Aviation

The Boy's Rocket Club went to Aviation Day at Seatac Airport two weeks ago.  Jack when along as a chaperone -- I think he was just as excited as the Boy to walk on the tarmac and see the planes up close.  One summer while he was in college, Jack worked at Eastern Airlines in Atlanta helping them audit flight maintenance records.  He wanted to throw luggage (if I recall correctly) to help build his strength for the swimming season.  Instead, he got a desk job.  In either case, he got to be around airplanes.

So the Boy had fun at Aviation Day.  The next day, Jack, the Boy and I ran into one of our neighbor's at the grocery store.  Jack has seen this man's son at Aviation Day, and told the father how polite and nice his son behaved in public.  Nick is a freshman at Aviation High School at Boeing Field.  Aviation High School is run by Shoreline Public Schools, and has a partnership with Seattle Public Schools.  Even though it is a public school, kids have to apply.  About 25% of the kids who apply get in.

We asked how Nick was doing.  We assumed he would be fine, as Nick's research projects in middle school were on historical airplanes.  The father gave us a run down of the school.

The dad talked about getting his son halfway across town everyday, but he didn't mind.  There are carpools and kids can take the bus.  It is a small school with about 100 kids per grade, and not much of the usual high school extras, like sports and music.  The kids can partake in extra-curricular activities at their neighborhood school.  All of the hassle was offset by his son's love of the program: "They get to take physics as freshman," he said.

The Boy listened, not saying much.

A few days later, we were talking to some other parents.  The topic of high school came up.  Because of the program he is in, the Boy has a few choices of where to go.  Jack and I have been heavily lobbying in to go to Roosevelt, the neighborhood school that Clare Adele attends.  It is a lovely school and Claire Adele has made plenty of friends.  The other schools are in corners of town, and he would have to take a city bus instead of walking to the school blocks from our home.

"Where are you going to high school?" the grown-up asked the Boy.

"Roosevelt," he said.  I was glad he was listing that as his first choice.

"I'm also considering Aviation," the Boy said.

Oh dear.  I hate driving.  I don't want to spent four years driving past downtown and back twice a day.  No!  And they teach the kids to fly and build airplanes. What?  A few years ago, kids died in plane crashes.  Claire Adele told me about the high death rate.  I thought she was exaggerating until I looked it up, and it was tragically true.

A few days later, Jack googled Aviation High School.  It turns out their First Robotics Team came in 24th.  Out of 3,000 team from around the world.  One of the reasons selling points of Roosevelt is that it has a First Robotics team, and the other two schools don't.  I thought about keeping it a secret from the Boy, not telling him that they have a great robotics program.  But I told him the truth.  His eyes widened, as if they weren't wide enough before.

Do I let the Boy chase the dream, or keep him grounded?

Three Goals and Left Turns

I was talking to a friend the other day and she asked me why I was running for office.   She wasn't looking for the sound-bite answer--she looking for introspection.  This is the role and purpose of good friends: to ask you questions that make you a little uncomfortable while providing a safe environment to explore questions that don't have simple or easy answers.

In answering her question, I started back in the beginning, when my life took a left-turn.  The first left turn was when my first daughter Ada died back in 1998.  I was never one to have a life plan that was laid out to the tiniest detail, but I had a general sense that I'd keep on the path that I was on.  I was working in consulting, learning how to manage, run projects, look at data and talk to people about things that were not making them happy.  It was interesting and challenging work, and I was thriving.  I worked with people I liked, who also liked and respected me.  

I was doing project work, which meant when the project was done, I would have to find something else to do.  I expressed this concern to my friend Julie from graduate school. She said, "If you do a good job on this project, the next one will follow.  Don't worry.  Projects will find you."  And she was right.  I learned to be content with a reasonable amount of uncertainty, but as long as I could develop my skills, I knew I could find work that I found interesting.  I worked with a leadership consultant, and she said she saw me one day working as a VP of Operations at a medium sized company.  I was slightly offended that she didn't see me as the president, but I figured that if I could be VP of Ops, then President could be around the corner.   

Then came another left turn.  Ada died and I had a miscarriage before I became pregnant with Claire Adele.  I was traveling three or four days a week, and Jack was working nights and weekends.  We had just moved to Saint Louis, where we had no family.  We would have needed overnight care, and that really wasn't feasible, both practically and emotionally.  We had a small apartment, with no place for an au pair to stay.  I also couldn't imagine how I could leave my baby with someone else while I traveled out of town.  

The third left turn came when my brother had a crisis with his schizophrenia.  I was laid grief stricken again for the second time in four years.

It was then I knew I wouldn't be returning to the traditional workforce.  I set three goals for myself at that point:

1.  Write a book

2.  Run for office

3.  Make a movie

Now I look at these goals, and ponder.  I've written two books, one about Ada and another about my brother, both of which are languishing unpublished.  Part of me doesn't want publish the book about my brother until my kids are older.  Even though only a handful of people read my books instead of hundreds, I wrote them nonetheless.

This makes me pause and think about my goals.  My second goal was to run for office, not win.  Why did I have the goal of "running" instead of "winning"?  Was I being a chicken or realistic?  Back then, I had no idea what office I might run for:  City Council?  State Rep?  US Congress?  Yes, I have fantasies about someday about being a US Senator.  I am lucky enough to live in a state where both of our Senate seats are held by women, which gives me hope.  

But that is not where I am today.  I've taken Julie's advice -- do a good job on one project and the next will follow.  Look for challenging and engaging work.

Running for office isn't only challenging and engaging, it is also meaningful.  I can make a difference in the lives of kids in Seattle.

Lauren's got a Brand New Bag; or Tale of Two Purses

This is my current purse.

I bought it for the trip to New Zealand because it is lightweight, study and has tons of pockets.  I was helping pack bags today at my son's school for their "Packs for Kids" program so kids who have food insecurity can have something to eat over the weekend, and all of the moms there had similar styled and shaped purses.  This purse is light weight, soft and very comfortable.  As a friend of mine said, "It is a mom bag."

It was decided by several members of my family that is purse was not suitable for me to wear while campaigning.  A floppy nylon bag was a little too casual to wear with a fancy skirt, a pressed while shirt and a black pumps.  I went downtown to the main shopping store and one of the sales associated helped me for an hour pick something out.

This is my new purse. 

It is a briefcase/purse.  It can fit a notebook, my calendar, and a small laptop.  I can put my campaign material in here and it stays flat and unwrinkled.  It has an over-the-body strap as well as two handles.  The handles aren't long enough for me to swing over my shoulder, so I have the bag on my arm as if I am Queen Elizabeth.  It restricts my ability to use my hands when I talk, a trait of my Italian heritage.    I can talk with one hand, but I lose my symmetry.  This purse is leather, stiff and uncomfortable since it doesn't fold against my body.  I went downtown this week to a luncheon and all of the women walking the streets had purses like this.  This is not a mom purse.

I am a one purse kind of gal.  I am not the type to have one bag for the day and other for the evening, or changing my bag to match my outfit.  I am far more practical and have a one purse for all occasions.  I have a hard time taking everything important (wallet, sunglasses, phone) out of one bag and putting in another, and then remembering to put it all back into my daytime purse.  I did that once, and found myself at the grocery store with a full cart and no wallet.  Not fun.

Now I am officially a two purse woman, and for good reason.  Yesterday, the Boy had soccer tryouts: nylon purse.  I came home, changed clothes, and went to a school district meeting while wearing candidate attire: briefcase bag.  I came home changed, and we went to the Bryant Blast and then to the Mariners game wearing mom clothes: nylon bag.  

At the Mariners game, the woman sitting behind me spilled her full beer down the back of my seat.  I was sitting up, so I was only slightly drenched.  Yet, a river of beer flowed down the steps of the stadium, and picked up my nylon bag before it was soaked. 

Yes, I need two bags.

Private

I am taking my blog private for the next several months, maybe longer.  As you may know (or may not), I am running for office.  I spoke with my writing teacher and mentor, and she recommended I take my blog down during the campaign.

"You have to decide if this could help you or hurt you.  If you only had a few posts, that would be one thing, but you have a lot here.  You are vulnerable and as your writing teacher, I am proud of you," she said.

But...

"Since there is so much there, something might come back to hurt you.  You might be better off taking it down."

My friend Eleanor agreed, but for a different reason.

"People who write blogs only write about themselves and what they do," she said.  "They tend to be exercises in self-absorption."

But I try to write about the challenges I face, difficult decisions, turning points, conflicts, places where I changed my mind...

"How many blogs do you read?" she asked.

None.*  Point taken.  I'd like to think--like many mom bloggers do--that I was channeling Erma Bombeck, catching those moments of home life and making them into something worth sharing, that others might find comfort, laughter or tears.

I am slightly mourning the loss of my blog, even though it is still here, but in a mode where only my nearest and dearest can find me.  My friend Diane said having an unpromoted blog and hoping people would find it on the internet would be like hoping someone would randomly pick up a piece of sand on a beach.  She is right.  Nevertheless, I liked putting thoughts and feelings on the internet and see what would turn up.  It felt like I was a kid riding in the car with the windows rolled down and my head leaning out with the wind in my face.  I was exposed, but not so much.  Writing my blog was a risk, albeit a small risk, but a risk nonetheless.  I love the creative outlet this blog gives me a few days a week.

A few new people were finding it, somehow.  I've had a few more readers here and there.  I don't know who they were, but maybe I'll find them again if and when I re-open my blog to the public.

Now I am open to a new vulnerability-- running for office.  I met a friend for coffee who once ran for office.  She sad she felt completely naked, out there shouting her opinion, vulnerable.

* I used to read the brilliant Hyperbole and a Half, but the author has since taken a break.

Losing

As some of you know, the Boy is rather intense.  This spring, he joined his middle school junior varsity soccer team.  The school is in its first year, and many of kids who are outstanding soccer players did not try out for the school team.  Other middle schools might four or five kids from elite teams.  The Boy's team has a few select players, at best.  In the first four games of the season, they have scored one goal.

The Boy was having a very hard time being one of the better players on his team and watching his team get crushed.  He seems okay if his team loses and he is a bench warmer: he knows it isn't his fault if better players than him lost the game.  If he plays poorly and the team loses, he often blames himself.

Two weeks ago, the Boy was playing defense, and the other team scored three times in about five minutes.  The Boy was visibly frustrated.  It didn't help that four players on the team were out because they forgot to turn in their grade sheets.  The coach pulled the Boy out of the game, and he was in tears.  He yelled at the coach, "I am NOT a center defender.  I am terrible at this position.  I can't play center D!"

I winced.  I hoped the coach didn't think my kid was an ass.

The next week, the Boy's team was getting shellacked.  They were down 0-4 at the beginning of the second half.  I worried the Boy would flip out again, but he didn't.  He kept playing without getting frustrated.  They lost the game 0-7.

After the game, the boys were off goofing around, shooting goals at one and other.  The Boy was smiling and laughing, something I have never seen after a 0-7 loss.  One of the moms and I approached the coach.  He asked if our kids were having fun.

"Tanner is having a blast!" she said.  The coach smiled.

"I am the Boy's mom," I said.  The coach pulled his head back slightly afraid.  "He is as serious as a heart attack."  The coach laughed.

"He got mad at me last week," he said.

"No," I replied.  "He was mad at himself.  I am so sorry he reacted that way."  I didn't explain that the Boy has been working on trying to keep his emotional reaction under control when he is trying his hardest and he feels like he is failing.

The coach seemed relieved that the Boy wasn't mad at him specifically.  People often forgive the Boy for being overwhelmed.  They see how much he cares and how hard he tries.   Nevertheless, it is hard to be around the Boy when things are falling apart.

When we were driving home, I asked the Boy about the game.

"When we were down 0-4, I knew we were going to lose.  I figured I might as well just keep playing."

I was happy for the Boy.  He is learning to face loss and not take it personally.  Sometimes you go out and put your heart into what you are doing, and it doesn't work the way you planned.  At least your heart is still beating.  I hope this serves him well.  It will either make him a fierce but calm competitor like Bjorn Borg, or conversely member of the Chicago Cubs.  Either way, I am glad he is outgrowing his John McEnroe phase.