Family trip?  Head to the neighborhood airport and pack the 4-seater Cessna.  My stepmom took her first solo flight at 40.  I’m getting close to that age myself and don’t think I’m brave enough for a pilot’s licence.  Despite the fact that I grew up in small aircraft and love flying, I think the pilot gene passed me by.

I wish this wasn’t so. Maybe it’s because my early driving record was not… stellar.  And there is no such thing as a flying fender-bender.

So perhaps the pilot gene skips a generation?  Last year my dad completed building his RV-8.  It’s a speedy little stunt plane and unbelievably fun.  Violet was just tall enough this summer to see out the canopy with her booster seat strapped into the cockpit.  Her first flight.

I assumed she would get a little nervous, maybe even air-sick.  So I suggested my dad just  run the flight pattern and land.  But oh no.  She could not. Get. Enough.

She was fascinated and thrilled didn’t bat an eye at any kind of turbulence or G-force or speed.  I think she would have begged for a barrel roll if she knew what one was.

Afterwards she immediately went to the fair and rode the roller coaster 27 times.

So yeah.  She could be a pilot.  Violet the Pilot.  I would be proud.

It’s true.  My parents are cooler than me, and my daughter is too.  At least I get to hang out with them.

Case in point (written when Graham was sick):

Translation:

“My Wish List

• rock climbing class
• Jump camp
• violin class
• Graham to get better”

*When they’re not trying to kill each other.

That is how I would like to remember what really happened this afternoon, instead of the feral girl shrieking and cowering in the corner of the CVS Minute Clinic while an RN approached her with a dripping needle.  My plan to have Graham go first (so Violet could witness his bravery) utterly failed.  His scream sent her already nervous brain straight into Lizard Mode.  It didn’t matter that he was happily explaining that “it didn’t hurt for long!” just 30 seconds after the shot.  She was already out of her head.  I had to drag that 53 pound coiled spring of muscle and flailing limbs from the corner into ten minutes of battle in which she screamed so hysterically the poor CVS customers briefly paused in their impulse shopping to consider dialing 911 .

(This is the part where I sit on her.) When the actual shot finally occurred, I heard tell that her shriek shattered glass as far as the Capitol building.

The nurse was completely unruffled, until I burst into tears, at which point she frantically searched for a tissue while awkwardly patting me on the shoulder.

Of course I immediately took them out for Starbucks cocoa with a mountain of whipped cream.  And of course it took 20 minutes to make.   And they gave us only one cup.  And the second cup took 20 minutes.  And when I finally set the long awaited treat on the table, of course I spilled the entire cup of steaming liquid down Violet’s front. So I took a moment to contemplate my gratitude for…

Okay, no.  First I checked her to see if her skin was still attached.  It was.  She was just screaming because she was pissed her mother made her get a shot and then she had to wait forever for her freakin hot cocoa only to have her mother spill the entire cup on her.

But!  Every customer and employee in the place raced to get me napkins and extra cocoa and check on Violet.  And I was grateful.  I’m grateful we can get painful shots.  I’m grateful Rob’s job has benefits.  And I’m grateful that, despite the screwed up insurance situation in this country, we have incredible doctors and scientists and medicine that will likely keep me from suffering in a haze of snot and fever this year.

I’ll also be grateful if Violet doesn’t remember this particular episode.

“Clifford the Big Red Violet.  Violet, you are awesome!!!  I can’t believe you can read so well!  Look at you!  You’re reading this right now!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  You rock!!!  Oh my gosh!  You are so cute!  You’re wearing Graham’s clothes.

Do you want to paint right now?  OK. Let’s go.

Now.

Get up.

Go.  Go ahead. Get up.  GO! GO GOGGOGOGOGOGOOGOGOGOGOGOOGGOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Well?  Why aren’t you going?  What are you looking at?  What?  Stop looking at me!!!  Do I have something on my face?  Why are you laughing?       Hmmmm… I need a nap.”

The only downside is that now I have to be careful what I write when she is around.  #nomoreswearingontwitter

I always hoped Violet and Graham would be as close as I was growing up with my little brother.  We were 18 months apart and inseparable.  Violet and Graham are 26 months apart (which is close enough for me).  These days they are completely crazy about each other… when they’re not making each other crazy.  But mostly they just play and play and play.  My plan is finally finally working out; and it only took six and a half years!

Here are Graham’s tweets about Violet over the past year or so:

• But Violet, you’re the luckiest person in the world because you have the best brother.
• Violet, sometimes I need some time alone from you. But I still love you. How could I not love you?
• Violet! Wait! I have to put my stinkin’ flip-flop on!
• Violet, I was missing you ALL day.
• Violet, I can’t be without you.
• I’m big, but Violet says I’m three… and three is not a big number.
• Violet, how many Time Outs did you have today?
• I wish Violet was my twin so she could stay home with me.
• Hey Violet! Wanna go to the cheap rhinoceros store?
• (chanting) Violet the Incredible, not quite edible!

I know I can’t expect them to be friends as adults, like my brother and I.  But I really hope they will.  I mean, we’re spending their inheritance, so they’ll need each other.

A week after school got out, Rob came home to find the TV in the middle of the living room floor.  That was as far as I could drag it after I flipped out on the kids and ripped the thing off the wall.  (Okay, I carefully unplugged it.)

Before summer started we had a family meeting.  We agreed on a few ground rules:

1. I get to go to the gym every week day.
2. We all have daily “separation time”.
3. Each kid gets to pick 1 show per day.
4. No whining about the above rules.
5. I take them to do fun things all summer.

I somehow assumed that once we agreed on these rules, that would be the end of it.

Really? Why did I think that?  What, in my experience with kids, made me assume they would be rational?

So everyday it was: “Gym? Noooo!  Play in my room? Nooooo!  I don’t want to watch what he/she picked!! I want to watch another one!!! One more! ONE MORE!!!!”  Until I found myself lugging the TV across the living room.

Now, I am not a TV Nazi.  I think, like anything, it can be a very useful tool in moderation.  During the school year the kids got to watch a 1/2 hour to unwind after pick-up and a 1/2 hour while I cooked dinner.  The truth is, for the first 4 years of her life Violet  would have nothing to do with TV.  I can’t count the times I was sick and begging her to just watch the flippin TV so I could rest.  No.  She only wanted to run around and climb on me.  Graham, on the other hand, would happily sit in front of the idiot box all day.  (It’s very tempting for me.  This house would spotless, every meal a work of art, and my to-do list crushed.)

So after my irrational proclamation that they were “NOT GOING TO WATCH TV ALL SUMMER!!!”, reality hit.  What have I gotten myself into?  Well, it’s been two weeks.  They’ve (mostly) stopped asking to watch TV.  Instead they beg to use the computer/iPod.  And I let them.  For a bit.  After all, they only really know how to go to PBS kids and a reading website.  Of course, the first time I went to shower while they played on the computer I came out to discover they figured out how to watch PBS cartoons online.  Sigh.  So we’re working on some guidelines for computer time.  At least it’s a little more active than laying coma-like in front of the tube.

And that is not to say they don’t watch any TV.  It’s always on at the gym Kids’ Club.  And when we visit the grandparents this summer I’m going to let them gorge themselves on Nickelodeon.  Plus we have family movie night every so often.

I’m not trying to be all snooty and crunchier-than-thou about TV, I’m just experimenting.  Is it possible my kids will learn to use their imaginations more?  Will they figure out how to stop constantly fighting?  Or will they spend all summer in time-out while I cower under the kitchen table babbling incoherently?  Bet you can’t wait to find out.

And in true Violet form, once she decides something, it’s a done deal.  Dried the loose tooth with the tissue and yanked the sucker right out.

Graham is already tired of hearing about it.

Graham’s birthday party this year was the first time he was really able to invite his own friends.  Until now he has been lumped in with Violet’s buddies and their younger siblings.  (Curse of the second child.)  But on the big day, our house was filled with boys boys boys having Wild Kratt Creature Adventures… and one six year old girl.

On the way home, Graham’s best friend reported this to his mom:

• Mom:  Violet seemed like a pretty cool girl.
• W:  Yeah, I really liked her.  She was almost just like a boy.  If she didn’t wear any pink or dresses or stuff like that she would be camouflage and she would blend right into the boys.  Nobody would even know she was a girl!

Yeah.  That’s about right.