Callapidder Days

Somehow, my firstborn son is in sixth grade. It doesn’t make any sense, really, because I’m pretty sure it was just a few weeks ago that he was trotting off to Kindergarten.

Six years? It’s been that long?

He’s traded in his crayons for pens (erasable, for school), his backpack for the now-popular messenger bag, coloring pages for loose-leaf paper and countless notebooks. He has a locker, changes rooms for different classes (remember the excitement of changing rooms?), and owns a scientific calculator.

We’ve noticed that he spends more time adjusting the direction of his hair in the morning, and that he’s carrying breath mints to school with him. (Uh-oh. Is this cause for concern?)

Sixth grade officially started last Wednesday.

I rush outside with him to take the annual quick-before-the-bus-comes photo. Coaxing a smile is getting more difficult. He’s ready to go; who has time to pose for mom?

That afternoon, when asked about his first impressions of sixth grade, he diplomatically tells me, “Well…it’s not as bad and I thought it would be. But it’s not as good as I hoped it would be.” Which I think is code for, “Meh…it’s school.”

Though he keeps getting older, there are things that remain the same. He’s creative. He loves books. He’s loyal and stubborn and full of opinions. He analyzes everything and memorizes like a champ.

Those things were true six years ago and they’re true today.

Oh, and another thing. We love him with everything we’ve got. That’ll never change.

Every year, toward the end of August, I’m struck with this same feeling.

Or rather, struck with these same feelings.

On the one hand, I am quite ready for school to begin. I’m not exactly the parent leaping through Staples singing “It’s the most wonderful time of the year…” (though I do love those office supplies), but I’m ready for the fall routine to kick in. Even though we probably won’t be any less busy, our schedule will at least be more predictable, more consistent.

I’m a big fan of consistency.

Besides, I find fall (or at least early fall) to be delightful. I love the cooler air, the changing leaves, the idea of drinking hot coffee on a cool morning.

On the other hand, I am wondering if I squandered the summer — at least to some extent. I second-guess my choices, the way I filled our days. I fret about missed opportunities to teach my kids important life lessons, lessons more easily taught when the distraction of school and homework aren’t around. I wonder if I was too grumpy too often, and I hope my kids could tell how very much I love them.  I worry that, with the start of school, my ability to influence them wanes.  I regret the shushing, the impatience, the times I messed up. I wish I’d been a better steward of the summer months.

My husband would tell you that I worry too much. And he would tell me that things are fine — the kids are happy and healthy and they know I love them. They had fun this summer, they learned, they tried new things.

But still. Sometimes I’m just overwhelmed by the whole “we only have one shot at this parenting thing” concept. And I wish I would do a better job.

Today, I’m thankful for my kids. And I’m thankful that every new season — even the busy school seasons that fill up with homework and projects and all kinds of activities — present new opportunities to teach them and to love them and to learn with them.

I grew up in the country — back roads, starry skies, well water, woods to explore. But I did not grow up on a farm. I know very little about livestock and I can’t even identify basic farm equipment.

(“Tractor” is as specific as I get. Well, maybe “green tractor” or “red tractor.”)

However, the fact that I’m a non-farm girl who’s become fairly suburbified (and yes, I just made up that word) does not prevent me from enjoying the county agricultural fair.

So Chad and I took the boys to the fair last night.

After some quick calculations in my head, I realized it had been nearly 20 years since I’d been to a real, actual county fair — complete with 4-H exhibits, animal barns, and assorted competitions that might perplex your average city-dweller.

Clearly, it had been too long. But I was looking forward to embracing my rural (if not quite farm-y) roots and exposing the kids to some new experiences.

It quickly became apparent that my kids are also not farm-kids — well, one of them, at least.

As soon as we arrived, we visited several barns, encountering cows, goats, and chickens. L.(4) was caught up in all-things-animal, and when we walked past a family who had brought their Boston Terrier along, L. pointed at the poor dog and shouted, “Cat!!!”

Forget livestock — obviously, we’re still working on basic pet identification. The sad thing is, we had a cat for many years, so you’d think he could tell the difference. But I guess L. hasn’t had much experience with Boston Terriers, so the poor thing was labeled a cat last night. He (the dog, of course) must have been mortified.

Putting the dog/cat incident behind us, we checked out more animals (the rabbits were especially cute), picked up some hot dogs, and headed for the Hay Hauling Competition.

To be completely honest with you, I didn’t know what a hay hauling competition was. I mean, I could see that there was a big pile of 30 or so hay bales in the middle of the arena. And I gathered — from the title of the competition — that said hay was going to be hauled.

But that’s all I knew.

I didn’t know if it was going to be hauled by people or animals, or whether machines or equipment would be used. I didn’t know where it would be hauled to or how someone would win.

But it sounded interesting. And besides, it was hot and muggy out, so sitting down and watching an event sounded more inviting than hiking through over-heated livestock barns.

In case you — like me — have never been to a hay hauling competition, I’ll give you the basic idea. Teams of 3 compete against each other to load 30-some bales of hay in a pickup truck, drive around an obstacle course (hoping the hay stays stacked) and unload the bales back to their original formation on the ground. Fastest time wins. There are other rules about how many layers of bales they need to have in their truck, but I didn’t absorb all those details.

At first glance, the idea of watching people stack & unstack hay and drive around in a circle does not sound too exciting. But we were fascinated.

Those hay-hauling boys were fast and strong. And the tension in the arena — as the pickups went over the bumps in the obstacle course, testing the integrity of their stacks — was palpable. I found myself holding my breath, hoping that the hay wouldn’t topple after all their hard work.

One of the best parts for me was that an old-timer was sitting directly behind me, offering commentary to his friend throughout the competition. He was full of opinions, and if he didn’t approve of a hay-stacking job, he let it be known: “That there is the Leaning Tower of Piece-a, that’s what that is.” Sure enough, that hay formation didn’t survive the first bump in the course.

After we left the hay hauling event, we got the boys some milkshakes and headed over to watch the Horse Pulls. I have to be honest: the horse pulls were a little boring. Well, the actual 5 seconds or so when the horses were pulling a tremendous amount of weight behind them was pretty incredible. But it took so long to set up each pull that we got a little restless. L., especially, was not pleased, and repeatedly attempted to leave us, wandering as far as he dared along the bleachers.

We wandered around the fair for a little while longer, and stopped in the pig barn to check out the week-old piglets (adorable). After walking through rows and rows of pigs, C.(11) declared that I would have a hard time getting him to eat ham-related products ever again. I’m not sure I believe him, but we’ll see. (I happen to know he has a weakness for bacon.)

Finally, it became clear that L. was nearing his bedtime and his county fair limit. It was time to leave. Our trip to the fair was a fun-filled adventure, and we were all glad we went. Now we’re wondering if we should stop back some other evening to check out the monster truck show or the school bus demolition. I’ll make country boys out of my kids yet.

For a big part of this summer — far more than I would have wished — we have been on the go. Every day, the little boxes on my calendar are full and we find ourselves bouncing from one appointment, activity, or obligation to the next. Many of these events have been enjoyable, but still…I’m the kind of person who needs an occasional do-nothing day. You know, a day when we don’t even start the car, let alone drive anywhere in it.

But it seemed it wasn’t meant to be. Week after week, day after day would fill — despite my attempts to keep them clear.

Last week, I had what might be labeled a “mini emotional breakdown.” When Chad asked me what was wrong, my eyes filled with tears and I said, “I just need one day when I don’t have to go somewhere. One day when the kids and I can just stay home.”

Well guess what? We’re staying home today.

But not because our schedule magically cleared itself.

It’s because L. (4) has apparently caught a stomach bug. After church yesterday, his energy level, appetite, and happiness plummeted, while his temperature steadily climbed. By evening, after an incident requiring much clean-up, it was clear that we were dealing with a yucky virus.

So, after settling him in bed, I made some phone calls to cancel our appointments for today, and here we are.

L. is watching Micky Mouse Clubhouse at this very moment, eyes glazed, voice shaky, fever around 102. And I’m thinking that I would gladly have continued with our crazy-busy schedule if it meant that my little guy didn’t have to feel so rotten…

The moral of the story: Be careful what you wish for.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

In other news, today is my birthday.

I still have a few years before I hit the big 4-0. But even so, I have to admit that my age still sounds a bit surreal to my ears. I mean, I still feel like I’m 31 or 32, maybe 29 on a good day. But clearly, I’m not.

Oh I’m not traumatized by the fact that I’m now 37 (well, technically, I won’t be 37 until 11:47 p.m.), but it just sounds…weird.

My husband and kids spoiled me with a new bike — so I can actually keep up with the kids when we go to the trail — and an incredible lens for my camera. Friday night, I was surprised by some sweet friends with a little pre-birthday celebration, complete with a scrumptious dessert and lots of laughter. And I woke up this morning to many birthday greetings in my Inbox.

So during our quiet day at home, as I keep an eye on L. and hope his fever recedes soon, I will feel blessed. I have a wonderful family, terrific friends, and the hope of a new year to enjoy them all.