We missed sending out a letter the last Xmas or two, so we thought we should make an extra effort this year to update everyone before all the kids grow up.
It hit me the other night when I went to Veronica’s (9th grade) winter concert at the high school. As she sat there in the school auditorium, watching our third child perform on this stage, I realized this would soon be over as well -- Only three more winter concerts and she’ll be off to college.
Veronica is a flutist and has auditioned successfully for the all county orchestra for several years now. She is also trying her hand with the debate team and getting used to the studying (sort of) required for the advanced placement courses she is taking. She is also an adolescent now and really doesn’t give a fig about anything.
Francois, our oldest (18 years old), is finishing up (we hope) his first semester at Plymouth State University in New Hampshire. He left the saxophone and the bass guitar he played on that stage at home. Other than that, we really have nothing to report about him because we haven’t a clue what he is doing except "I’m doing OK." We suppose that he is doing okay because he is going to a school in a beautiful setting at the foot of the White Mountains with paid room and board; $5 per day lift tickets; a 60%, young female population; and a total of 15 hours per week required class time. Life is tough. We just paid the second tuition bill.
Caroline, our high school junior (16 years old), has long since stopped playing the trumpet on that stage. However, three times a year, she is a crew member of the theatrical group that puts plays on at the high school. She and her friends design, construct, and paint the sets and then move the stuff around the stage in the darkness between the scenes of the plays. Many of them come over to our house on Friday nights to watch movies and devour anything in the refrigerator. On Thanksgiving weekend, I made an extra turkey for them which disappeared in much the same way the food stores in biblical Egypt were consumed by locusts. Caroline continues with her art work and we have pictures hanging throughout the house and in Dad’s office. She is working hard to bring her grades up so she can get into a good art school.
Matthew is in sixth grade (11 years old) and doing well academically. He is also becoming an accomplished drummer and will be on that high school stage in 2 years. He plays lacrosse, following in his older brother’s footsteps, and is the most laid back person in the family.
Nicholas, our seven year old, is in second grade and the most energetic of the group. His job is to annoy Matthew and the teenagers who eat here on Friday night. He takes his work seriously.
Gone are the killer years when all five were in school in town – the time when there were five concerts per season and we calculated that we only had 29 more to attend. The high school band played or the middle school choir sang or the elementary school teacher tried desperately to herd grade ones in and out like unruly sheep.
Back then, with the holidays being what they are and life with kids being what it is, getting out the door to five different concerts was a big deal. A very big deal. (Actually, life with five kids being what it is, trying to get your hair brushed by lunchtime was a big deal.) We did it though. Every single one. You have to develop some sort of coping mechanism for the stunning auditory experience that is a middle school string section. It's funny how much better the bands were the years our children were in them even as I did my knitting and watched the clock and wondered when it would end, consulting the program eight hundred times to see how many songs there were left.
Things are starting to quiet with Frank gone. Dad is much more relaxed. The other kids missed him, for about an hour, until there were spoils to be divided – the computer, stereo, and extra bedroom.
Dad’s getting older, 60 years old next summer. He just joined a town gym where he aspires to work out 6 to 7 days a week to make up for years of age and neglect, and possibly loose 50 (well maybe 20) pounds.
For the past year, I have been working part-time at the local public library which has taken precious time away from important seasonal tasks such as wrapping gifts (just a few more to go), baking cookies, and finishing some Xmas knitting projects. (A hat, then a pair of mittens, then another pair of mittens – Obviously, I have slipped so far into some sort of Christmas delusion that my sense of possibility is all off. Pass the egg nog.)
