I have a lot to write about. My brain containts full blog posts on polyamory, the fragrance-free policy at the gathering (and the handing out of soap at registration), and something else I can't remember right now; these were all worked out during the long hours of driving and thinking on the way home. But right now I'm just going to toss out some brief bits to clear the surface detritus.
I have a years-long tradition of flirting with a certain friend of mine when we see each other at gatherings. This year's best moment:
Her: I brought nothing but black shirts.
Me: That's great, because as far as I'm concerned, it's black shirts or nothing.
We also had a fun, if rather obvious, "sleeping together" joke after we both napped through meeting for worship late in the week.
My friend Janis is getting ready to homeschool her daughter this coming school year, and we spent a lot of time this week talking about it, as her deadline for getting some forms into the state was coming up soon. She'll be a natural at it, as this story she told me clearly proves. All my homeschooling friends will recognize themselves in this:
After missing a couple of days of school, her 12-year-old daughter told her that she had missed the unit on reproduction. Janis went into overdrive, pulling out books and queueing up websites and generally making sure her daughter had the most complete, accurate, and healthy information about human sexuality available. She even pulled down a volume of Leonardo da Vinci's anatomoical drawings, including a cut-away view from the side of a man and a woman having intercourse, as well as drawings like this of babies in utero:
After returning to school, her daughter came home and told her that none of the other kids knew any of that stuff. She'd mis-heard a word. Whatever they studied on the days she missed, it wasn't "reproduction."
Visiting the New England Aquarium made Word Boy really hungry for seafood.
The Lego Savant--now 11--was so free-range at the gathering that most days I only saw him at meals and bedtime. Not at meals to eat with, you understand. Merely to see him from across the room, talking and laughing with his friends, and know that he was showing up where he was supposed to when he was supposed to.
Officially, I was required to show up at the beginning and end of every morning and evening session of Junior Gathering to sign him in and out. Unofficially, his friends' parents--and in one case, a grandmother I still haven't met, though the Lego Savant says she's really nice--did it for me most of the time. We parents have done a lot of signing each other's kids in and out over the years, but this year we didn't even coordinate it. Whoever showed up just did it, and then we'd bump into each other walking around and say, "Oh, by the way, I signed the kids in."
I'd sign him out in the evening, tell him, "you're signed out, don't stay out too late," and head back to the dorm. He would show up about half an hour later, though the last night he and a friend stayed to help pack up and he was gone more than an hour.
One morning, without thinking, I tried to kiss him when I saw him in the cafeteria at breakfast, and was rebuffed. But later that very same day, I ran into him and his friends, and he was feeling so happy that he spontaneously gave me a great big hug. He's in a transitional stage of life right now, I'd say. He's been moving back and forth over a line between childhood and adolescence for some time.
Word Boy has become fashion-conscious since his last haircut, which he loves. He actually checks his hair in the mirror in the morning, and he wants his clothes to match. He suffered from a perplexing shortage of clean shorts and t-shirts at the gathering (packing up, we found a bag with more clean ones that had gotten buried, which at least solved the mystery although it came too late to do much good). One day, the only clean t-shirt and shorts he had didn't, in his view, match. Also, the t-shirt was too long. I showed him how to tuck it in, which helped, but he was pretty grumpy about the whole thing until we got to breakfast and someone said, "Hey, looking good, Word Boy." I could have kissed that person.
He has also become fashion-conscious on my behalf. He has favorite outfits, and can be consulted as to color choices. One morning at breakfast, I stood up from the table, and he exclaimed, "Mom! That is my new favorite outfit! That dress, with the black headband...and your new purse. You look perfect!"
Love that kid.
The dress in question has a plunging neckline. For the first time in my life, I had to use double-sided fabric tape to hold it in place. The Tiny Tornado thought double-sided fabric tape was a great idea, and also used it, in his case to keep the collar of his polo shirt just so.
One afternoon, I was watching Word Boy and the Tiny Tornado, as well as a friend's kid--we'll call him The Explainer, because it's perfect for him, even though Word Boy already has a friend I've nicknamed that. Word Boy is attracted to a certain kind of very smart and verbal kid. Practically all of his friends could be called "The Explainer." Word Boy and The Explainers--some day they'll form a band.
One day I came back to the table at lunch to find Word Boy, a boy we'll call That Smart-Talkin' Kid because Explainer 3 starts to get hard to keep track of, and a third kid who might have been Explainer 2 but might have been Word Boy's new friend The Dissector, I can't quite remember--anyway, I came back to the table and the three of them were discussing Leornardo da Vinci's anatomical drawings. It was kind of a theme of the week, apparently. That Smart-Talkin' Kid's mom and I were a bit proud of this moment, though I felt less proud because, until this week, Word Boy hadn't actually heard of da Vinci's anatomy drawings. Which, given his interests, is a huge oversight on my part which I must rectify immediately.
Word Boy had a wonderful time in his Junior Gathering group. He spent lots of time with his oldest Gathering friend, Still Waters, as well as getting closer to Explainer 2 and making new friends in That Smart-Talkin' Kid and The Dissector. He got to spend the afternoon at Still Waters' campground with him and his family, and Explainer 2's mom took him on a late-night trip to see the beach under a nearly-full moon.
As we were packing up to leave on Saturday, my friend Neil asked me how we were doing.
Me: We're doing fine. Word Boy has been having such a wonderful time and has made such good friends that he is absolutely heartbroken about leaving.
Neil: That's great!
A pause. And then we both burst out laughing.
Anyway, I had WB, TT, and Explainer 2, and we were hanging out at this wonderful spot near the cafeteria, a boulder-strewn stream bed that was a favorite of the kids all week (multiple stream-based drenchings account for why I had to do laundry not once, but twice, on this trip). And some dear friends from our yearly meeting were also hanging out there, including a boy about Word Boy's age who we'll call The Force of Nature.
The kids were having such a good time together that I suggested to The Force of Nature's mom that he spend the afternoon with us, too. She thanked me, and then checked in to be sure I was really up for it--The Force of Nature is, shall we way, not an especially compliant child or talented at listening to grown-ups' instructions, though he is very sweet and his intentions are generally good.
I said, "I have had a little practice at dealing with that kind of thing. The Tiny Tornado has been training me. Five years ago, I'd have been completely unprepared. Today? I think I can probably manage."
My three favorite 12-year-old girls in the world:
They roomed right across from us and teased me that they had learned the 6-digit access code for our door because they'd been hearing me coach the Tiny Tornado through it all week. By Friday, he was inputting it and opening the door all by himself.
Here they are doing dorm hall tricks:
Which was very inspiring to the Tiny Tornado:
And this is what we found coming out of FLGBTQC worship one day. That's Word Boy, the Explainer, Katherine, the Tiny Tornado, and Aliyah:
I am already planning for next year in Greeley, Colorado. I know how long a drive it is (about 19 hours actual driving time, 5 hours more than this year's trip to Rhode Island). I'm starting to have some ideas about where we might stop on the way to see interesting things; we might even head north, take I-90 for awhile, and stop at Effigy Mounds National Monument, which I think the kids would love.
I'm planning my budget already, thinking about how I can save up the money we'll need. This isn't a gathering I can start thinking about in March the way I usually do. And I really want to be there next year. I want to see all these kids; I want to see my grown-up friends; I want to flirt with the people I flirt with; I want the kids to see the Rocky Mountains (and to see them myself for the first time in over 30 years).
The narrow, twisty roads and excessive tree cover in New England made me twitchy and claustrophobic. I was so happy to get to Ohio and see cornfields and sky. I love the midwest and I love the plains, so you will believe me when I say that I am even looking forward to driving across Iowa and Nebraska.
A whole year to live through before we go back again. This time of year, it seems like an endless wait. But somehow it always comes around again.
1 comment:
"Word Boy and the Explainers" - I'd buy that album.
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