Another Highly Successful Bribe

George hit a major milestone today--he rode a bike (without assistance) for the first time. I've been waiting for this day for a long time! What led up to today's achievement was quite different from my own experience as a kid....

I first rode a bike when I was about 5, in the alley behind our house in California, aided by one of my older siblings--I think it was my brother Michael. It was a perfect place to learn to ride, because it was flat and there was hardly ever any traffic on it. I still remember the thrill of when Michael (or was it Drew? Not sure--I really only remember what was ahead of me!), who was running along beside me and holding me up, let go and I just kept going. I was on a green bike with a banana seat that I had been given for Christmas, that my dad had put together at his workbench in our garage.

Before Christmas I had actually walked in on my dad in the garage when he was working on it. He was so cool, though: when I asked what it was, he said, in highly conspiratorial tones, that it was Drew's Christmas present, and he swore me to secrecy. I remember sitting there with him for a long time as he worked on it, and I even still remember the thrill I felt at knowing something that my older brother didn't, something that was going to be a wonderful surprise for him. (I didn't know enough to be able to tell that it was a girl's bike!) It's actually one of the earliest sustained memories I have of my dad--along with some snippets of times at the dinner table and several happy memories of him on family camping trips.

On Christmas morning that year I remember being extra excited as I ran downstairs with my siblings--I wasn't even thinking about what I was going to get. I just couldn't *wait* to see Drew's reaction to the shiny green bike he was getting and that I had "helped" my dad with. But he instead was over oohing and ahhing over a different bike that was next to it, a bigger, red one. I said to him, Drew, come over here--this is your Christmas present! This is your bike! And my dad said to me, No, Honey; that's *your* bike! It's for you! Well, I was just blown away. It was completely magical. The fact that I had already seen it and had thought it was Drew's actually added to its value in my eyes. Being the youngest of 4 (by far--Drew was the closest to me and he was 7 years my senior), I pretty much idolized my siblings, and wanted to be just like them. I couldn't have been happier with that bike if Santa himself had handed it over to me personally.

I could not wait to learn how to ride it. I'm not sure how long after that it was that Michael and I took it out back to the alley where he taught me to ride it, but it can't have been long. The whole thing is one of my favorite childhood memories.

George, on the other hand, could not have been less interested in bicycles! Ok, not quite true--he loved riding on his little preschooler bike. But once I got him a scooter, the bike sat in the garage, along with the newer bike I bought him when he'd outgrown that one. Several times a year I'd ask him if he wanted to learn how to ride his bike, but he'd always answer that he just wasn't interested, that he was happy with his scooter. I'd tried talking his dad into taking him to a park and teaching him, but although his dad agreed in theory that it really ought to be done, I guess George's lack of enthusiasm for the whole thing was contagious to all of his parental units. I was feeling quite guilty about the whole thing, actually, like that somehow despite his resistance I really should have found a way to teach him. (How very many things there are to feel guilty about as a parent!!)

Anyway, fast forward to today. George and I were in Toys-R-Us compiling his Christmas list. In the back of the store is a big section with all the bicycles. George hopped on a little preschooler bike with training wheels and started riding it around. Suddenly something clicked in my head--these aisles were wide and pretty long, and there was no one at all around in this part of the store... what if I surprised him with the suggestion that he jump on one of the two-wheelers and give it a try, right here in the store? I thought the idea was zany enough that it might appeal to him. I also liked that it had the element of surprise, that he might just say yes without having any time to really think about it. As I predicted, he was definitely intrigued!

Before he could think much about it, I pulled a bike off the display that looked about the right size, had him get on it, and I started wheeling him around on it. I let go for a few seconds and I could see that he really did have his balance--all that scootering had surely helped prepare him for this. But I could see his enthusiasm level wasn't quite what it needed to be to see this task through to its conclusion, so I thought fast and then asked him what he would want from me as a prize if he really learned how to ride a bike today. He quickly replied, a video game. Done! I said. I told him we'd go to a park when we got home and if he really learned today we'd come right back and get him the video game of his choice. But we both kind of wanted him to try it one more time right there in the store, so I set him up again, gave him a good push, and let go. He rode all the way down that aisle! ...and then crashed, into a display of bicycle helmets! I laughed so hard I had to sit down. Before you conclude that I'm a wretched human being, let me add that he was laughing just as heartily. The irony of the display being helmets was not lost on him, as he sat/lay there amidst them all with the bike sort of on top of him. We laughed and laughed for quite some time before we could get it together to put everything back.

We hurried home, as we'd soon be running out of daylight (stupid autumn! anyway...) and looked for his helmet and a wrench to remove the training wheels from his "new" bike which he's had for years but has ridden probably three times. Then we wheeled the bike down the big hill to the parking lot in the park across from our house. The lot was basically empty, and there weren't too many people around--perfect. From there, it was really a snap. He was off and running from his first try, though learning how to start by himself took a little bit of effort. As I watched him ride around the parking lot, and then on one of the trails across the park, I think that the thrill and pride that I felt matched what I felt all those years ago on the other side of the country when I had my first successful solo ride.

So even though it took a bribe to get his enthusiasm up for this milestone (and honestly, I wish I'd thought about this approach two or even three years ago!), in the end he did take on the task with great gusto, and I know he was quite pleased with his success. He said that we shouldn't make a big deal out of it since he should have learned when he was 3, but I could tell he felt rather triumphant just the same.

Definitely an A+ for phys ed today!

Bon voyage to my big brother!

Today my oldest brother, Michael, is setting sail across the Atlantic Ocean in a 47-foot sailboat with a crew of 4, including himself, and his son. Wow. I'm excited and a bit scared for him, and also immensely proud of him. While I generally agree with the old adage that one should never say never, I'm fairly certain this is something I myself would never, ever undertake!

This is the last big ocean crossing on Michael's trip around the world onboard his yacht Traveler. He left home in Southern California in the summer of 2007. The trip was supposed to have taken 2 years, but for a variety of reasons they got off schedule at a few crucial points and then had to wait out hurricane seasons and such, and ended up a full year behind. His girlfriend Barbara, a very experienced sailor, was supposed to have been with him for the whole trip, but she was only able to get a 2-year leave from her teaching job, so she had to leave the boat and go back to California at the end of this past summer. (She'll be joining up with him whenever she can, during her breaks.)

I have met up with him twice on the trip: the first time was in Hawaii, back in July of '07. That was at the end of the first leg of his journey, from LA to Honolulu, which he sailed as part of the Transpacific Yacht Race. My then-boyfriend (now-husband) and George and I were supposed to have stayed on his boat with him while we were there, but ended up overlapping with him for only one night, because that crossing took a full week longer than expected! There was no wind--all of the boats were late. He actually won second place in his class, and it was a huge thrill to be able to meet him at the finish line. My other brother, Drew, and his family were also there, but their trip was shorter than ours and so they were (alas) long gone by the time Michael and crew arrived.

On our last morning there (and our only morning there with Michael), we went out in the boat off the shore of the stretch of beach where my grandparents spent the better part of about 20 of their golden years. My grandmother had died four and a half years before, and my grandfather had died several months before. We anchored the boat and held a really sweet memorial service for them. This probably isn't legal, but we then dropped their (tightly sealed) urns overboard--Michael had brought them with him from California--so that their ashes could be together, out from their favorite beach, forever... or until some scuba diver mistakes them for a lost treasure and takes them back to shore!

(Here is an article about the 2007 Transpac Race; the second half of it is all about Michael and gives an account of many of the troubles and mishaps he faced on the race. Also, if you look at the pictures to the right, he's the guy in the yellow hat who is kissing the ground.)

The next time I met up with Traveler was in January of '08, in Tahiti, this time with my sister, Melissa. What a blast that was! (And not just because I was so glad to get away from the upstate New York winter;-) However, it was on that trip that both Melissa and I realized that we would definitely not be accompanying Michael on any of his major crossings. Now, keep in mind that both Melissa and I do have some experience sailing, though it was admittedly (for the most part) many years ago. But we were both quite confident in our seaworthiness. In fact, we were kind of looking forward to the 14-hour, overnight crossing--from Moorea to Huahine--that Michael had planned for us. After all, the shorter 2- or 3-hour crossings up to that point had been a piece of cake.

Michael had a schedule set up for the night crossing whereby we would all help in overlapping shifts. Either he or Barbara would always be on deck, and for most of the time either Melissa or I would be there to help. He would take the first shift by himself, so the rest of us could get a few hours of sleep right off the bat. Sleep indeed! Ha. We ran into very rough seas soon after leaving port, and you really would have had to be in a coma to get any sleep.

At first, I was ok. I came up on deck to take my shift with Michael. But I wasn't able to be as much help as I would have liked, given that I was hanging on for dear life. Michael actually strapped me in so I wouldn't fall overboard, and at a certain point he really wanted me to try steering. I wedged myself in as best I could, bracing myself with my feet, and tried to steady myself enough to hold the helm more or less in place. Not only did it not go very well, but I started to feel quite seasick. It was bad. I had to jettison my pride and ask Michael for a Dramamine! I knew this would make me very sleepy and would render me even more useless, but I was sure by then that I wasn't going to be any help at all anyway. I took the little pill, and went back down below deck, making my way (which took great determination) all the way to the front of the boat, into the v-berth, which was about the size of a queen-or a king-sized bed at the widest point. I wedged myself in so that I would be thrown around as little as possible and set about trying to will myself to sleep, which I knew wouldn't really work, but I had to try.

Throughout the night, as I desperately tried to keep control of my nausea and to keep from being slammed against the walls of the v-berth, I was vaguely aware that my sister had gone up on deck. I was almost too miserable to feel ashamed that she was up there helping while I was down below not contributing a damn thing.

I should add that every time the waves crashed against the boat--which was with unrelenting frequency--the sides of the boat would creak loudly, and I became convinced that the boat was going to split apart and we were all going to be swallowed up by the ocean. My main thought was actually for my mom--I felt so bad that she was going to lose 3 of her 4 children in one shot! But believe it or not I actually took a bit of comfort in finding some humor in the situation, thinking about my brother Drew (he always seemed to have suffered a bit from "middle-child syndrome" when we were younger)--at long last he would get to be Mom's undisputed favorite!

After many hours of this, which included a couple of very challenging trips to the head, I ventured back up on deck--I decided it was time to try again. As I staggered/climbed up, and poked my head out, the first person I saw was Melissa, who greeted me by pointing her finger at me in what seemed to me a rather accusatory way and saying "YOU!" I was starting to mutter something like, Yeah, I know, I really wimped out, I let you all down, I'm sorrrrry! But she cut me off and said "I can't BELIEVE you pulled that off, lasting all night without throwing up!" Turns out she had been up there all night not helping with the sailing, but--strapped in, of course--tossing her cookies over the side of the boat!!!

I was actually feeling a little better by this point, and also probably buoyed a bit by the pride in having at least fared better than my big sis. So when Michael insisted that I try taking the helm again, I was ready. I managed slightly better this time--though not because the sea was any calmer. At this point, Michael was dead tired, and Barbara, amazingly, wanted to go back down below deck to MAKE BREAKFAST. Seriously, I could not even stand in one place (let alone walk even a few steps) without engaging all 4 of my limbs. I couldn't imagine how she could possibly think about preparing food--or eating it, for that matter. But prepare she did. In fact, she made an omelet, and hash browns, and BACON, and COFFEE!! Which she and Michael ate and drank without spilling any of it. Wow. I'll never understand how they did it.

Soon thereafter we made it to Huahine, our destination, and once we were in the harbor it was calm enough for us all to catch up on sleep, and for Melissa and me to recover from our nausea... though I'm not sure that even now we're quite over the humiliation we both felt at having fallen apart the way we did! In any case, it was enough to cure us each of any daydreams (delusions) we might have had about joining him for the Atlantic crossing!

So now here he is, almost two years later, setting out on that crossing. If you're curious, you can read about his thoughts in the hours before his departure on his blog. He's leaving from the Canary Islands (where he actually stopped by the chapel where Christopher Columbus attended mass before setting out on the same crossing) and will be heading for Barbados. From there they'll head to St. Lucia and then island-hop around the Caribbean for awhile before taking the Panama Canal over to the other side of the continent, arriving back in Southern California sometime next summer.

Michael, you are crazy, and wonderful, and brave, and I love you. Safe travels, big bro.

Another great Friday

Too busy to blog much these days, but since I'm wide awake at 3am (after having fallen into a deep sleep starting at about 8!), I thought I'd take the opportunity to record George's very successful day today (well, yesterday now).

Perhaps I should add that this very successful, productive day came at the end of a week that was not maximally productive for him. Monday my stepson was home from school and spent the day with us, plus it ended up being an intense workday for me, so George got very little work done indeed that day (though the boys had some great bonding time, which was nice). Tuesday also somehow slipped by without much getting done--it's my busiest work day, and it was busier than usual, which kept me almost entirely off his back! By the time Wednesday rolled around, I was already exhausted, but did manage to make sure he at least started to get on track with some work. Thursday was a more-or-less "normal" workday for him, but I was feeling sort of bad about not having made sure he worked at the beginning of the week. So by the time Friday arrived I was ready for him to be in high gear, and I guess he was, too!

In the morning he did his chores (brushed and flossed his teeth, cleaned the cat box, plus other minor stuff), watched the Colbert Report with me (current events, you know!), wrote a book review on his blog, practiced his recorder at length, and worked on a song he's composing (part of his assignment from his music teacher, who is wonderful and also really "gets" him) which included a quick break to learn about sixteenth notes and how to write them. He also read (as always) and played in his room a bit.

At noon we went to the Y for our Friday afternoon activity marathon, which starts with an hour of Spanish class. His Spanish teacher is also wonderful, by the way, and makes the class a lot of fun. Sometimes it seems like he's more into the fun and less into the Spanish, but today he asked a great question about a verb form that really showed that he was in fact paying very close attention. The language teacher in me was quite proud :-)

After that it was time for an hour of swimming class and then an hour of gym class, followed by an hour and a half with a sitter while I ran to campus for a lecture (during which, embarrassingly, I did not fare well in my struggle to stay awake!!), followed by Tae Kwon Do class, where I met up with him again, and where he finally earned his white belt.

I know--most places, you get your white belt and your uniform when you sign up, but Master Choi is hardcore. You have to go there for like a month or more and prove (mostly to yourself, I suppose) that you are serious about this before you get your white belt. Then you have to jump through some more hoops before you earn your uniform! To get your white belt you have to show that you can do 5 push-ups, 5 sit-ups, and 5 back-um... something-or-others. George did like 20 or 30 or 60 of each, and was quite proud as Master Choi heaped on the praise (sorry for the low-quality cell-phone-photos):

I missed the shot of when Master Choi was tying the belt on him, but you get the idea:

My own little Karate Kid:

So, all in all, it was a great day. He worked hard and accomplished a lot all day, in so many ways (composing and practicing music, reading, writing, studying Spanish, working so hard in Tae Kwon Do after already having done two hours of physical activity at the Y...). It was one of those days where I just *know* that homeschooling is the right thing for him. He's being challenged in ways that are highly varied and appropriate, and he is rising to the challenges with enthusiasm and energy. And despite the fact that he still needs some direction from me, I can see that he likes to push himself and feels really good about his accomplishments. He's growing and thriving--creatively, physically, intellectually. It's easy to doubt myself sometimes when we have a sub-par couple of days in a row. But days like this one give me the strength and enthusiasm and resolve to continue on this path, even if it means that I occasionally doze off at work. (But for that, I think I'll blame whoever scheduled that lecture for 3:00 on a Friday afternoon!!!)