Eventually, Tom's birthday party took place at the climbing gym. (photo Bára)

I began to organize Tom's birthday even before we left for Czech. This year, Tom wanted a serious party, I wanted something that would not take too much work. In the end I talked him into holding it at the climbing gym, where he can invite several friends — and he'd have something different, which we like even more than celebrations in children's party places (I can still not accept in my heart when children learn to have fun by throwing a coin in a slot machine; moreover, I can't stand the noise and the unbreathable air inside these facilities).

I was rather curious about how all this happening will turn out. We arranged (and paid) for an official belayer at the gym, and I was on the scene and helping me were Sid and Rumiko. She is a mother of Tom's friend Bryce who climbs with us sometimes. Altogether ten kids showed up; the youngest was our Lisa, while the oldest was a ten-year-old Becca, a sister of Tom's classmate. Poor Becca came just as a company for her brother, but when I saw her eyes light up at seeing the gym, I convinced her mom to let the girl try it. Becca did not disappoint — she climbed really well and eagerly experimented with some harder routes. Having a larger number of belayers paid off — seven year old boys (the bulk of the invitees) were first a little afraid, so it was great that they could try a variety of routes — eventually, I think, every one of them climbed at least one route all the way to the top, and one could see how proud they were to accomplish it. Naturally, at a certain moment most of the children disappeared in the tunnel — there's a carpeted hole under one wall, which has been often appreciated by younger customers of the gym much more than actual climbing — and we, the belayers, had to herd the small climbers.

Belayers were always busy. (photo Bára)

Since we refused to munch on a greasy, cold pizza, we reserved a table at our favorite Thai restaurant and took a portion of our guests out to dinner. Lisa apparently developed a crush on Tom's classmate Sam; she kept hugging him and petting (Sam was not complaining). Besides dinner, Tom got an ice cream and we sang "Happy Birthday" and he was very happy. Back at home he checked out all his presents; he got a bunch of Lego sets, his favorite books (Magic Tree House) and T-shirts (which did not catch his fancy at first, but now he wears them serially). It simply was a success.

On the same evening I mixed a glazing for diamonds. Tommy made me happy by rejecting any beautiful (but disgustingly over-sweetened) industrial cakes, wishing for our family pastry instead. On Sunday morning we congratulated him again with a plate of diamonds, handing him our personal presents. Tom said it was well that he had not received any Lego from us, for he would not be able to put it all together, and appreciated a new globe. We often answer his logical questions (about granddad living overseas, or an airplane flying over Greenland, where is Australia, etc.), and flat maps don't always help explaining some relationships.

Ice cream instead of a cake.

Right in tow of Tom's birthday, Halloween came rushing in. It started by our children arguing over Lisa's witch costume — Lisa claimed vehemently that a boy cannot be a witch, therefore cannot wear a witch's hat. I had to correct my little daughter — and introduced Harry Potter. Tommy was delighted and a decision has been made — he shall be Harry Potter on Halloween. Lisa was not sure; she oscillated between her wish to be Hedwig (an owl) and cat/professor McGonagall (for she wears glasses and colorful clothes). A compromise emerged — Lisa was a cat during her school celebration and parade, and turned into a witch for the neighborhood trick-or-treating.

The happening at school was incredibly hectic and confused, but as far as I'm informed, not a single child got lost. The trick-or-treating was a lot more fun. We did not run into Nicholas this time, but we stumbled upon a whole bunch of Lisa's classmates on one corner. We joined an uncoordinated pack of pre-schoolers, first-graders Tom and Tyler, and some smaller kids, then on another corner Lisa realized that her book buddy Kaytlyn (five-graders visit kindergarten to read to little children) lives in that house, and Kaytlyn's younger brother — Treston — goes to the same class as Tom.

No cake at home; instead, diamonds.

Eventually the first graders Tom, Tyler and Treston with their sisters Lisa and Kaytlyn separated from the slow, large group, and for a while we called on houses in this fast squad. Then Kaytlyn met some classmates of her own, leaving us. Lisa still kept up with older boys; we went around the whole block and took Treston to his corner. Lisa started to whimper suddenly that her feet ache and that she is tired. No wonder — she kept running, well past her normal bedtime. I was feeling sorry for her, seeing her sitting on her bed like a rag doll, not quite able to change into her pajamas.

Fall illnesses apparently got to our bus. On Monday morning, when I loaded our neighbor Sasha besides our kids, my battery could not start the engine. Hippo jump-started me with cables and I drove out to school with a five-minute delay. When I stopped at the curb, I realized that turning the engine off now (after three minutes of driving), I would most likely not start again. One needs to cross a street and a small park to reach the school, and the idea of leaving an unlocked car with a running engine unattended on the street was not too reasonable. I would dare to let my own kids go to school on their own, but I felt too responsible for someone else's child to let her go. Fortunately, Chris came by, with whom I hold noon duty — and he quickly promised to accompany his second-grader to school together with my whole pack. Yay.

Halloween.

The battery held for two more days and again lost its ghost in a relatively inconvenient moment. After a phone consultation with Tony (who advised me that Sears will install a new battery for me), granny and I passed an IQ test in setting up jumper cables and jump-starting the big cow van from Cecilia. We succeeded and I went to Sears, where they indeed promised to install the battery (thus I did not need to drag a chunk of heavy metal and test my IQ more in connecting it).

The children had a two-day mini-vacation on Veterans' Day, and naturally Tom chose the opportunity to get ill. It started inconspicuously with an elevated temperature. At four in the morning my little son barked like a sick sea lion, so I pulled out our dawn jackets and we went on a night-ride in the moist twilight. Coming back, Tommy could talk again, which made me consider the problem solved — he's gotten laryngitis, which we know. During the day Tom seemed fine, but began complaining in the evening that he cannot swallow. I looked at this throat — mostly to quell his hypochondriac tendencies — and then proceeded in dialing for urgent care. I recognize strep throat quite well from last year. Fortunately, one can make an appointment for our equivalent of ER, and we got treated at the appointed hour. The doctor and subsequently lab tests confirmed my diagnosis and Tom started his vacation — with his first dose of antibiotics.

On the following Saturday, during a gloomy, rainy morning, Hippo said that we should finally get granny the car we'd been promising her in place of the over-worked Cecilia. So he sat down to his computer, and by eleven in the morning we were driving out to the first one of the two arranged meetings to check out a car for sale. The owner of a relatively little worn forester looked quite solid, so we quickly took him to Tony's, who could have a look at the bottom (of the car). Tony declared that besides worn-out break-pads (already noted by the owner) nothing else seems to be wrong with it — and before two, when the bank closes, we managed to execute the very act of car purchase. My head was spinning a bit from the rush, but we hope that we bought well and that we can now release granny out into the world with a better feeling.

Indian Lisa surprised us by excelling in math.

Celebration of Vendula's birthday fell on the same Saturday. Having granny here, we could party without having to check who said what to whom and who hit whom with what, and thinking about getting our offspring to their beds in time (and negotiating about who's going to drive back home in the middle of fun). I must say it was very refreshing and satisfying experience.

Alas, the fact that the kids were not partying with us, let to the consequence that they were in the morning — unlike us — disgustingly perky and ready for action. A less coherent moment of mental desperation led to an idea of ice skating. The plan was that our juniors, who certainly forgot how to skate, would busy themselves with thrashing around in the rink, get tired, and we'll be able to take them home exhausted and quiet. Well, Lisa was indeed quite insecure and demanded to be held and pulled and pushed when on ice. Tom said that he would skate on his own and he stuck to it. Granny rumbled that the ice we have here is bad; eventually we fixed it by exchanging her peculiar skating set (something like hockey skates but with ribs up front) for a regular hockey boots and skates — something she is used to.

After two hours of vigorous circling, my legs were giving up, yet juniors frolicked and demanded to stay. We dragged them off the ice rink essentially under various threats, so that we (adults) could subsequently collapse and whimper at home. The kids refreshed themselves with a snack and demanded a walk (good that our granny is still around). The moral of the story: we have reached the age when we must plan our parties and sporting activities with a large interval between them.

A school trimester ends shortly before Thanksgiving, and I attended teacher/parent conferences. They happen here mercifully as a one-on-one dialog. I managed to arrange my meetings so that they were back-to-back, luckily. The whole week was somewhat crazy anyway — on Tuesday I substituted in volunteering in Tom's class for another classmate's mom, continuing right into my noon yard duty. When it ended, I had ten minutes left till Tom's class ended, took my son home and sped off to the conferences. At least those were, in the case of our kids, relatively painless. We already know that Tom covers his learning stuff well. I was somewhat tense about Lisa, for her homework results sometimes bring me to desperation (see decorative signing across math problems) and she is also one of the youngest children in her grade. Nevertheless even she manages well and she even brought an E (exceeded expectations) in mathematics. Apparently she's not such a blonde as she may seem sometimes.

Tom's turkey.

On Wednesday morning I helped at school with sorting out leaflets and information for "Wednesday envelopes" (a regular communication with parents); mom of another Tom's classmate caught me and asked me to take over her part in physical education volunteering — so I stayed there for PE. On Thursday I helped in Lisa's class, which gave me some optimism — children were to make turkeys out of paper bags. I had to perpetually re-glue the poor bird's feet set backwards, and heads affixed to their butts. There I finally realized that my children are perfectly normal and do not deviate from the average, despite being fully capable to execute everything wrong even after being carefully instructed three times. Still after two hours of turkey madness I was leaving completely exhausted and convinced about teaching as one of the hardest jobs ever.

On Friday I (for a change) helped in Tom's class. First graders had advanced to the next turkey level — their decorative birds were made of wood, with the help of a glue gun. Apparently their ability to follow a technological sequence after one or more explanations had advanced as well, for if I'm not mistaken, there were no serious burns with the guns. Still I was similarly exhausted like on Thursday. When we were almost done, my cell phone rang with a school number. I found it funny that the administrator assured me in her first sentence that Tom was all right (I was watching him while I listened, which she could not know), and that she only needed to talk to me. Dropping by the office was not such a hassle. And there she convinced me to come around every Friday, half hour before my yard duty, to take over the reception while the administration is in a meeting. Since I spent several year in such a job, I found it a good idea — I even enjoyed it a bit, although it shall take me a while to get properly oriented. I expect getting a school district inventory number any day now.