kids

Summer Vacation, Day 89: Butterflies

/ J. Thorp / 1 Comment

You might think this post is about Emma’s first full day of school, with lunch and recess and everything. It’s not. It’s about the butterfly garden at the Como Zoo — our visit to which was appropriately overshadowed by Gabe’s illness and sudden eruption in the zoo lobby. Jodi wasn’t convinced she wanted to go through the butterfly house, which looks like a giant monarch caterpillar made of yellow, white and black striped mesh. I thought the kids would like it, though, so we got in line. Turns out I may have liked it best.

I should mention that, as we walked from the car to the zoo, we followed a monarch flip-fluttering on the breeze, brilliant orange against the green of the trees along the walk. It sparked something in me — just for a second, I wanted to follow it.

So — we entered the butterfly garden, and we’re surrounded. Broad-winged blue butterflies. Little reds and yellows. So many you can hear their wing beats — so delicate we were instructed not to touch them or brush them off, so strong they dogfight the breezes and come out on top. We saw young butterflies courting, and an old giant with wings like frayed denim flap his death-dance in the shady dirt beneath the flowers. Each one seemed as lovely and surprising and unique as summer day — soaring or topsy-turvy, feasting or resting, brilliant or melancholy …

Quite a collection — of Lepidotera and long summer days. Hope yours was good, too.

Summer Vacation, Day 88: Presence Makes the Absence Harder

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I mentioned before that Betsy moved to Minnesota with us five years ago. It was the summer between her junior and senior years of high school, and she spent it watching our three kids while I worked for Hanley-Wood and Jodi looked for day care and a job.

We knew several girls from out old youth group who could’ve fit the bill, but there was something about Betsy. While she stayed with us this week, Jodi recalled the time when, a few minutes before the start of Mass, a girl who had a speaking role got nervous and said she couldn’t do it. Betsy shrugged and said, “I’ll do it.” No rehearsal, no nothing; she saw what needed to be done, and stepped up. I remember telling Jodi that I knew if anything went wrong at home, she would take care of the kids – even in high school, she was a loving and self-sacrificing girl.

Before she arrived last weekend, it had been four years since she’d visited. College and bills had kept her away since her godson Trevor’s baptism. We knew we missed her, but while we were excited to see her, Trevor didn’t remember her per se and there was the chance that the years had put some distance between us.

She spent a week with us, helping Jodi with her daycare, entertaining the kids, even doing dishes. She got growlly when we told her it was her vacation and she didn’t have to help. She was one of our own again, and when she left this afternoon, we all noticed something: Having just had her back, we miss her more this moment than the last many months combined.

She called a little while ago. She’s on the ground in Michigan, safe and sound. She said she loves us.

We love you, too, dear one.

Summer Vacation, Day 87: Sicko!

/ J. Thorp / 5 Comments

I’m sticking my neck out a bit in hopes that Jodi and I aren’t alone in what happened to us today. Actually, today was all my fault. Allow me to explain …

We took the older boys to tai chi class, then all of us (the entire family, including Betsy), went to Como Zoo in St. Paul. It was hot, but we were drinking lots of water, and there was a nice breeze blowing. No worries, right?

Now, our kids are generally gung-ho for a visit to a park, a zoo, a mall, you name it – at least until we get there. The enthusiasm generally wanes after a little while of walking, and they start to complain they are tired, hungry, bored, etc.

So as we’re going through the butterfly garden (slow going in “bumper-to-bumper” pedestrian traffic), Gabe keeps crouching down in the path, sitting down, flopping around in front of people. And I’m getting after him about it, because I figure he’s getting lazy and grumpy and now is not the time.

Finally he basically sits on by foot, and I give him a light kick in the butt and say, “Gabe! Keep moving!”

Jodi puts her arm around him and asks if he’s feeling alright.

“He’s fine,” I growl.

We’re headed back to the car, but Jodi, Emma and Trevor need the rest room. Bren, Gabe and I decide to walk the little rainforest loop near the entrance. Halfway through, Gabe says, “Dad, I need to get out of here.” I look, and he’s pale as a milk jug – even his lips are white. We rush him out, sit him down, and give him sips of water. Jodi asks if he’s gonna be sick. He thinks a moment, then looks at me and says, “I need to get to the bathroom …”

We made it about halfway. I was trying to steer his through the crowd and keep my cupped hands in front of him. When he erupted, those big ol’ hands successfully made the mess twice as bad by keeping it close to us. Gabe’s shirt, shorts and shoes; my hands, forearms, and shoes. Once bystanders realized what was happening, the sea of people parted, and we made it to the bathroom … just in time to clean up.

There is no worse feeling in the world than to blame your child for something they didn’t do, except maybe to not recognize there’s something genuinely wrong until it’s too late. Combine the two, and it’s miserable. I apologized to Gabe. He thinks puking on me was pretty good revenge.

Summer Vacation, Day 85: Birds and Bees

/ J. Thorp / 3 Comments

On the way to the work this morning, I heard a lengthy news piece on the benefits of talking with kids about sexuality early and often. Jodi and I were leaders of our church’s high-school youth group in Michigan, and we heard firsthand where some our teens were getting their info – teen comedies and hip-hop, mostly. I wrote this in the midst of that, as I recall.

what kids need to know
it’s not like the movies,
first off—
it is never the best ever;
rarely slow, and almost never
graceful.
the lighting is rarely gold or even
blue, and it doesn’t set well to
music.

not everyone is doing
it — fewer than you’d think from
the sounds.
your folks, however, are — and that’s
good; you want that, even if you don’t care
to know.
maybe it’s just once a week, a month, but
God do they deserve it — don’t begrudge them that
one thing.

its beauty isn’t really meant for
pictures — like childbirth, the aesthetics are
lacking.
remember, on the playground, when they said how
it was done? that great and sinking feeling that somehow it
was true?
these miracles are less of water to wine, and more of raising
Lazarus, the crucifixion, a plague of frogs — glorious but not
pretty.

you know how easy it is but not
how hard, how complex it can be, even
in love.
the mechanics are a snap; anyone can do
it — houseflies are adept, and you’re no
insect —
but it complicates. it breeds life, from which
you cannot turn — not without killing something
like love.

J. Thorp
23 Jan 2002

Summer Vacation, Day 83: Trevor’s Name

/ J. Thorp / 2 Comments

I had no topic in mind this evening, so I asked Trevor what I should blog about. He suggested I write about his name. So, here goes …

Our youngest is named Trevor Christian Thorp. Trevor was an Irish/Welsh name we both liked; in addition, it has good denotations: industrious and prudent. It apparently can also mean “great settlement.”

All of our kids have middle names of family significance – Brendan’s is “James,” after me; Gabriel’s is “Venjohn,” which is Jodi’s nearly unique maiden name; and Emma’s is “Rose,” after my dad’s beautiful mother who died when he was young. With Trevor, we struggled – the male family names to choose from were Kenneth, Daryl, Frank, Duane, Arnold and Firman. (I made a brief, half-serious, and ultimately unsuccessful bid for Bruno, which, along with Brownie, was my Polish great-grandfather’s nickname in America. His real name, Bronsilaw (BRO-nee-swaff), means “armor or weapon of glory; glorious protector” …) So we went with something that spoke to the values and faith of both our families – Christian.

And Thorp is, well, Thorp – meaning “small village or hamlet” in Middle English. Appropriate enough for small-town folk like us – and an interesting contrast to the alternative meaning of Trevor.

There you go, Trevvy! Brendan James, Gabriel Venjohn, Emma Rose and Trevor Christian – that’ll do, I guess …