Sorry I didn't get back to you, yesterday
Rather than adding to my post, I changed my mind and edited Monday's lengthy stream of consciousness, clarifying thoughts rather than condensing them :)
So—back in the kitchen, we're gathered round the table, where a trio of growing boys are woofing down another meal, when conversation turns to replacing Big Red for a variety of reasons:
We live in a suburb where public transportation remains undeveloped, so all five of us agree that in order to function at full capacity, our busy lives need a reliable, third vehicle ... or I'll need to hire an assistant chauffeur.
Though I'd once made dinner, every evening, that's changed over the past several years for this reason: In addition to driving to three schools (we chose schools out of our district, so no bus service for us), I drive so many late afternoon carpools to so many practices and Hebrew school, as well as to orthodontist appointments and what have you—after teaching at the college—that I need to give myself a break from stretching too thin by picking up dinner at least twice a week.
When Will expresses dismay at this change, I reply:
No matter how hard I try, I can't figure out how to cook in the car.
Later, when the kids aren't around, I expand upon my new mindset by adding:
I need to conserve whatever energy I have left at the end of the day, so I'll cook up special treats in the kitchen or the bedroom, it's your choice :)
Anyway back in the kitchen where we're eating Chinese, Will is busting his brain to figure out how to buy another car without taxing his wallet.
Though we frequently discuss the difference between wants and needs with our sons, adults are just like kids when it comes to denying themselves luxuries, which, over time, feel like needs. For example, I couldn't imagine going back to pushing a buggy with two babes and our laundry to the laundermat after we'd purchased a washer and dryer. I mean, think of the luxury of my running down two full flights of stairs, toting laundry basket, while two tykes, trailing eagerly behind me, can't wait to race their trikes around our small cement back yard while I disappear for a sec into our apartment building's basement to throw another load into one of our brand new machines—dreaming of the day when we'd have a dishwasher, too.
Now those tykes on trikes are teens driving cars, downing Chinese, while we five are discussing our family's need to replace Red without giving up anything, like our family ski trips or sending our sons to overnight camp. And as the boys had attended a pricy, private school until starting high school (our climate may be ideal for most of the year, but our urban schools rank amongst the worst in the country), we'd needed to pay hefty grammar school tuitions instead of saving for college, which looms directly ahead, times three, and perhaps grad school, times three, after that ... so while I juggle teaching, writing and everything that constitutes family life, and Will's performing surgery, there's lots to consider that could give the pratical mind of any hard working guy a royal headache and a half. Also, the fact that we'd met our needs, early on, by purchasing large items with time payment books (we couldn't qualify for a credit card back in the day) Will considers loans, which add huge sums of interest onto the price of a car, a waste of his hard earned money, so he pays cash, and his sense of practicality, combined with mine, maintain the good health of our cars for quite a few years.
The only car that Will bought with any show of passion was the fire engine red GTO with the black cordova top and matching leather interior, which he chose and both of us loved while I was pregnant with Barry. Oh wait! We also loved his canary-yellow T-Bird—for less than a year—until the accident nearly put out my lights when Barry was nine, Steven seven, and David twenty months—so safety felt paramount ...
Please make no mistake, I'm not taking out the violin.
I'm not dismissing the luxurious lifestyle we'd worked to develop—over time—and to which we'd grown accustomed after starting out with nothing, like Barefoot in the Park, except for this significant bonus: Both Will's life and mine were immeasurably enriched by our parents' generous gift, offering us superior educations.
So, what am I getting at by penning this post? I'm simply painting a picture of our family at dinner, where discussions, engaging five minds, created a balance between luxury and practicality in the aftermath of Big Red's untimely demise.
Anyway, one night that week, when driving is driving me close to crazy, Will brings home THE AUTO TRADER (or whatever that publication was called) and suggests our looking at used cars.
With great eagerness, Barry's mind dives into the publication, and his spirit pulls out a plum: A teen-aged guy's chick magnet dream come true ...
A Dodge Ram!
Will calls and makes an appointment for all of us to see the car on Saturday :)
Barry's spirit, sprinting toward the weekend, floods with so much excitement, he can barely sleep for the next two nights :)
The fact that both men are on the same page offers my spirit reason to smile, so my mind drifts from conscious awareness into a deep, serene sleep.
Serenity in family life is rare
Thus, just as with moments of pure joy ...
Serenity is to be treasured :)
Finally, it's Saturday, so after football practice and soccer games, we pile all of our excitement into Will's car and drive out to inspect the Ram.
Barry falls in love at first sight.
Will finds fault with it.
Will's also got a new bee buzzing round in his mind.
Hey! If we find the right vehicle, we can pile all of our ski gear into it and drive two hours up to the mountains for a weekend or two. This thought directs the head of the house (we were raised in the fifties) away from purchasing teen-aged son's chick magnet dream car come true ...
Serenity is no where to be seen as we drive home, leaving Barry's dashed dream of driving the Ram to school in the dust ...
Though commiserating with the depth of Barry's angst, my mind hangs on to Will's great idea of purchasing a vehicle that will provide us with opportunities to ski, thus strengthening family connectedness—I mean, other than attending professional sporting events, how many activities can you name that teens feel eager to do with their parents, for entire weekends—so with that train of thought stoking my spirit with positive focus, most of my mind jumps onto Will's band wagon ...
Next thing we know, it's Sunday, and Will, who disappears for a couple of hours, pulls into our circular driveway at the wheel of a very large, gray vehicle. (Truthfully, I can't remember how Will got that car home, so I'm consciously grabbing at creative writing license, right now :)
Will bounds into the front door and calls out for all of us to join him outside. His enthusiasm is contagious, so dropping whatever we're doing, we run outside and get our first look at—The Beast ...
One look is all it takes for Barry's face to turn as grey as the car, and my son shoots me that look, suggesting he's seething darkly with angst—OMG, he emotes aloud—This is WORSE than Big Red!
But, Barry, I implore, we'll ski more often.
My son's response? Nada but smouldering distate. He spins on his heels and sends himself to his room to calm down. By this time, making consistent use of time out and the line of control when flames of fury ignite are habitual for Annie and her kids.
Eventually when wild fire is reasonably banked, Barry returns and drops his impassioned reaction into my lap—I mean into my ear. Why my ear? Not because Mom's a push over, but because, generally, we seek out the mind most likely to listen to distress with compassion when we feel the need to air our most ferverent disappointments—then, he and I make good use of the-sanity-saving-three-step-problem-solving plan in hopes of resolving today's conflict.
Whether Barry realizes this or not, I sense that my son is not just looking to sound off. Barry, like his brothers, looks to me as a source of common sense, working to encourages youth to learn to accept the fact that life demands plans for accomodating everyone's needs to a reasonable extent. So after calming down in time out and seeking a mind atuned to listening to another person's need to release frustration in a healthy manner, we are both ready to brainstorm the problem at hand from every angle, because solutions do not emerge from the deep end of the brain until needles of negativity stop darting, painfully, inro both sides of the mind.
After listening to my son's frustration
The voice of reason responds first with acknowledgment:
I know how disappointed you must be
As Barry's senses that we're truly on the same page
His attitude begins to readjust naturally toward center ...
And in this logical manner do two emotional minds
Begin to take control over their powers of reasoning:
Sensing this change, leadership suggests ...
Keeper of the purse strings needs and deserves peace of mind
Mom needs help with the driving
Barry needs that which most teens need—
Experiments with independent thought
Our active family needs time for togetherness, provided by ski trips
Then comes the violins:
Dad's family did not own a car
Dad borrowed my mom's car while we dated
Dad and I didn't own a car till we were married ... and then
Our transportation, a stripped down, vanilla Chevy II ...
No radio, no automatic anything
Felt like mana from heaven because this engine on four wheels
And been a car that Barry's uncle had won in a contest
And sold to us for a $1,000, which
Cleaned out our weddiing gift bank account
And you can bet that we were thrilled to have it!
As for me, I didn't have so much as a clunker till Steven was born
Dad's unilateral choice will meet many of our family's present needs ...
Believe me when I say that after our conversation
Barry left my room quietly resigned but naturally
A wooden, crestfallen cloak covered his normally animated face
Teen dreams, dashed to smithereens, brood deeply inside ...
Believe me when I say that
In lieu of a crystal ball, we had no way to foresee that
The Beast, which had replaced good, old, trusty Big Red
Was about to meet none of our busy family's many needs ...
In fact, with time, all five of our deeply frustrated reactions
Are bound to match
Barry's ...
Rather than adding to my post, I changed my mind and edited Monday's lengthy stream of consciousness, clarifying thoughts rather than condensing them :)
So—back in the kitchen, we're gathered round the table, where a trio of growing boys are woofing down another meal, when conversation turns to replacing Big Red for a variety of reasons:
We live in a suburb where public transportation remains undeveloped, so all five of us agree that in order to function at full capacity, our busy lives need a reliable, third vehicle ... or I'll need to hire an assistant chauffeur.
Though I'd once made dinner, every evening, that's changed over the past several years for this reason: In addition to driving to three schools (we chose schools out of our district, so no bus service for us), I drive so many late afternoon carpools to so many practices and Hebrew school, as well as to orthodontist appointments and what have you—after teaching at the college—that I need to give myself a break from stretching too thin by picking up dinner at least twice a week.
When Will expresses dismay at this change, I reply:
No matter how hard I try, I can't figure out how to cook in the car.
Later, when the kids aren't around, I expand upon my new mindset by adding:
I need to conserve whatever energy I have left at the end of the day, so I'll cook up special treats in the kitchen or the bedroom, it's your choice :)
Anyway back in the kitchen where we're eating Chinese, Will is busting his brain to figure out how to buy another car without taxing his wallet.
Though we frequently discuss the difference between wants and needs with our sons, adults are just like kids when it comes to denying themselves luxuries, which, over time, feel like needs. For example, I couldn't imagine going back to pushing a buggy with two babes and our laundry to the laundermat after we'd purchased a washer and dryer. I mean, think of the luxury of my running down two full flights of stairs, toting laundry basket, while two tykes, trailing eagerly behind me, can't wait to race their trikes around our small cement back yard while I disappear for a sec into our apartment building's basement to throw another load into one of our brand new machines—dreaming of the day when we'd have a dishwasher, too.
Now those tykes on trikes are teens driving cars, downing Chinese, while we five are discussing our family's need to replace Red without giving up anything, like our family ski trips or sending our sons to overnight camp. And as the boys had attended a pricy, private school until starting high school (our climate may be ideal for most of the year, but our urban schools rank amongst the worst in the country), we'd needed to pay hefty grammar school tuitions instead of saving for college, which looms directly ahead, times three, and perhaps grad school, times three, after that ... so while I juggle teaching, writing and everything that constitutes family life, and Will's performing surgery, there's lots to consider that could give the pratical mind of any hard working guy a royal headache and a half. Also, the fact that we'd met our needs, early on, by purchasing large items with time payment books (we couldn't qualify for a credit card back in the day) Will considers loans, which add huge sums of interest onto the price of a car, a waste of his hard earned money, so he pays cash, and his sense of practicality, combined with mine, maintain the good health of our cars for quite a few years.
The only car that Will bought with any show of passion was the fire engine red GTO with the black cordova top and matching leather interior, which he chose and both of us loved while I was pregnant with Barry. Oh wait! We also loved his canary-yellow T-Bird—for less than a year—until the accident nearly put out my lights when Barry was nine, Steven seven, and David twenty months—so safety felt paramount ...
Please make no mistake, I'm not taking out the violin.
I'm not dismissing the luxurious lifestyle we'd worked to develop—over time—and to which we'd grown accustomed after starting out with nothing, like Barefoot in the Park, except for this significant bonus: Both Will's life and mine were immeasurably enriched by our parents' generous gift, offering us superior educations.
So, what am I getting at by penning this post? I'm simply painting a picture of our family at dinner, where discussions, engaging five minds, created a balance between luxury and practicality in the aftermath of Big Red's untimely demise.
Anyway, one night that week, when driving is driving me close to crazy, Will brings home THE AUTO TRADER (or whatever that publication was called) and suggests our looking at used cars.
With great eagerness, Barry's mind dives into the publication, and his spirit pulls out a plum: A teen-aged guy's chick magnet dream come true ...
A Dodge Ram!
Will calls and makes an appointment for all of us to see the car on Saturday :)
Barry's spirit, sprinting toward the weekend, floods with so much excitement, he can barely sleep for the next two nights :)
The fact that both men are on the same page offers my spirit reason to smile, so my mind drifts from conscious awareness into a deep, serene sleep.
Serenity in family life is rare
Thus, just as with moments of pure joy ...
Serenity is to be treasured :)
Finally, it's Saturday, so after football practice and soccer games, we pile all of our excitement into Will's car and drive out to inspect the Ram.
Barry falls in love at first sight.
Will finds fault with it.
Will's also got a new bee buzzing round in his mind.
Hey! If we find the right vehicle, we can pile all of our ski gear into it and drive two hours up to the mountains for a weekend or two. This thought directs the head of the house (we were raised in the fifties) away from purchasing teen-aged son's chick magnet dream car come true ...
Serenity is no where to be seen as we drive home, leaving Barry's dashed dream of driving the Ram to school in the dust ...
Though commiserating with the depth of Barry's angst, my mind hangs on to Will's great idea of purchasing a vehicle that will provide us with opportunities to ski, thus strengthening family connectedness—I mean, other than attending professional sporting events, how many activities can you name that teens feel eager to do with their parents, for entire weekends—so with that train of thought stoking my spirit with positive focus, most of my mind jumps onto Will's band wagon ...
Next thing we know, it's Sunday, and Will, who disappears for a couple of hours, pulls into our circular driveway at the wheel of a very large, gray vehicle. (Truthfully, I can't remember how Will got that car home, so I'm consciously grabbing at creative writing license, right now :)
Will bounds into the front door and calls out for all of us to join him outside. His enthusiasm is contagious, so dropping whatever we're doing, we run outside and get our first look at—The Beast ...
One look is all it takes for Barry's face to turn as grey as the car, and my son shoots me that look, suggesting he's seething darkly with angst—OMG, he emotes aloud—This is WORSE than Big Red!
But, Barry, I implore, we'll ski more often.
My son's response? Nada but smouldering distate. He spins on his heels and sends himself to his room to calm down. By this time, making consistent use of time out and the line of control when flames of fury ignite are habitual for Annie and her kids.
Eventually when wild fire is reasonably banked, Barry returns and drops his impassioned reaction into my lap—I mean into my ear. Why my ear? Not because Mom's a push over, but because, generally, we seek out the mind most likely to listen to distress with compassion when we feel the need to air our most ferverent disappointments—then, he and I make good use of the-sanity-saving-three-step-problem-solving plan in hopes of resolving today's conflict.
Whether Barry realizes this or not, I sense that my son is not just looking to sound off. Barry, like his brothers, looks to me as a source of common sense, working to encourages youth to learn to accept the fact that life demands plans for accomodating everyone's needs to a reasonable extent. So after calming down in time out and seeking a mind atuned to listening to another person's need to release frustration in a healthy manner, we are both ready to brainstorm the problem at hand from every angle, because solutions do not emerge from the deep end of the brain until needles of negativity stop darting, painfully, inro both sides of the mind.
After listening to my son's frustration
The voice of reason responds first with acknowledgment:
I know how disappointed you must be
As Barry's senses that we're truly on the same page
His attitude begins to readjust naturally toward center ...
And in this logical manner do two emotional minds
Begin to take control over their powers of reasoning:
Sensing this change, leadership suggests ...
Keeper of the purse strings needs and deserves peace of mind
Mom needs help with the driving
Barry needs that which most teens need—
Experiments with independent thought
Our active family needs time for togetherness, provided by ski trips
Then comes the violins:
Dad's family did not own a car
Dad borrowed my mom's car while we dated
Dad and I didn't own a car till we were married ... and then
Our transportation, a stripped down, vanilla Chevy II ...
No radio, no automatic anything
Felt like mana from heaven because this engine on four wheels
And been a car that Barry's uncle had won in a contest
And sold to us for a $1,000, which
Cleaned out our weddiing gift bank account
And you can bet that we were thrilled to have it!
As for me, I didn't have so much as a clunker till Steven was born
Dad's unilateral choice will meet many of our family's present needs ...
Believe me when I say that after our conversation
Barry left my room quietly resigned but naturally
A wooden, crestfallen cloak covered his normally animated face
Teen dreams, dashed to smithereens, brood deeply inside ...
Believe me when I say that
In lieu of a crystal ball, we had no way to foresee that
The Beast, which had replaced good, old, trusty Big Red
Was about to meet none of our busy family's many needs ...
In fact, with time, all five of our deeply frustrated reactions
Are bound to match
Barry's ...
No comments:
Post a Comment