Would you rather...?

We don't have air conditioning. On days like today (and weeks like this week), we droop. And drip. And get a little cranky. We don't sleep all that well at night, and we drink gallons of ice water and cold green tea during the day. The kids take bathing-suit baths together, soaking the mat no matter how often I tell them not to splash.

We have fans: one ceiling, two good Vornados, and two window units made in a country where, apparently, there are engineers who have mastered the art of designing blades that spin but do not propel air. We (usually) get a breeze off the river, though that doesn't help much at 97 degrees and 95% humidity. But on a day like today, even the thought of moving air counts.

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Years ago, straight out of college, I lived in Puerto Rico. On the hot, humid weekends of summer I took cold showers and lay under my ceiling fan until I awoke from the nap I hadn't known I'd taken. Then I'd get up to shower and fall asleep again. I had weird dreams, the sort that ended with falling in a puddle. I took to sleeping on a beach towel to absorb the sweat.

Once I awoke from a mid-afternoon nap and discovered a swarm of large, black ants on the floor, thousands of them. Not knowing what else to do, I grabbed my broom and swept them out the door. Despite my subsequent nightmares, they never came back.

But the little lizards -- the ones whose tails snapped off into wriggling question marks that wondered Where did my body go? -- they returned every day.

Once on a hazy weekend I went snorkeling on a reef with an acquaintance. Our inflatable boat came unmoored, and we had to swim half a mile after it across a bay where sharks were known to prowl. I do not recall being hot on that day, only terrified. Never swam faster in my life, though.

And as I sit in my city apartment, drowsing my way through this hot day, I play a game: Would you rather swim with sharks, or swelter your way through July without air conditioning?

Saying yes to no answer to prayer

Last Wednesday when I wrote about not-knowing, Shirley left a comment asking if prayer really works. I've put up a rather long piece on a separate page, entitled Saying Yes to No Answer to Prayer.

Lest you think I can pop off long, complicated pieces in a matter of days, I began writing this particular piece when Big Guy was 11. He's now 15. I'll warn you that it's pretty intense. Since this blog has quite a mixed audience -- some of you are athiests, others are committed Christians, and not a few readers are Jewish -- I've chosen not to put the piece in the main body of the blog. Besides, it's way too long.

Happy reading, to those of you who choose to read it. And I hope it's helpful.

An important day

She arrived late and huge. Labor was so hard that I passed out between pushes. After Snuggler was finally born I lay in a stupor; the doctor said cautiously to Andrew, "Does your wife always look that color after delivery?"

And then we shared a room with a 17 year old with a 4-pound preemie, and my 9 pound, 2 ounce baby looked like someone had SuperSized her.

She has the most naturally generous heart of any child I know. She loves drama, art, reading and friends. She struggles with organization and pronouncing the letter R. She is affectionate and impassioned, a fabulous writer, and a terrific big sister.

Today she received gouache and paper, poker chips, an animation book and a Starbucks card to mark her first decade. Happy birthday, sweet Snuggler.

A school interview for Big Guy

Yes, we finally got a call. And today we went for an interview at a school for Big Guy. There aren't many special education schools out there that are both therapeutically and academically strong, and this one was on our short list. It's nearly an hour away (he'd take a school bus during the year), but location is almost a non-issue relative to fit. Besides, my habitual prayer on things like this is "Make it obvious, God." And if only one school calls, that's about as clear a signal as I can expect.

I could tell from Big Guy's snarliness this morning that he was anxious. So I asked, "What are you feeling?"(I want him to be able to identify his emotions himself, rather than rely on others to figure things out for him.)

He thought for a moment, then said, "I'm anxious."

"Do you know what you are anxious about?"

Another moment passed as he searched his thoughts. "Yes, the interview."
Okay, so far so good. It's always easier to deal with specifics than with vague fears. So I asked, "Have you thought about what it will be like?"
BG: No.
Me: Well, let's think about that. You know that they already think you might be a good fit for their school.
BG: I do?
Me: Yes, because they reviewed your file before they called to set up an interview. So we're starting with a positive. They don't interview if they don't think you're a good candidate.
BG: Oh.
Me: What kinds of things can you talk about at the interview?
BG: Um, nothing.
Me: Well, what are your strengths?
BG: I don't have any.
Me: Yes, you do. Let's look at the school web site and see what they say about their school, and maybe that will give you some ideas.

And we looked, and he did think of things, and we talked about how he could handle some of the questions that might come up. And when we got to the school he was articulate and did an excellent job. He liked the place, and if he gets in (we'll find out in a couple of days), we would say yes.

Then that problem would be solved. And imagine: it's only the middle of July, and school doesn't start until September! How excellent is that?!

A book reading

If you're in the neighborhood, I'll be participating in the Above the Bridge book party on Monday night at the Red Room. Starts at 8pm, $5 cover. I'll be reading excerpts from Daily Guideposts: Your First Year of Motherhood. Email me at LotsaLaundry1@gmail.com if you need more details.

I scream about birthdays

Snuggler's home from camp, tan and cheerful. No complaints at all. I suspect she lost about half of the clothes she took with her, and in their stead brought back a lifetime collection of crafts.

I spent much of Snuggler's time away jettisoning junk at a rate of five to seven shopping bags a day. Last night she arrived home, looked around, and said, without sarcasm, "It's too clean in here. We need to mess it up!" Then she bent down over her duffel and proceeded to fling clothing out of her bag. I kid you not.

This morning she asked about having a birthday party, since she's turning ten this week. I suppose the request is a direct result of having spent two weeks in uber-social mode at camp. Or it could be because she hasn't had a party in two years. (I don't generally volunteer to bake cakes in the middle of July in an apartment without air conditioning. And by the time fall rolls around and it's cool enough to think again, I've forgotten about throwing a party.)

I'd actually made a genuine attempt to schedule an art workshop/party for her at a friend's studio, but we haven't come up with a date yet. So in a moment of resigned inspiration this afternoon I proposed an ice cream party. For Wednesday. This week. Yes, the heat has gone to my head.

What does one do at an ice cream party, you ask? I'm not sure, but I suppose it will be easier to plan than her seventh birthday, when she requested an immigration theme. (Come to think of it, that might have been her last party...) I'm thinking I'll buy some tubs of cheap ice cream and have the girls make animal sculptures, and surely I can manufacture a party game that involves sprinkles, and then, of course, we can do many things with whipped cream. At the end they can eat good ice cream, gussied up with sauces and goodies and non pareils.


We ordered ice cream bowls to use as party favors (pictured here), and I have a couple of other ideas as well. But if you've got any great ideas, let me know.

It's up

The Seeds of Devotion post is finally there. Let me know what you think!