celebrations and traditions

Things are so busy here that I’m a little dizzy.

My oldest graduated from high school on Sunday.

We had lots of family and friends here to celebrate, which was lovely. Lulu had spent the prior month making a surprise documentary to show, about H’s filmmaking. It’s a wonderful project, with interviews and clips of H’s films over the years. It really tells the story of his evolution as a filmmaker. If you have 15 minutes or so to spare, check it out. You can see yours truly yammering on about her boy and his art. Part 1 is here and part 2 here.

Now I’m darting around, trying to get us all ready for a grand adventure. More to come…

Several years back, right at this time of year, we were driving up the dusty monotony that is Highway 5 in California. We were on our way home from Legoland, and then Los Angeles, where we’d celebrated H’s ninth birthday. Lulu was in the back seat with H, just five herself. We were listening to one of the early Harry Potter books on tape. I was four months pregnant with Mr. T.

Somewhere near the stink of the cattle farms of Kettleman City, I began to cry. I tried to be quiet about it, not wanting the kids to notice, and I just let the tears roll down behind my sunglasses. But eventually I couldn’t help gasping for breath and Chris, from the driver’s seat, noticed that something was up.

“What’s wrong?”

“He’s nine,” I sniffed. “He’s halfway to eighteen.”

Maybe it was pregnancy hormones, but that birthday was hard for me. Before that, I suppose, the kids seemed like little kids, and growing up was a far-off land. But something about hitting that birthday, the halfway mark to adulthood, felt like we’d taken a turn down a whole new road.

That was exactly nine years ago. My baby turned eighteen this week.

I’m getting a little teary as I type this. But just a little. ‘Cause, see, back nine years ago, when I imagined how I’d feel right now, I was sure I’d be unbearably sad. All I could imagine was my little boy growing up and growing away from me. But there was something missing from that image. I couldn’t see the actual person H would be at eighteen.

I’m going to apologize in advance right now. I’m about to do something downright uncouth. I’m going to brag about my kid.

And my bragging is all the more reprehensible because I’ve already gone on about the kid here recently, talking about his video project and his college plans. But H has had a few rather thrilling weeks.

A few weeks back, I accompanied him to Spotlight! a local film competition for teenagers. The ceremony was structured like a mini-Academy Awards; filmmakers didn’t know whether their work had been nominated until categories were announced during the ceremony. With each category, four or five films were announced, and a short clip was shown from each. Then the winner was announced, he or she went to the front to make an acceptance speech, and his or her entire film was screened.

The theater was packed; the vibe was thrilling. The Best Cinematography category was announced and H’s film was nominated. Very exciting to see a clip of his film on that big screen!

He didn’t win, but he was nominated again in the next category: Best Editing. He didn’t win that one either, but the fact that he’d been nominated twice was pretty fabulous.

Then they got to the final award: Best of Show. This category included a $1,500 prize. Six films were nominated. When H’s film was announced among them, he and I giggled together in disbelief.

Guess who won?

Absolutely unbelievable. H. went to the front and made a speech. He remembered to thank his parents. And he got a huge, fake check. Haven’t we all hoped to be awarded one of those big checks at some point in our lives?

I was proud to the point of giddiness. For about twenty-four hours straight.

But wait, dear Reader, the bragging must go on. I know, I know, I’m terrible. I promise to be humble after this. Really I do.

Because the next week, H’s same film had a chance of being nominated in the CineYouth festival in Chicago. This festival is particularly prestigious because it’s part of the Chicago International Film Festival, and it receives submissions from all over the country.

Check out the winners. Make sure to scroll all the way to the bottom.

Astounding. I don’t know what else to say.

All this excitement tempers the melancholy of my oldest turning eighteen. How could I not be thrilled at the idea of this kid going out into the world to pursue what fires him?

But H is more than a handful of awards, or a list of college acceptances. He’s a complicated, fascinating person. He’s someone I (almost!) always enjoy spending time with; someone whose insights and opinions matter more to me than almost anyone’s.

When I wrote about him deciding to go to college in New York, my Ravelry friend Therese, a former homeschooler with grown daughters, left me these wise words.

“How wonderful – it is so exciting to watch our grown and almost-grown homeschoolers go off and follow their interests. Mine are both far away, but it makes me happy, not sad, to see them busily studying, working, and making art. This is the way it’s supposed to be!”

Therese is right. This is the way it’s supposed to be. Which is why this eighteenth birthday, the thought of which had me in sobs nine years ago, came and went, more hopeful than sad.

Thanks for letting me brag. That felt much better than crying all over my computer.

This is the way it’s supposed to be.

So, did you have a galactic Mother’s Day?

I sure did. This card, made for me by Mr. T, assured it.

His card reminded me that despite all my lacks and failings as a mother–if I’ve nagged too much, and complained too much and forgot to have fun on the weekends because cleaning the house seemed more important than visiting a beach; if I’ve done any number of terrible things the kids might come up with if I had the courage to ask–I’ve done one thing right. 

I’ve helped them to become creative people. 

H is drawing storyboards and scouting locations for his next film. He found out that he was accepted into a wonderful month-long filmmaking program this summer, at CalArts in Southern California. Chris and I are thrilled for him.

Lulu was feeling uncreative last week. No project appealed to her. Then she saw the art Mr. T was working on: a space scene, complete with spatter-painted stars. And she sat down and came up with this mix of art and poetry.

She’s been working on a monologue and a song for a musical audition, which happens tomorrow. (I think she has the dancing part of the audition in the bag!) My fingers are crossed as far over as they’ll go.

And Mr. T is making galactic Mother’s Day cards. And spending a lot of time living in his own imaginary world.

One of the main reasons I wanted to homeschool the kids was to help them develop and hold on to their creativity. I think all of us are born creative–but it’s easy to lose as we grow up. It makes me so happy to see that my kids are not only holding on to their creativity–they’re letting it guide their lives.

So I’ve done one thing right. Now I just have to remember to nag less. And have fun more.

I hope you all had a wonderful Mother’s Day. Galactic, even.

My mom and me, yesterday. She gave me the confidence to be a creative person. But mostly she taught me how to love.

Our old friends Dave and Janet and their twin girls stayed with us over Thanksgiving. Dave and Chris have been buddies since high school (and I’ve known them both that long too, which is sort of a scary thought.) Dave and Janet got married the month before we did, back when we were in our early twenties and most of our friends didn’t have dates, much less marriage plans. We had our first babies within six months of each other–although they had two to our one. And when they moved to Portland, we followed them up there and for a year-and-a-half lived three doors down. We ate dinner together most Thursday nights. Those were the days.

Since then, we see each other every few years–in the last two years or so it’s been more often. And what great times we have.

The kids have gotten in the habit of filming a movie each time they’re together. I think they’ve done five now. It’s fantastic–instead of vegging out on Guitar Hero World Tour on the Wii, they’re coming up with plots, filming scenes, editing. This time, perhaps to keep Mr. T from being a bother, they gave him the lead role.

As James Bond.

They actually convinced a bartender at the Palace Hotel to take his order and serve him a fake martini on film. Shaken, not stirred, of course.

There was also a brotherly fight scene on the Golden Gate Bridge which may have slowed city-bound traffic temporarily.

And no, I’m not thrilled to see my seven-year-old swigging martinis, punching his brother and wielding a machine gun, but I guess he’s pretty much ruined anyway. And he does all those things with such style…

He and Dave got to play in an interactive art installation at the SF MOMA. And we posed in front of the Union Square Christmas tree like good tourists. (No fighting or machine guns involved.)

Dave and Janet are some of the most positive people I know. I always end up feeling inspired after spending time with them. Janet teaches at a wonderful private school in a farm-like setting outside of Portland, and I always get exciting homeschooling ideas based on what she’s doing in her classroom. The four of us love sharing recommendations for good books, recipes, vacation destinations, films. (This time they brought down King Corn. Fabulous!) And we love sharing bottles of wine and Zachary’s pizzas.

On Sunday morning before they left, I came downstairs at 6:30 and found Dave in the kitchen, filling up water bottles. He didn’t complain about having to be up at 6:00 a.m., or about the 10-hour-if-you-don’t-stop drive home, or at the fact that he was schlepping bags down our stairs and out into the morning cold. Instead he looked at me and smiled and said, “It’s beautiful out there today.”

It was just a typical line from him, but it made an impact on me, especially on the first morning of Advent. I’ll say more about that later this week. 

Good friends are gifts. But friends who also inspire? They’re gifts with a ribbon on top.