine which firehouse was closest to our home. He couldn't decide and told me to just call 911 and have a fire truck dispatched.
So, I hung up and dialed 911. I got a recording that stated I had reached the Arlington Fire Department. Oh, right. This needed to be a local call. I hung up and called the girls. Now, at this point, I had really started to doubt my parenting skills. Were my kids at risk? Was I being negligent? Then, the little light bulb in my head went off.
"Listen," I told Cassie. "Daddy's new office is only a few miles away. Call him and see if he can come home. If he says he can't or you can't reach him or it will take him more than 10 minutes, call 911. Then, let the cats out and stay outside until Daddy gets home. Let me know what's going on."
I figured I had added just the right amount of motherly advice. Then, I sat and waited. They texted that Les had arrived. Then, I didn't hear anything. About 30 minutes later I called Les and got his voicemail. I called home. Lacey answered.
"How's everything?" I asked.
"Fine," she said.
"What did Daddy say?" I prompted. I was really expecting some kind of explanation. You know, I thought Les would have said there was no problem or that they shouldn't worry because he had fixed it.
"He said, 'good job girls,'" Lacey answered.
"Oh, well then," I said, "Yes, good job."
Later, I got the full explanation from Les. Cassie had told him if he wasn't there in 10 minutes she was calling 911. So, he hurried. When he pulled up, he found the cats squished inside a cat carrier, with Lacey seated on top for good measure. Cassie was practicing dance steps on the lawn. Les secured the electrical plate with duct tape and all was well. The girls really did a great job. And, hopefully all will stay well until the next time the girls are home alone.
I'm once again coaching Cassie's Odyssey of the Mind team team. This is a competitive activity in which teams come up with creative solutions to given problems. Our team is creating a drama about a group of school kids who do good deeds. The kids must write, edit and memorize a script; design and paint scenery and props; and make costumes. A key component of the Odyssey program is the requirement that the children do everything themselves. Adults may teach them how to sew, use power tools, paint, etc. But, the actual work for the competition must be done by the kids.
You're probably thinking I'm crazy for giving up my almost, non-existent free time to be a coach. Actually, I don't have any free time, unless sleeping counts. And, the state of my sanity has crossed my own mind multple times. But, if you read on, you'll come to understand why I'm happy to be a part of Odyssey.
Teamwork is central to success in Odyssey so we begin our sessions by sitting in a circle and socializing. The kids talk about home and school. They tell me about arguments they have had with their siblings and about teachers who they think act inappropriately. The kids have tried to define "fairness" in the context of school. They have discussed life and death and asked me questions about heaven. I love these moments, when the kids are sharing their innermost ramblings with me, unhindered by email or texts. Early in our Odyssey journey, the kids spent a lot of time discussing the feasibility of time travel. It wasn't surprising that time traveling became the basis of their storyline.
We have only five weeks left before the competition, so we've begun meeting twice a week. I've started thinking about time traveling, wondering if we could go back in time a little, to give us more time to prepare. On Thursday, five team members came home with Cassie after school - four boys and one girl. As the kids wolfed down a snack, we discussed our goals for the afternoon: to continue editing the script, paint primer on the cardboard scenery, and work on costumes. The girls settled in with the costumes, quietly chatting with soft music in the background.
I took the boys out to the driveway to paint, where the flattened refrigerator box awaited them. We removed jackets and tied plastic bags over shoes.
"Start in the center, " I advised, "so that you don't paint yourselves in." Yes, I know that I'm not supposed to help them. But, as the coach, it's my job to keep them safe.
"Whoa! I've got paint on my shoes!" yelled one child. I grabbed his shoes and headed for the kitchen sink.
"Hey! Watch out!" yelled another boy as airborne paint went flying. I ran faster.
"Look," yelled someone, "He's got paint on his jacket!"
"Now how did that happen?" I queried. "Never mind. Give me your jacket." I leapt out of the way of more flying paint as I made my way back to the kitchen sink.
We decided to let one coat dry and work on the script. We made progress amidst stories of farts and belches. I then decided to leave two boys writing and let only two apply the second coat of paint.
"Well, we're supposed to be genius kids," began one, "So, how would we react at the beginning of Scene Two?"
"Well," said the other child, "We'd either be super excited that our time machine actually worked. Or, we'd be worrying that our parents would be missing us."
I got outside just in time to hear one boy yell, "Look! He's painting your neighbor's grass." As I went to round up the two boys, another came outside yelling, "Mrs. Minihan! Come quick!! My friend got his arms stuck in the rungs of the chair!!" Right about now I started thinking about time traveling again, wondering if this time I could maybe make the clock go a little faster.
The girls took a break from the costumes and squeezed in around the table with the boys to continue working on the script. "The humor in our dialog is really good," began one girl. "But, we need to be careful that sarcasm doesn't detract from our storyline. You know, we're supposed to be kids who care about helping other people."
"Yes. We really need to clean up the dialog," added the other girl. "Did anyone notice how many times we've used the word 'well?'"
I left the room to clean up the fabric scraps left behind by the young seamstresses. When I returned, the kids were going through my recycling bin. Within minutes, they had used trash to create a "pet" for the homeless hobo who appears in Scene Three. And, so, we continued until parents began arriving and the children reluctantly left their masterpiece in progress.
"Mrs. Minihan," asked one. "Do you think we could get together over the summer and create a sequel?"
"We'll see." I promised.
Now, I'm scrubbing paint off my shoes and surveying my house. The kitchen table is covered with pencils, erasers, and scripts. The table has been pushed aside to make space for piles of fabric, lace and ribbons. There is a six-foot tall stack of boxes leaning against the front closet and about three dozen bottles of acryllic paint are sitting nearby. The beginnings of a time machine are in the living room. There is glitter embedded in the floor of every room of the house. As I scrub away, I realize that I've come to believe in time traveling. The future sits around my table every week, laughing, creating, negotiating and dreaming. How lucky I am to be a part of it all.
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| "Ms. Mittens" |
I just mailed my Mom's Mother's Day card last night. Many of you know that I am habitually late mailing letters and packages. And, I'm sure that some of you find this lateness annoying. My Mom understands why I frequently mail things late. She also understands that the longer things linger in my kitchen, the more love they accumulate.
Here's a not-so-brief explanation of why the card was so late. We had the card well in advance. But when I went to mail it, I realized that after the girls had signed it, Cassie had embellished the envelope with a 3 by 5 inch "Oma." There was no space left to write the address. Since I was going to have to purchase another envelope, I decided to wait until the girls' school pictures arrived. In the interim, someone's sticky fingers managed to get some kind of sticky beverage on the envelope. The pictures reached our house and I tried to schedule a time to purchase a new envelope and mail the card. A couple small obstacles were in my path. First, I am a little short on energy. When I saw my doctor last week, she informed me that my body currently has about half the volume of blood that it should have. The reason I'm sharing this small fact with you is that I'm convinced I'm on the verge of making it into "The Guinness Book of World Records," for being the only person on the planet who can function with such a limited amount of blood. And, when I'm listed in the esteemed book, I'm going to sell autographed copies on eBay. Then, you can say you knew me when!
The second, and more significant hurdle was finding adequate time to visit the fax & mail place down the road. This small, family-owned establishment has played a huge role in our lives. The business is run by the parents, their two daughters, and "Tony," who fills in when the kids are in school and Mom and Dad are tending their other shop. For over three years, these wonderful people handled the mountain of adoption-related papers that we had to fax and mail. They discounted our charges, saying that this was their contribution to the adoption. They made phone calls to verify addresses and to ensure that the paperwork with extremely short deadlines would all arrive on time. Tony frequently dipped into his own pocket to help me with the expenses. When my Dad was sick, Tony paid for overnight shipping of my Father's Day gift, to ensure that it arrived as quickly as possible. He did this without even telling me. When we received our referral for Lacey, the fax & mail folks were among the first to see her picture. And, after Lacey arrived, we had to take photos of the four girls together. I think you're starting to understand why mailing a package is not a casual stop for me.
Today I dropped Cassie off at ballet class amd finally went to mail my Mom's card. Before I could seal the envelope, I had to show the girls' photos to Tony. I then had to update him on Lacey's progress and the girls' grades. We moved on to discuss his young adult daughter and her summer job. After that, we covered marriage, divorce, religion and public education. We were just delving into the topic of domestic adoption when other customers arrived. Tony apologized for having to return to work. I told him that was okay because Cassie's dance class only lasts for an hour! As I left, Tony was printing a mailing label for the envelope. He has memorized my Mom's name and knows where to find her address in the computer. I promised Tony that I'd return soon and that I'd bring the girls next time.
My Mom's card is on its way. And, so ends the story of the love and care that went into mailing it.
