Month: June 2016

Some posts I write for other people, to share a funny story or an oddity of our lives, but others are for me. I might post some things on my blog that I wouldn’t necessarily share with the whole world, but if I write them down here they are mine for good and I can always go back and reminisce and remember. This is one of those stories that I don’t ever want to forget, but it’s not my typical Crazy Family Meets Middle East Misadventure.

We’ve been messaging with the kids’ school for next year, trying to decide on class schedules. Since the school places an emphasis on art and music the students all take band, choir, drama, or art of some kind. My kids have not taken band in Bahrain (Calvin did our first year here and since I don’t have anything nice to say, I’ll leave it at that). When they looked at their options for electives, both Carter and Caleb wanted to sign up for band next year.

And . . . I wasn’t feeling it. I think musical instruments are great, but I’d much rather have them invest that time in learning piano or guitar. Something that they wouldn’t have to drag back and forth to school. Something that they wouldn’t lose or leave on the bus. Something that doesn’t sound terrible when they practice. Something that has a usefulness beyond high school. Like Josh said, when’s the last time anyone was asked to bring their trumpet to a bonfire or to a christmas singalong?

Carter can’t be counted on to practice anything on his own and Caleb is my singing and whistling fool. That kid makes music with his mouth 24/7 so the idea of refining and channeling his talents in a melodic way would be lovely.

Caleb and I were discussing his class choices last week and at the end of our conversation I said, “Baby, I know you want to take band, but choir is a much better fit for you. My job as your mom is to help guide you and I don’t normally make decisions for you, but I want you to take choir.” His eyes filled with tears and he put his head down on the table. I rolled my eyes and said, “Really? You’re crying about this?” (OK, so I’m not always the most sensitive and empathetic mom, but tears over nonessential things drive me crazy.)

He shook his head and wiped his eyes and said he was crying happy tears. Say what? I was completely puzzled.
“Earlier this week in Health class, during meditation (oh goodness, don’t get me started on that mess) I was praying about my classes and how I really want to take band and I asked God for a sign so I would know what to do.”

Oh, my sweet baby. I guess something good has come out of that waste of time — 20 minutes of each class is spent following a guided meditation tape while the teacher “works” on her computer. I’m no dummy. It’s like when I taught swimming and made the older kids swim laps so I didn’t have to get in the pool right away. She’s killing time. Big fat eyeroll. I had told both boys that they could always spend that time in prayer — Carter told me he tried to sleep, but I guess Caleb actually took my advice.

He continued, “I told God that I was willing praise him with an instrument or praise him with my mouth, I just needed to know what to do.” Wow. That’s super deep for this 11 year old who just seems to be rolling along through life with a smile on his face.
“So when I told you that you had to take choir, that was your sign from God? And you were crying because you were happy that he heard your prayer?” He nodded.

Amazed that he was willing to take my declaration as an answer to his prayer instead of arguing about it, I told him I was proud of him and then told his brothers how God and Caleb had an awesome thing going and that they could also pray for things in their own lives instead of just asking me to pray for them. Carter, in his smartass way said, “So if I ask God for a sign will you let me take band?”
“Only if you ask him for a sign to let you quit Arabic,” I shot back. He decided it wasn’t worth the risk and said, “Never mind.” (He wants to quit Arabic and switch to Spanish because Arabic is “too hard” and after a lot of consideration I had finally given in and said Sí.)

I reminded them that God doesn’t always give us signs and he doesn’t always answer our prayers as quickly as we might like, but he’s always listening. Hug, hug. The End. Just like an episode of Full House.

Living with Camille is a bit like setting off fireworks on the 4th of July. We ooh and ahh and are surprised by each beautiful bit that is revealed, left breathless by the variety that often exceeds even our best expectations. And then someone sets off the Piccolo Pete and we all run for cover until the screaming is over. (If you don’t know what a Piccolo Pete is then you are fortunate to have never been subjected to these ear piercing disappointments that are found at the bottom of a box of fireworks bought on the side of the road. They are my 4th of July nightmare. No sparkles, all ear splitting shrieking.)

She gets away with more than the boys ever did because we are both so freaking tired. Truth. These days I might threaten and actually count to three, whereas with the boys I would only say “One . . .” and then I was on the move. God forbid they weren’t jumping to attention before I could get the words out of my mouth. But old lady bones move more slowly and her will gets worn down. I’m a different kind of mom than I was back then. In some ways for better, in some ways for worse. The Middle Eastern “inshallah” (God willing, I can’t control anything) culture has even found it’s way into my parenting some days. However, since I don’t want girlie to grow up to be obnoxious and self centered, I’ve been making a conscious effort to direct her behavior a bit more strictly lately. It’s my gift to the world.

The other night we were watching the Survivor season finale on TV and when they revealed the winner, Camille was not impressed. “She sucks!” 
In mom mode I said, “Baby, that’s not nice. We don’t say that. Don’t say it again.” So then of course, Bob pipes in with, “What did she say?”
“Hmm, if I said it wasn’t appropriate, why would I repeat it? It’s not worth talking about.”
Bob: “I just wanted to know–“
Camille pipes in loudly, with a hint of glee in her voice, “I said, SHE SUCKS!“

Exasperated, I gave a mini lecture about not obeying and told her to go upstairs until she could come back and apologize and follow directions. She stomped off upstairs to her room and Caleb and I went back to watching Survivor. To Camille’s credit, Michelle did suck, but it sounds particularly dirty coming out of a 5 year old’s mouth and I can’t have her thinking she can go around telling everyone exactly what she thinks about them. Real life example: this past week we were at Calvin’s sports awards ceremony at school and they were announcing and giving awards to all the varsity athletes. They read the name, everyone claps and the kid goes and picks up their award. At one point the coach called Calvin’s ex-girlfriend’s name and everyone in the auditorium is clapping. Then I spot girlie out of the corner of my eye, sneering and giving her vigorous and repeated thumbs down with both hands. Hysterical, but oh Lord, help us.

So anyway, she went upstairs to “think about how she could improve her behavior” and a few minutes later comes back downstairs, giggling, with a folded note in hand. She gives it to me and scampers off.