You might know I've driven a minivan for going on 10 years now. Because I like to copy everything Lee does, I started calling it the miniature van. This gave the vehicle an aura of importance, if you will, despite its many dings and scratches.

You almost could just overlook the dents on all four corners, which I incurred when I ran into various things. It's hard, as it turns out, to drive without hitting stuff.

But, I'll tell you what: I won't be hitting anything in my new-to-me car.

It's sporty. It's sleek. It's life-changing, zippy, and mind-blowing. I love it so much I've been dancing around in celebration of this marvelous piece of machinery.

I mean, the seats warm up, and the interior is black leather. I'm a new woman with a new, non-minivan identity. Next phase, baby!

When I picked up Mac in the carpool line the other day, he didn't look as thrilled as I felt to be in the new car.

"How was your day?" I asked.

"I almost got into five different white Audis," he said, shaking his head.

Apparently, a lot of the middle school moms are also in their next phase and also feeling as cool as I do.

• We put up the tree and all of the ornaments. All of them. Even though every year I remind the family that we don't need every single one. "We do," they say, even though there aren't enough spaces and not all of them are very attractive.
• We planned a holiday outing. However talented the dancers in The Nutcracker undoubtedly were, it was not particularly enjoyable, as you can see above. All tippy-toes; no talking. Lots of leaps; loose storyline. I don't know. It just wasn't for us. Dan liked it okay.
• I finished my shopping at the last minute, visiting the Mall of America, Target, and Dick's Sporting Goods on Christmas Eve Eve. I didn't even hyperventilate at any of these locations.
• We baked cookies and decorated them. They taste good, and I ate lots of dough and broken pieces.
• Teddy, for his part, ate 8 oz of dark chocolate and cheerfully vomited in the back room of the emergency vet's office to the tune of 227 dollars. He's so dumb, but it looks like he'll live for another Nativity.

I just did a quick search, and it turns have written before about being the parent of a hockey goalie, but not lately.

If you're curious, this fact remains: of all of my identities -- teacher, reader, runner, writer, minivan driver, etc. -- hockey goalie parent may be my least favorite one. Mac is the hockey goalie, and I am his parent.

What happens when I'm watching is this: First, I try to convince myself up to be normal and calm during the hockey game. This is difficult given my naturally high-strung temperament. I'm like a Border Collie in mundane situations, so you can imagine what I'm like under stress.

Still, sometimes, I can remain calm for an entire period of hockey. It helps if the period lasts fewer than 15 minutes and if there are fewer than ten shots during the period. It also helps if I'm chit-chatting with someone or engaged in texting. But, sometimes, instead of remaining calm, tension starts to paralyze my limbs, filling them as if they were PVC pipes. The pucks start sailing at Mac, and suddenly I'm hyperventilating.

Later, I get up a lot to walk laps of the arena or get a drink or visit the bathroom even though I don't have to go. These are coping strategies, and other parents seem to understand. They understand even though Dan is able to watch the whole games like a normal person. Of course in real life, he's like a Great Dane, a couch dog with boundless objectivity and powers of reason. I'm the Border Collie, remember? The one who needs ten hours of exercise and a shock collar?

My ability to sit still dissipates depending on the frequency of the hockey games. If I have at least 48 hours between games to reset and refuel, there's a good chance I can endure in the stands for another full period of hockey. If it's been, say, a tournament weekend with four games in 36 hours, I'm back to pacing and visiting the concession stand within seconds of the puck drop and with increasing frequency in direct proportion to the number of shots on goal.

I've been reading Vikki Reich's daily November blog posts, and I've been thinking: how hard could it really be to just write something here once a week?

Vikki is a humor writer I admire, and her blog is really good. So, it's not as if I'm thinking: it'd be so easy to write something like Vikki every week. No, it's just that when I read her stuff I realize blogging has a lot of value, at least to me. I love reading about other people's lives, and I like going back through the archives here and reading about my own life.

Wouldn't it be nice to chronicle a little longer? Just keep track of the mundane?

In any case, here are a couple of things:

• We've been working on volume this week in third grade. As in, noise level. Previously, we've worked on stamina and coping skills. Those things are still high on our list of priorities, but this week I felt like a lot of people were yelling all the time. We've now worked on self-awareness around yelling. I come around and gently remind people about our goals. I say, "It sounds like you're yelling." We've achieved sporadic and marginal success in lessening the frequency of yelling.

• Mac has me obsessed with this podcast called Six Minutes. It's a story about a girl mysteriously lost at sea and the family who takes her in. Also, it's about helicopters and bad guys and hoverboards. It's transformed our commute. Each episode is--shocker--six minutes long. If I can't listen to my new Spotify playlist that includes "St. Elmo's Fire (Man in Motion)" and has my family engaged in a whole new round of mom-mocking, then I choose Six Minutes.

There's a lot happening over here, but most important, it's Spring Break. I've got a to-do list as long as my arm, including an eye appointment and painting the trim in the upstairs hallway. And, obviously, other stuff because that little list is only as long as my fingernail.

Among the items, there's also this blog that I've been neglecting. I'm really wanting to get back to it with charming anecdotes and musings on the writing life.

Here are three potentially entertaining tidbits:

• I was once again a dance captain in the middle school teacher talent show act. A student emailed me afterward to tell me what a good dancer I am. I'm pretty sure, but not positive, the email was written without irony.
• In the Mac zone, we've traded hockey parenting for lacrosse parenting. It's time for box lacrosse. Lacrosse is, I think, the most violent sport known to humankind. During the games, I find myself yelling things like, "WHACK HIM!" and there's sometimes blood.
• I'm working out a synopsis for my next book. Before I get to the whole thing--even the whole synopsis-- I'm pretty sure there's an impending round of new edits on the old book. Isn't it funny that it seems old even though it still hasn't seen the light of day? Here's what I think to myself: the more rounds of edits I do, the fewer there still are to go. I think that's true no matter what. 

On Tuesday morning, I took Mac to the orthodontist's office. This is where we all smile politely at each other, the staff inflicts pain on my children, and I pay eleven-thousand dollars for them to do it.

Despite the nature of our relationship with the orthodontist, Mac and I were pretty content in the waiting room, just playing a game on my phone called Yazy. It's Yahtzee without the copyright, and I was winning.

Anyway, a kid came out of the torture chamber and tapped his dad, sitting across from us, on the shoulder.

"All done?" said the dad.

"Yep," said the kid. He grimaced a little bit, teeth flashing metal.

The dad stood up and something clattered to the floor. Neither he nor the kid noticed.

"Sir," I said, without looking, "you've dropped something." I stood up to grab it for him, planning to hand it up. But when I lunged toward it, I realized it was a huge knife.

A long, sharp knife! Like a hunting knife!

I paused.

"Oh," said the dad, and then realizing, "oh, geez!" He grabbed the knife and collapsed it and shoved it back into his pocket. I looked at his shoes. He didn't thank me for pointing out that he'd dropped a dangerous weapon in the lobby of the orthodontist's office.

I glanced over at him a few more times as we walked back toward the work stations. He seemed both sheepish and angry, like I might report to the over-friendly receptionist that he was packing. I didn't tattle, but I thought about it. Doesn't the orthodontist's office ban weapons? Why would that guy need the very sharp knife? Perhaps he was planning on negotiating a new payment plan?

It's not that I don't understand the impulse. But, violence is never the way.

1. He doesn't sleep very well. He hasn't ever, but we're all used to it now.
2. He does things his own way. You can't predict what the way will be, and you probably can't influence the way. You have to roll with it and trust the master. The master is Mac himself.
3. Two summers ago, he hated swimming so much that he cried about lessons and refused to get in the water. Of course, I wouldn't let him quit swimming because of safety and principle, so he sat sobbing on the edge of the pool for the full hour allotted to practice. This happened day after day.  Now, however, he loves swimming and wants to go to races. He laughs when I remind him of those other times with the incessant crying.
4. Mac's not a morning person. He's so not a morning person that about six years ago, we began dressing him in clean clothes at bedtime in lieu of pajamas. This eliminated some morning tantrums, and it's a practice we've continued to this very day. Or, we just let it go, and he wears the same outfit for an entire weekend. It's a little gross, but it's not life threatening.
5. He writes books, types them up, and gets them catalogued in the Lower School library. There's a series about Hamburger Boy and multiple issues of a magazine called Nature News.
6. Mac hates potatoes, mostly even French fries.   
7. When he is sleeping, he's super active. If you let him in your bed, he'll kick you in the face while you're in the midst of your REM cycle. Just don't let him in there. If you have to because it's eleven for goodness sake, and he's not anywhere near sleeping, block your whole self with pillows before you close your eyes.
8. He loves school and does everything his teachers tell him to. This shocks me every time I hear it at conferences.
9. Mac's very particular about his appearance - hair, clothes, shoes. If he doesn't like it or it isn't his style, he won't wear it. Because see #2. #2 is really all you need to know. 

Three Great Books I've Read This Quarter:

I'm not the only one in the household producing lots of text this month. Mac is also hard at it, especially now that, after about 45 minutes of frustration, I've managed to set up our home printer. I think we can agree, there's nothing like seeing your work in actual print.

"Oh, my, god, !!!!!!"
"What happens if we mess up when stopping a speeding bullet." I said with a worried voice.
"Well... you will die."
WHAT!!!!!!!!!!!!!

As you can see, it's got a lot of adventure.

Mac's other project is writing magazines called Nature News. He and some of his pals produce these at school, and the librarian keeps them in a little periodical holder near a reading nook. Bless her heart.

So anyway, a couple of  nights ago Mac wrote what he thought was to be Nature News, Volume 8.  When I picked him up yesterday, though, be broke the bad news that all of his work was for naught.

"Someone else was already doing Volume 8," he told me.

"Oh, well," I said. "Hey, why don't you just go on your document and make yours Volume 12? Or a higher number?"

This solution hadn't occurred to him, and I was pleased that he found it to be favorable. Sure enough, I'm looking at Volume 12 right now. Here's a tidbit: "If you think that snakes are mammals than you are wrong, snakes are reptiles!!!!!"

Good to know.

Mac's fiction reached #1 on the library circulation list.

Two of Mac's movie reviews.

Second Quarter Review, featuring Mac's television recommendations.

We've done it again: We've started the school year.

The Good: I'm pumped about my curriculum and my students. My advisees are adorable. My bosses set a wonderful tone for the year with a calm, positive, and mindful first assembly.  Shef seemed happy and confident to be a "middle of the middle school" seventh grader and finished one spot out of varsity in the cross country run-off. Not bad for a sevie! Mac's teacher is empathetic and caring. When I picked him up, I could already tell he trusted and relied on her. Heart melt.  I mean, really.

The Bad: It's time for the usual exhaustion. This is not a surprise. It's an annual thing.

The Ugly: The humidity isn't doing much for my hair, as you can see in this photo.  Today, I've done a little braid, which I find to be passable. Let's be honest: I'd prefer to be pretty, but passable will have to do.

We all know that Camp Foley is the best place on earth. It features endless fun for school-aged children, as evidenced by the iconic letter from Shef we received two years ago. That letter is pictured above, and we store it on our refrigerator.

I feel great about sending my kids to camp.  And, gosh darnit, this feeling could not be dampened by the the letter we got from Mac today.  He says, and I quote, "Dear Mom and Dad, I want to come home I am crying [or dying. I can't really read it]."

Truth be told, I'd be more worried if I hadn't gotten a text from my Camp Director pal, Alli yesterday.  She told me that after three straight days of refusing to dip even a toe into the lake, they sent an assistant director down to coax or coerce him, I don't really care which. Sure enough, he passed the swim test on the first try after flat out refusing to take it for three days and crying and/or dying. The next postcard from Mac better say, "I had so much fun learning to wakeboard."  It better, but I'm not holding my breath.

Mac refusing to take swimming lessons (and my own long chin hairs)

Mac emptying his dresser, item by item. A true classic.

Whether or not to assign chores

When Shef was obsessed with NASCAR (and Budweiser)

Shef's first stomach flu.  Why would you want to read this?

The time Mac puked at tae kwon do.  Again, why click?

As true patriots, the 4th of July weekend is a favorite in our family.  We kicked off the celebration of our nation's independence with a two-night trip to the family cabin with Dan's parents, his sister, and her family.  A rolicking time was had by all.  Highlights included Mac's first time up on water skis (pictured above) and Shef's unique approach to fishing.

Here's how the fishing goes:  First, the kid taunts the fish loudly.  "Come on, Fish!  I'm gonna get you this time!"  Just to be clear: this part is yelling.  The idea of not startling the fish doesn't resonate with Shef.  When tiny sunfish go for the bait, Shef celebrates heartily.  "OH YEAH!" and "LET'S GO!" are two of the cheers I heard. After he reels the one-, two-, or three-inch-long fish in, the problems present themselves.

Here's the biggest problem: Shef is apparently terrified of fish.  He emits high-pitched and ridiculous screams when a fish twitches, as fish are wont to do when out of water.  "Take it off the hook," we told him.  He struggled mightily with this task, even when I calmly demonstrated and coached from close proximity.  I'd say he screamed like a little girl, except that's sexist and in fact, a little girl (his cousin) was serenely fishing next to him, removing fish from the hook without any hoopla or to-do.

Shef himself could see the humor in the fishing and documented it in a small moment piece that he composed on his Chrome Book at the conclusion of the angling session.  Isn't that great? An outdoorsman who is also a writer?  He's every parent's dream.  And here's a video documenting what I've just described.  LOL, for realz.



Shef kayaking at the cabin at age 2. That's great parenting.

The time I bought a swim suit for an eighty year-old. I don't still wear that swimsuit, FYI.

The time I was pregnant and Dan wouldn't play DDR with me.

Three of my FAVORITE things about Dan.

Mac's review of Paddington

Dan's and my reviews of Die Hard

Pronto and I do an epic review of Harry Potter 7.  ON VIDEO!