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Zip, Zap, Zop!

January 16, 2014 By Kelle

Zip, Zap, Zop!

Perhaps it’s something I’ll regret later, but this year we added another extra-curricular activity for Lainey after she expressed some interest, explaining that “Pick Two” was our limit. I realize that once Dash is in the mix, we might reconsider and count sitting in the stands watching a brother play soccer as one of those “pick two.” Narrowed down to music lessons or children’s theater, Lainey chose theater this year, and I applauded her decision with one Jazz Hands and two High Kicks.

Class commenced earlier this week, prepped by my attempted balance of excitement and nonchalance so that Lainey was eager yet not nervous. “You’re so lucky, you get to be in a real play! You’re going to learn so many cool songs and make new friends. Oooo—I bet they’re going to sell tickets, and maybe Daddy and I can eat popcorn while we watch you on stage.” Followed predictably by her dimpled shy smile.

We walked into our local playhouse and were instantly welcomed by its artsy charm—plush carpet, velvety drapes, audition posters and a hidden staircase that led to rehearsal rooms with wood floors and old pianos. After finding our class in one of the rehearsal rooms, I gave Lainey a quick kiss before nudging her to join the circle of kids and promised her I’d stay a few minutes to watch. With one friend in the class and a year and a half of school under her belt, I wasn’t expecting any major hesitation.

That was before Zip, Zap, Zop. It’s an improv game with simple rules. One person starts by making eye contact with someone else in the circle, claps her hands toward them and yells, “Zip!” That person then has to immediately look at someone else, point toward them and yell “Zap!” Third person yells “Zop!” and the cycle continues. If you don’t make good eye contact, you’re out; if you say the wrong word, you’re out; and if you hesitate in calling out the next word, you’re out. As soon as the game started, I thought, “Shit.” I know my kid. She’s going to want the directions repeated six times so she can do it perfectly. And God forbid someone Zips her and she Zops instead of Zaps. While I braced myself for what was to follow, I also knew that this is the exact reason this theater class would be so good for her. Loosen up! Make mistakes! Don’t overthink things…just do it! Be yourself! Have fun! The same things I have to remind myself.

Well someone zipped her, and it went down like I feared. She froze and looked back at me to save her.  “Say Zap!  Say Zap!” I wanted to say but instead I smiled and mouthed, “It’s okay.  It’s okay.” She stood there for another five seconds which felt like thirty. And then the tears—the kind you know just by looking are all hot from the effort she spent to keep them from spilling. We excused ourselves into the hallway where I hugged and kissed cheeks and did my best to smile and let her know this was no big deal. Totally fine. She wanted to go home, but I told her that we couldn’t quit this soon into the game. That it was okay to make mistakes or not know how to play, but that we’d never know what we were missing if we didn’t give it a full shot. “If after two classes, you don’t like it, you don’t have to stay,” I told her. We talked about doing hard things and facing discomfort, and although I wanted to scoop her up and say, “Forget it! This isn’t fun! Let’s go home!”, I knew this uncomfortable introduction was just the muddy path she had to trudge through to get to the meadow clearing behind it. True for a lot of things in life. “Baby, you can’t just quit. New things are hard sometimes because we don’t know anything about them. And that can feel a little bit scary. Just like kindergarten did. But we need to go back in there and finish the class. You’ll miss out on so many amazing things if you run every time things get hard. You have to keep going to find out if it gets better.”

Walking back in was hard for both of us. And walking out alone knowing she was feeling uncomfortable was even harder. But it’s supposed to be hard.

I waited for over an hour for the class to finish and sported my happiest, proudest face when she walked out the door. She smiled (smiled, I tell ya!) as she handed me a new script and a CD full of songs to learn, and I played it cool, deciding it was best to forgo my “How’d it go?” interrogation and calmly let her take the lead. We walked a few buildings down to a frozen yogurt store with friends, made plans for the following week’s class and called it a night.

“Want to listen to these songs on the way home?” I asked, fanning the new theater CD in front of her.

I blared the CD in the car while we both attempted to sing along, and when we got home we taught Brett how to play Zip, Zap, Zop!

“It’s okay if you mess up,” Lainey instructed Brett.  “You just have to say something.”

The night felt like a small victory for both of us.

The hardest lessons to teach in parenting are often the ones we’re still learning ourselves.

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Filed Under: Parenting

Somewhere Over the Rainbow Loom

January 8, 2014 By Kelle

Somewhere Over the Rainbow Loom

I had an essay to write last night but instead found myself sitting cross-legged on the tile next to our dining room table, watching a YouTube video on how to make the zippy chain bracelet for Rainbow Loom so that my distraught daughter could move on with life. 

Listen.  Shuck the shucking rainbow loom.  It’s not the rubber bands all over the floor that bother me.  It’s not the fact that I had to go to Michael’s to buy a new crochet hook because we lost the hook that came with it or the fact that the hook I bought wasn’t the right size, so we had to return again.  It’s not even the tiresome background noise of the 8-year-old YouTube Rainbow Loom genius who seems to have become a virtual member of our house overnight.
 

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It’s the fact that twice a day since we bought this thing, the world spins out of control when, after forty minutes of tediously weaving A-bands over B-bands to make the Starburst Double Fishtail or whatever the hell you call it, my poor kid goes to pull her bracelet off the loom and the whole thing falls apart because of one rubber band that slipped a hook.  And then I have to go in with special ops to fix it but can’t because—as Lainey so kindly points out—“you don’t even know what a triple single is.”

Do you know there are hundreds of YouTube how-to videos on Rainbow Loom bracelets?  Grown men and women looping rubber bands on a plastic rack, guiding you through Hexafishes and Taffy Twists.  Which are real bracelets.  I know these things now.

Last night we had another Rainbow Loom meltdown, and I actually started to argue with Lainey—when she asked me to help, and then I came in, and then she said I was doing it wrong, and she wanted it back.  For a second, I jumped into a silly argument that was going to end with some not-so-shiny motherhood moment of, “Fine. Do it yourself.” But you know what? I realized there’s, like, a billion life lessons the Rainbow Loom can teach us.  Like, say, learning new things means trying, trying, trying until you get it right (a.k.a.: After 372 attempts at the Hexafish bracelet, you too can master it!).  Or organization can make things smoother (Sort your rubber band colors! Keep track of your hook!).  Or how about some business ingenuity inspiration?  Can we talk about the day the guy who invented this thing woke up and realized his little idea just became 2013’s Tickle Me Elmo? My personal favorite lesson that has evolved from the introduction of the rainbow loom to our home, however, remains the following: “Hey, in the scheme of the world’s problems, where does this failed fishtail rank?  Worth this meltdown?  Yeah. Didn’t think so.”

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After thirty minutes of staring at a YouTube video on the zippy chain bracelet last night, pausing the tutorial in between every hook and loop I made, and finally mastering something that maintained its shape when I pulled if off the loom; I watched as my kid reached out to take it, beaming with approval.  “Whoa!” she exclaimed.  “You did it! You made a zippy chain.”

I am now Zippy Chain Mom which I’m pretty sure makes up for every time I’ve ever forgotten to bring juice boxes to the park.  And while I jokingly bemoan the Rainbow Loom’s effects in our home, I’m secretly smiling.  My kid is having fun making stuff.  We’re equipped with jewelry for the next six years.  And, twenty years from now, we’ll be sitting around the table telling childhood stories and, like the woven nylon potholder tales our parents tell from when we were kids, someone will pipe up with, “Hey, remember that Rainbow Loom kick we were on?”

Loom on, fellow Rainbow moms.


*****
I’ll be back tomorrow with some thoughts about Down syndrome, Nella’s fourth year and the launch of our fourth fundraiser for the National Down Syndrome Society.  I can’t believe it’s been four years.  That’s a presidential term. 

Filed Under: Parenting

6 bulbs, 2 burning

November 19, 2013 By Kelle

6 bulbs, 2 burning

This is no way to start a post, but listen.  My dog has the runs.  I should have known yesterday morning when I called Heidi to tell her how on top of things I was, that it’s the golden rule of failure.  Do not, under any circumstance, declare “Look at me! Everything’s going so great! My house is so clean!” because the problem gods have radar ears and are very tuned in to those sort of phrases.  They’ll sniff you out and take your clean house and your checked-off to-do list and your laundry all folded and put away, and they’ll flip it upside down.  When I realized the dog was sick, I locked her up, but she had eight hours while we slept to hide presents all over the house.  Like a really fun scavenger hunt.  Hey kids, grab a bag!  The piñata has broken!

Somewhere between cleaning Pile of Dog Mess 15 and Pile of Dog Mess 32, I kind of snapped.  My dad called just to say hi, and my head spun. “I can’t talk right now, okay? My kids are crying and Latte has the shits”–the last word emphasized, of course, because he loves it when I talk like a lady.

Poor Latte confined to our lanai.  The kids had visitation with her through the glass window.

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The rest of the day spiraled, naturally.  And I think there’s nothing you can do to fight it but LET GO. 

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Okay, there’s something you can do to fight it.  Put the snow village up. 

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That we did.  Of course, four out of six light bulbs were blown on our light strip because they got yesterday’s memo.  But I’ll be damned if that post office and church didn’t shine the little lights they were given.  Besides, the Antique Shop had been puttin’ in way too many hours.  It needed a night off.

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Moral of the story?  When only two bulbs are burning on your six-light strip, shine ’em bright.  The village will carry on.  It always does. 

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I’m over at BabyZone this week for their 30 Days of Thanks with 20 of My Favorite Grateful Moments, Captured.

Filed Under: Parenting

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