Boy and Young Man

This week my boy was sick!  He eats poorly whenever he gets the chance and has still to master the importance of hydration, although he is getting better, however the result is that he seems a bit more prone than some to the usual nasty stuff that goes around when the seasons change.   I grew up missing very little to almost no school but in fairness also not getting sick very often.  I think it is for these reasons that when the boys are sick I tend to be more of the “soldier on” type as opposed to the “start pumping you full of medicine” type.  I have always believed that for the most part, the body can handle most of what is thrown its way and that it naturally gets more resilient if you let it fend off what ails it.   I am that mother that once received a call from the school nurse who said, and I quote, “this child should never have been sent to school today.”  She was right and I was wrong on that occasion.

Fast forward to Tuesday afternoon and the school was calling saying he had a slight temperature but did not need to be picked up unless we decided to do so; nothing alarming about that.  When I arrived home he was covered in blankets and was my little boy rather than the teenager and emerging young man of late.  He wanted his Mum and the hugs and comfort she brings and it was nice to be needed by him.  I thought I should get him moving around and get his mind off being sick (remember Me, the mother who says “soldier on”) so I announced that since the weather was getting cooler we needed to go and check out the latest fashions and get jeans.  Being in 8^th grade and at a critical point in terms of what he wears and what others think of it, this boy enjoys a good shopping trip.  It was not a good sign when he turned it down and I immediately knew we might be dealing with something more serious than a cough.  Between Tuesday evening and waking up on Wednesday morning his temperature had spiked.  At least he was sleeping soundly so I let the school know that they would have to muddle through without him that day.  He slept the day away but mustered up the energy on Wednesday afternoon to go to the Health Fair with us so I thought we were past the worse.  I was so gladdened by the signs of recovery that I offered Subway to this sweet loving boy with no energy.  This is another relative rarity carried over from my childhood.  We didn’t eat out every week and when we did it meant something.  In most ways I think I have turned out alright despite the lack of dining out in my childhood so we tend to make dinner for the boys and enjoy the family time around the table.  One day when I have the stamina I will document meal times at our house!  Again, the offer was not met with enthusiasm so I knew we were not out of the woods yet and even though I didn’t want him to be sick I was enjoying this boy who needed me to care for him. 

Impressively, the next morning he got himself up and out the door at his usual incredibly early time to start the learning day at 7:25am.  The call from the school came an hour later and I scooted over there to collect a boy who was shivery and pale.  He walked listlessly into my arms and I helped him to the car and fussed over him.  I had arrived at the crossroads and decided to call the doctor’s office and describe his symptoms which now also included headache and frequent full body evacuation (if you know what I mean).  They suggested bringing him in since we apparently have an outbreak of listeria in Colorado and some nasty viruses going around.  Once we stepped foot in that office, while the energy did not return his independent streak did and he answered every question maturely and honestly without any help from me.  There was no exaggeration to get sympathy and if he didn’t understand the medical terms he asked.  I was looking at my little boy but I was hearing someone on his way to becoming a man.  It was such a twilight zone in his growth.  At the same time as being proud of my young man, once we got back in the car armed with a prescription for a virus that would run its course in 7 to 8 days, I was happy that he is still my little boy. 

I Am

Have you ever seen the project that many children do at the beginning of the school year where they draw a picture of themselves and describe who they are and what they like beginning each sentence with “I am…”?  It helps the teachers and students learn about each other and perhaps it helps our children think about who they are and what matters to them.  It helps them see themselves in their different roles; son or daughter, sibling, cousin, grandchild, player of sports, lover of music, and so on.  I thought I’d give it a try; it’s random but aren’t we all ;o)

I am a little girl and a grown woman

I am a daughter and a daughter-in-law

I am a mother and a stepmother to our four fabulous boys

I am a wife and I am madly in love with my husband

I am proud of our family

I am an orphan but I am not alone

I am a best friend who needs her friends more than they know

I am a sister, a sister-in-law and an aunt

I am a colleague and a student and I want more from life

I am strong and I am weak

I am angry that my parents had to miss so much

I am thankful for a family that welcomed my sons and I in with their open hearts

I am a cyclist who feels a bond with other cyclists and checks out their bikes

I am excited and sometimes cry when others cross the finish line

I am aware of the beating of my sons’ hearts

I am a Steelers’ fan

I am awed by the mountains and I am inconsequential

I am hurt when I am excluded

I am addicted to my morning coffee and the welcome of my Starbucks

I am a reader who gets lost in the moments of other lives

I am a writer because it helps me understand myself a bit better

I am a drinker of wine and beer, but not at the same time

I am finally confident enough to dance and sing aloud (even though I am terrible)

I am shy and it surprises me that others find me intimidating

I am sociable and love to laugh because it connects me to others

I am thrilled when my husband walks through the door

I am happy in company and need time alone

I am at peace with a good book and chocolate

I am organized but I want to be less controlling

I am trying to write something meaningful that will one day change a life

I am Nicola

Let's Not Be Strangers

One of our middle schoolers started drama club recently and for their second meeting this week everyone was asked to give a monologue.  We were quite amused when he said he was doing a monologue with his friend but resisted the temptation to point out that this is a dialogue.  In the end his friend was not able to make it to drama club so in the spirit of the best of actors, he improvised.  He quickly scanned a book of ideas for monologues and gave what must have been a fabulous performance because the teacher was very impressed. 

He also came home with an observation; people like to imitate the British accent.  Apparently several of his peers, when giving their monologues had chosen to deliver them using a British accent.  We had a chuckle because he feels that he is “qualified” to assist in this area since his Stepmom is English and frequently is asked to perform British-isms at the dinner table.  Requests for “Say tomato, say banana…” are made with a certain level of frequency but the two the fellas like the most are “garage” and “missile”, the latter being the one that solicits the most amusement and pleas of “Say it again, say it again.”  Not only has our thespian started to master the differences in the accent, he has also noticed that there are different dialects and is working on those too.  Fairly soon he’ll be ready to pass as a Londoner in London! 

Amid all the fun, I started to think about the meaning and relevance of where we are born, our nationality, and patriotism, especially on this 10^th anniversary of 9/11.  My Dad once said that where you are born is purely an accident of birth and I find that to be true.  My older son was born in America and my younger son was born in England quite by chance; there was no plan or design or deep desire to have a child born in the motherland, it simply happened through life’s rich pattern of circumstances.  I have now lived almost half my life in America and it is home just as much as England is home, which means I appreciate the differences and also think we are bound together as people by things far greater than the soil where we are born.

I was in England when 9/11 traumatized this great nation and received the horrified phone calls at my parents’ house telling me to turn on the television.  It was as surreal there as it was here but I don’t think I can ever fully imagine what it was like to be in America that day and the subsequent days.  Friends and family have told me how stunned everyone was and how they felt they were barely functioning because everyone’s beliefs were shaken and there was no reasonable way to understand what had happened.  Arriving back two weeks later, I noticed it made us all kinder to each other in the following weeks and months as we realized that there are some fundamental values that we hold dear and they had been violated in the worst possible manner.

Yesterday I was checking out at the grocery store and a lady leaned over very quietly to the soldier in uniform and said, “Thank you for serving.”  Very humbly he quietly replied “Thank you for saying that.  No-one should forget and no-one should be forgotten.”  There are people everyday that are willing to die for this county, that are willing to put their lives on the line for me and my family.  To them and their families, I want to say thank you; the way we talk and the name of the town where we were born plays a role in who we are but ultimately it is the allegiance we have to one another and our way of life that supersedes all else.  We are strangers     but we are all in this together and there is nowhere I am prouder to live and work and raise a family.  Families I will never meet and thank have suffered the ultimate loss for my family and other servicemen and women and first responders live with that threat everyday.  Thank you, all of you…you inspire me to be kinder and more understanding everyday knowing that you are out there building a safe place for us to live together. 

Bike Geek

At some point this week I realized I may be become a cycling geek.  Not just someone who enjoys cycling, but actually a bit of a cycling geek!  Upon reflection, I think this process has been working insidiously in the background for some time but my full emergence from the cycling closet has been accelerated with two notable events in the last few days. 

The transformation must have started about eight years ago because before that, at least as an adult, I went on the occasional bike ride on my pretty heavy mountain bike but was not the instigator of these activities.  For a while, it was a way to get some exercise without having to be confined to the sometimes claustrophobic atmosphere of the gym.  Eventually I was persuaded that real bike riders go clipless and had these egg beater contraptions installed instead of platform pedals.  After a couple of painful “leg plants” I finally got the hang of disengaging my cleat from the pedal before I fell on my right knee…again.  I tackled a lot of obstacles I was not ready for on my mountain bike and in the process inflicted some pretty nice cuts, bruises, scrapes, and one small but well-earned scar.  That is when I took pause and jumped at the opportunity to ride my mountain bike on the road with a couple of friends riding road bikes.

I immediately loved it.  It felt natural and the hard work was gratifying but now the dilemma became whether or not I should invest in a road bike.  I started to shop and test rode some bikes but I still was not ready to donate several, and I mean several, paychecks to this worthy cause.  I carried on riding and little by little got stronger and enjoyed myself more and more.  I never expected in my mid-30s to happen upon an activity that made me feel so true to myself.  The fight was over and I handed over the money in exchange for my new, lightweight, shiny road bike.  It did not have the top of the line components, nor was it the kind of bike that makes people cycle up next to you and say “Wow, nice bike” but it was 10 lbs lighter than my mountain bike and felt about a hundred times faster. 

Fast forward through several years and witness me cycling several times a week when preparing for a ride, tackling my first century and then several more, and riding RAGBRAI last year.  For my last birthday, my amazing husband built and presented me with a lightweight mountain bike so that we could load up both road and mountain bikes for our weekends away exploring.  Yet it really was just this week that I realized that I often think in terms of bikes and frequently experience the cycling high, hence my impending geekdom.  My first awakening was when we took the fellas to Denver last Sunday to see the final portion of the last stage of the USA Pro Cycling Challenge which had kicked off in Colorado Springs just six days earlier.  I choked up with excitement when those incredibly fast Tour de France winners flew past us five times on the final loop.  I could barely breathe, I had a lump in my throat and I definitely could not operate the camera; thankfully our youngest took over and got some incredibly good shots instead.  I was shaking with the sheer joy of being close to something so momentous.  See, I sound like a geek!

My second moment of awareness came when, barely recovered from the Pro Cycling Challenge excitement, but now back in the work setting a few days later, a small group of us worked on putting the finishing touches to a client’s proposed campaign.  The client was requesting more quantity for the same already cut-to-the-bone cost and of course high caliber results.  Without realizing it I parroted a passionate cyclist friend, who if he reads this will know who he is (thank you for letting me steal this), and lectured to the following point.  “This situation is like buying a bike.  There are three things that must be balanced and considered when selecting a bike; weight, strength, and cost.  You can have any two of the three but you cannot have all three.  For example, you can have a bike that is light and strong and it’s going to cost you, or you can have a bike that is light and cheap but it won’t be as durable, or you can have a bike that can take a beating and is cheap and it will weigh a little more.  In each scenario, an element has to be sacrificed to some degree so which one is it and who’s going to tell the client?”  I beamed victoriously around the room and they gave me that look of bemused disbelief they often give me.  I realized they were giving me the “what a geek” look and I was irrationally happy that my destiny as a bike geek in the workplace was forever sealed in cycling analogies.  Bike geeks of the world unite!

Worth Waiting For...

A little more than forty years ago, a little girl was born at home in a small village in England.  The midwife had ordered her Dad to fetch towels and her Mum to swallow cod liver oil and orange juice before she could enter the world.  She appeared just three days before her brother’s seventh birthday and for several years he believed she was his birthday present, which he thought was alright but he also hoped he would get the other presents he asked for too.

Almost forty years ago, a little boy was born in the hospital where his Mom worked in Ottawa, Illinois.  Knowing her, she worked up until the moment he made his grand appearance and probably did not hang around in bed for long after that.  His family moved to a small town in Iowa when he was still very young and he grew up on the farm.  He was seven when his sister was born. 

The little girl and the little boy grew up roughly 4,200 miles away from each other as the crow flies.  He spent much of his time playing with his car collection and racing them against each other while she lined up dolls and teddy bears on her bed and dispensed the lesson of the day as their teacher; both loved being outside and riding their bikes.  One day he packed his suitcase and left home with his car collection (there is photographic evidence of this) and she once did the same, except it was the doll collection of the exotic beauties her Dad had brought her from his business trips overseas that she packed.  Neither packed clothes, food or money nor did either of them make it very far before they forgot what had motivated this dramatic departure and returned home none the worse for wear.

By the early 90’s he was in the military and several times traveled to Okinawa, Japan on temporary assignments.  She lived in Okinawa for three years teaching English to Japanese high school students during the same period and both developed a penchant for sushi and hot coffee that came in cans from vending machines.  She would go scuba diving with her friends and he would tour the island by bike; she unaccustomed to such humidity and he recognizing it from the hot Iowa summers.

Once the 90’s were well underway both lived in Colorado Springs, possibly standing in the same Starbucks line with their morning need for a good cup of coffee.  Perhaps they stopped by the same grocery store to pick up ice cream on their way home.  Were they in Palmer Park at the same time having fun on their mountain bikes, there together but separately?  Did their paths cross at an intersection, did they wait at the same light at the same time, and did they drive the same route together?

Two years ago, after a whirlwind courtship, the little girl and the little boy wed in front of his two sons and her two sons, their family and their friends.  Despite technically being adults by this time, they giggled like children, happy and amazed that they had found each other at last.  They were delighted to find that their equal existed, that true love is meant to be, and that having a partner in crime for adventures like biking and traveling, and commitments like parenting and building a family together was possible. 

On our second wedding anniversary, I couldn’t ask for a better man and father to hold my hand, offer a different point of view, have new adventures with, and trust implicitly.  Happy Anniversary my Darling!

First Day of School

As in many other families, our boys returned to school this week.  One third grader, one fifth grader, one sixth grader and an eighth grader; four different personalities with bulging backpacks and mixed emotions. 

Our third grader seemed relatively ambivalent to the whole thing.  He was most excited by the Super Heroes pencil case the school supplies bunny brought him and his new purple school bag because that’s the favorite color of his big bad eighth grader brother.  However, it does not appear to have dawned on him yet that he has reached a level of independence he has not experienced before. This has occurred because the security previously provided has moved on, with our sixth grader, to middle school.  Our third grader is his own man who will do beautifully testing the waters of independence, judgment and decision making.  

Our fifth grader is happy to be at the top of the school finally and looking forward to having, for the first time, a male teacher.  Not that he hasn’t enjoyed his female teachers, and they him for that matter, but he has heard good things about Mr. S.  He is strict but fun apparently, a combination that could work wonderfully for this intelligent boy who sometimes thinks that he doesn’t need school because he already knows how to do everything.  Hopefully Mr S. won’t have to be too strict before our fifth grader gets to have some fun!

Our sixth grader was nervous about middle school with its different teachers for each class and moving to different classrooms between each class.  Most of all he was nervous about his locker.  It is small and he is a hoarder but worse than that the combination lock required jiggling, standing on one leg and getting the exact twist of the wrist when the sun is in the right aspect.  No amount of reassuring seemed to convince him that before long he would have it mastered and he become even more nervous at the prospect of being late for class.  I am pleased to report that as of day two he could gain access in less than 10 seconds; undoubtedly a record!      

Our eighth grader got up early to walk to the first day of school with our fifth grader.  The sweetness touched me and we walked the two blocks together happily chatting and discussing the year ahead.  In the fashion of a parent always looking to plant a seed, I noted that both boys would be at the top of their schools and had the opportunity to be leaders and set positive examples.  Our eighth grader seemed to like that idea until he realized that meant that next year he would be starting over again.  How quickly his world came crashing down!  I wanted to tell him that this is life and sometimes you are on top and sometimes you are starting over but instead I distracted him with talk of playing football this year.  Soaking wet he weighs 81 lbs and is, as he likes to say, fun-sized in stature but he can throw a football far and does not back away from confrontation.  That has been his downfall on occasion so if he can channel it on the football field instead of being a tough guy elsewhere his mother won’t have to worry so much when the phone rings and the school number shows on caller ID.

Four unique boys, four separate approaches, four different schools, and one hundred and seventy-seven days to enjoy third, fifth, sixth and eighth grade.     

Copper Triangle

Saturday was a great day!  After weeks of subconscious, and sometimes more overt worrying, I cycled Copper Triangle.  This ride is a 78 mile loop with three mountain passes and 5,981 feet of elevation gain.  It includes three Colorado mountain passes, hence the name triangle, Fremont Pass (elevation 11,318’), Tennessee Pass (elevation 10,424’) and Vail Pass (elevation 10,666’).  I have ridden this ride twice before in 2007 and 2008; it is a very scenic ride and is definitely physically challenging.  My stomach has been in knots because I felt that I had not ridden enough in preparation and that I was not acclimatized enough to the extra humidity we have been experiencing this year.  Add to this that during the final week before the ride the cycling gods seemed to have taken a distinct dislike to me.  It was not my imagination that each time I tried to ride the heavens opened and down came the rain.  Not a light shower but thunderstorms packed with two to three hours of constant rain and flash flood warnings.  One evening with a bloody mindedness my Mum and Dad would have been proud of I biked 20 miles in the rain simply because I was tired of the weather dictating my biking schedule!  I was soaked to the skin and had mascara running down to my chin but I was beaming triumphantly with the song “Ain’t no mountain high enough, ain’t no river wide enough…” playing in my mind to the steady rhythm of pedal strokes.  

Saturday morning dawned and at 6:45am when we set off it was a chilly 47 degrees.  Despite the hour there were plenty of cyclists who hit the road before us and we were surrounded by equally cold and sleepy riders.  Within the first half mile of the ride the climbing begins and the trepidation of the first 12 miles made my hear beat faster.  In my  mind it was a grueling start to the day; all uphill, steep and unrelenting.  In reality it was a steady climb with some flat and downhill interspersed and I made it to the first rest stop without incident and was irrationally happy to see chocolate chip cookies.  I am not a big chocolate chip cookie eater usually but today there were a great source of strength to me at yes, every rest stop!  Glad the first pass was completed without a mental or physical breakdown, I hit the road again knowing we had some nice downhill to enjoy and another pass to tackle before reaching the next rest station.  The miles flew by and suddenly we were climbing again.  My stomach lurched and those muscles in my legs that I half expected to fail me at any moment took over and suddenly we were there at the top of Tennessee Pass.  I started to feel good that two of the three passes were conquered but an inner voice kept telling me I could not relax because I still had to climb the dreaded Vail Pass.  More chocolate chip cookies, some grapes and water and we were ready to descend 3,000 feet in 22 miles; fast and fun.   

We glided into the third rest stop long enough to munch on some more cookies and started the 8 mile climb to the next rest stop.  At mile 57 of a 78 mile ride the toughest work begins and I had to shake that sluggish fear that had been my companion for the last couple of weeks and was now trying to get my attention again.  The fourth rest stop is on a steep hill and some riders were soldiering on through but I felt I needed to stop even though it was hard to get back on and get any momentum going.  With the help of strength gained from my new friends, chocolate chip cookies, I managed to get going and even passed some riders while many passed me.  I tried to look around and enjoy the scenery but that voice, that I hope never to listen to again, kept warning me that the worst was still to come and to not get too comfortable.  Over the course of the next 4 miles I feared and I loathed and I bargained and then I realized I had 3 miles of climbing left and that what in my head had been this colossal, gigantic mountain pass was challenging but not impossible.  I looked around again and it reminded me of when I was told I had to wear glasses when I was 8 or 9.  When I went home with those glasses I was very unhappy and thought I could manage without them.  I went to my bedroom so that I could least have some privacy while seeing how hideous I looked in them.  I was distracted by the field outside my window.  To the best of my knowledge it had always been a field with grass and trees.  That day I discovered there were a myriad of beautiful wild flowers and I never took my glasses off again until they were replaced by contact lenses. 

Now I looked out and saw jagged outcrops accented by a crystal blue sky, dense emerald trees, and similar wild flowers.   I was climbing and enjoying every moment of it.  I could feel myself grinning from ear to ear and I had to wonder why I had built up this ride to be so insurmountable in my mind.  I had all but convinced myself that I was incapable of finishing and even if I did it would take me hours longer than the previous two years.  It took me 19 minutes longer but the victory was sweeter, perhaps because I had not doubted myself before.  I thought about child birth and how the woman’s mind smooths the trauma of that intensely physical act.  I have always believed that if the brain did not take away that distinct memory and replace it with the flood of emotions associated with holding your baby for the first time all women would only ever have one child.  Why then had my brain not eased the memory of this ride but instead magnified and practically deformed it.  I do not have the answer except to say that if I was lacking confidence before the ride that was not the case after.  There will be no more babies but there will be more Copper Triangles.