the sleppys

This morning, the boys woke up a little bit earlier and were reminded to get ready for their first swimming lesson. They did their chores, had their breakfast, and donned their swim trunks before 7:15am. We piled into the van with Taylor, who wasn’t having a lesson but went to accompany me, and pulled up to the pool ten minutes to eight. The boys went into the locker room that leads to the pool deck. Taylor and I went around the pool and watched the lesson from the bleachers.

Children started showing up just before eight o’clock. Ty prayed with Kyle next to him at the edge of the pool. “Dear God, please make me and Kyle brave so we don’t drown. Amen.” The children sat on a green bench facing east and were instructed to sit at the edge of the pool when the instructor called their names. She called a few names, and the children did as they were told. She called Kyle’s name but mispronounced his last name, so no one answered. She continued to the next name. “I’m not sleepy. Just the sun’s hurting my eyes!” Kyle got up and sat at the edge. A few names later, Kyle announced that he had “to go pee,” and the instructor pointed the way. He was struggling to get the storage room door open when the instructor called to him, “Kyle! What are you doing?”
“I have to pee.”
“The bathroom is in the locker room.”

Then came the evaluation: Neither Kyle nor Ty could swim from one end of the pool to the other, so the instructor asked them to blow bubbles under water. When the class divided into groups based on swimming skill level, Ty and Kyle were in their own group with the same instructor.

With the help of a blue float board, the boys practiced their kicks with straight arms, and they traveled a few feet in the water that way. Ty was instructed to float in a star shape (with straight arms and legs), head down, and blow bubbles. At first, he was scared, but after the second time, he hid his fear. Kyle also floated in the star shape but was only a little scared.

At the end of the lesson, Ty asked the instructor her name. She said, “Miss Dee.” Both boys thanked her and went to change in the locker room.

This morning, I woke up to go running. I stepped into the kitchen to drink water when I realized that I had to bake and decorate two cakes for the babies’ birthday. Since it’s cooler in the mornings than in the afternoons, I decided to forgo the running and start on the cakes before the sun came up (the oven heats up the house).

Slowly the house started getting louder with each child who was waking up, screaming, asking for water, giggling, screaming, laughing, tickling, screaming. By 7:30am, I had baked two cakes and set them aside for cooling.

At 8am, I got a call from the piano moving company, saying that they can be ready to move the piano at 9am. The church that hires me to play music has moved locations, where there is already a piano (two, actually). They gave me the piano from their previous location, and I was supposed to pick it up before the end of the month, when their lease ran out. Dad and I cleared out a space for the upright piano, and Dad went on a quick errand to the store to pick up confectioner’s sugar and other things we needed. As soon as he came back, I hopped in the van to meet the movers. Everything was relocated and paid by 10am, and the children were playing the new piano as if they didn’t already have one in their house.

Kyle’s left hand is in the foreground. Taylor’s head is behind Talon’s face. Kendall’s fingers are down in the bass department. Ty stands at the end.

I spent the rest of the morning making icing, coloring the icing, and decorating the cakes. In the middle of all that standing around in the kitchen, the children kept walking by, standing next to me, telling me that they wanted to watch me decorate or that they were hungry. It reminded me of the day that my great aunt and mother stood in the kitchen for what seemed like all day, baking and decorating my birthday cake. Why did it take them eight hours? My brothers and I were staARGHving, and all we got to eat was an apple. A quarter after twelve, I chopped onions, sauteed them in butter, and made stuffing for lunch. I had a glass of milk, put a load of clothes in to wash, and took the time to hang them outside to dry. Half past twelve, I continued my project.

An hour later, I finished decorating both cakes. I placed them on top of the bookshelves and washed the utensils (and put them away).

Now, I’m going to take a nap.

Kyle isn’t much of an active child. He prefers to lay on the couch in the fetal position with his thumb in his mouth, eyes wide open, thinking about Heaven-only-knows. Every once in a while, he’ll let out a chuckle or get up quickly and run to Dad or me and ask a question. If he does that, it’s a really deep, life altering question such as, “How do the astronauts get to the Moon?” or “When the dinosaurs died, why did the other animals not?” It comes as a surprise usually because he changes gears rapidly, from lazily lounging on the couch to springing up and asking his question with such intensity and haste that his voice rises as high as his eyebrows!

This morning, Dad left to run some errands, and the children completed their laundry chores. Kyle took his favored spot on the couch and coiled into position. I tinkered with my sewing project in the den with the doors open. After a few minutes, I heard Kyle’s feet shuffling across the rug. Actually, his pants’ legs were making the shuffle sound because he wears them so low. I stopped moving scissors and pattern tissue across my desk to hear his mumbling:

“Takes the puck… passes to Yzerman… Federov…”

I take a peek into the living room and see Kyle’s handling the hockey stick, gliding it along the rug. His hair is long, to his waist, covers his face as he looks down to the end of the hockey stick.

“Hull… takes the puck… Chelios… to Federov…”

We make eye contact. He stops. I pretend to stare as he continues to look at me but moves toward the couch.

“Mommy, why are you staring?”
“Oh, sorry. I was just thinking of something.” I go back to my tinkering at the sewing table. He returns to his game. After a few minutes, I hear his mumbling again:

“Yzerman takes the puck. To Chelios. He shoots! HE SCORES!”

From the corner of my eye, I see that Kyle has his stick above his head. He picks up his heels and “skates” like Mike Eruzione did when he scored the winning goal against the Soviets during the Olympic games in 1980.

I try my darndest to be nonchalant when we make eye contact again. He puts down his stick and runs into his bedroom where he and Ty have their own hockey game, leaving me to my own giggles for the next few minutes.