Sixth Grade Science Fair

We try not to put too much pressure on the kids, academically. I had enough scholastic anxiety for the both of them. I used to stab myself in the leg with #2 pencils in second grade, so I’m trying a non-stab inducing approach with Elijah and Luca. Do your best. Be nice. Don’t get lead poisoning in your thigh.

Eli had been working on a big science project most of the semester that culminated in a big fair this week. The theme was solving an environmental issue. Eli chose the water we waste when we take baths. Which makes sense because he bathes constantly. It’s the only way a 12 year old can watch YouTube videos without your brother/father/mother constantly bothering you. I hope he’s only watching YouTube videos in there.

His solution? A little tube thingy that recycles your bath water for use in your garden. His demonstration was a purple house modeled after ours, plus a clay tub and straw and other stuff I didn’t really look at because I would be too tempted to point out any flaws in his plan. And in the leg goes the pencil.

I didn’t attend the Science Fair because I am not emotionally equipped for sixth grade pressures. Diana accompanied him. The deal was Eli would present his work to some judges and they would determine which kids get ribbons, and which are total failures who should go live under a bridge.

Eli wore a suit because he is completely awesome.

Oh, but what’s this? His project was not on his designated table. It was nowhere to be found. When they tracked down his teacher, who was completely frazzled by the 4 billion kids and parents asking her questions, she simply threw up her hands. According to Diana, Eli got a very Rick look in his eyes.

They eventually found it on the exact opposite side of the room and raced to get it judged. But the judges had already moved on from Eli’s area. Eli began to panic and Diana wanted to go get in her car and drive west until she saw ocean. Instead, she tracked down the judges and forced them to do their jobs for which they were not paid.

I later saw video of Eli giving his presentation and he was so adorable it would make your head explode.

Later, Eli and Diana went to the awards presentation where they gave out tons of ribbons in every conceivable category. Eli sat on the edge of his seat and clapped politely as student after student got called to the stage for a prize. Can you see where this is going?

Eli didn’t get one.

He was devastated. The science teacher announced that more ribbons would be given out the next day, as late tabulations were still happening. But this didn’t change the defeat in Eli’s eyes. Upon hearing this, I suggested we all become missionaries in Haiti. We hugged him and told him we were proud of him and he didn’t need no stinkin’ ribbon. But he just went upstairs to waste some water in his bathroom.

Thankfully, the next day Eli received a first prize blue ribbon for his efforts. And the world suddenly made sense again. He was back to his old self and jokingly asked Diana how much a blue ribbon was worth, dollar wise.

And she gave him a fist full of money from her wallet.

Baseball Again

The day of Luca’s first game of the season, I played John Fogerty’s baseball anthem “Centerfield” on our kitchen speaker that is secretly recording us. Luca ran screaming from the room, which sets up the season perfectly.

Luca’s age group has a few big changes this year:

First, it’s kid pitch. This gives kid pitchers a chance to cry openly in front of their friends and classmates. It also gives Dads a chance to offer asinine opinions to high school aged umpires about what constitutes a strike.

Second, and most importantly, players are required to wear a cup. I don’t know who was more excited by its comedic potential, me or Luca. Within the first four minutes of it arriving in our mail we’d cycled through all of the classics. Playing it like a bongo? Check. Pantomiming drinking from it? Check. Wearing it and nothing else? Check. Hitting yourself with a baseball to see if it actually works? Check.

The only negative is wearing a cup goes against Luca’s philosophy of never wearing underwear.

As with all early season games, the temperature barely hit 40 degrees. There is nothing like freezing cold metal bleachers and 30 MPH wind to make you fantasize about a fictional little man who rides up on a bicycle powered whisky cart. His name is Fredrick and he has a lovely mustache and a tweed jacket. If you are really nice to him, he’ll sell you one of the Cuban cigars he keeps hidden from authorities.

Luca did pretty great. He’s so hilariously serious about it. The intensity behind his eyes is absolutely amazing. Plus, his long hair makes him look like 1970’s Milwaukee Brewer Gorman Thomas. He’s been a part of some nice infield plays and is smart enough not to swing at any kid pitches, which guarantees a walk.

He keeps threatening to volunteer for pitching duty, which will be amazing blog material.

Torture

One of my pals from The Onion sent out a heartfelt social media post about the powerlessness of watching his baby girl suffer from bronchitis in the hospital. I’d link you to it, but I think it’s probably breaking unwritten social media privacy laws. Regardless, it broke my heart to read of his baby’s pain and his helplessness to do anything for her.

Thankfully, we’ve been extraordinarily lucky that we haven’t had to experience anything even remotely close to his nightmare. Unless you count watching Luca get his mouth expander fixed.

A little hint for all you mouth expander patients out there. If you yank on your mouth expander constantly, it will fall out. It was up to me to accompany Luca to the ortho to get it put back in. But not before attempting in vain to eliminate the horrible smell from months of poor hygiene. It was a smell you could chew. A rhino’s anus was a plate of warm cookies in comparison.

We arrived at the ortho and they immediately gave him the 3^rd degree. What did you do? Were you eating candy? Or popcorn? Tell us you weren’t eating popcorn. Please tell us you weren’t dumb enough to eat popcorn. I covered for him. It just fell out. Honest. Looked like poor orthodontia if you ask me.

After scolding me for being a big fat liar, they set to work on shoving the mouth expander back into Luca’s face. Remember that scene from “A Clockwork Orange” where they force Malcom McDowell’s eyeballs open with those little pokey things? Luca’s experience was nothing like that. But it was still a powerful scene.

It was uncomfortable, though. They took turns stuffing both their hands into his little mouth. Pliers were used. The entire time, Luca sat with his feet rapidly twitting, as if he was typing out Morse code. “Dot dot dot…dad…dot dot dot…we escape at dawn…dot dot dot.” His hands also shot out from his chest in little sad palsied shapes. As if he was playing a grotesque piano, or was the Emperor from Star Wars zapping Luke Skywalker.

I was proud of him for not screaming bloody murder. I still felt awful. I wanted to shove the orthodontist aside, gather Luca in my arms and run. But I just sat there staring at my hands. To add insult to injury, his ortho has a strict no phone rule.

When his torture was done, they scolded me again for not cranking his mouth expander enough last month and I thanked them for their time.

As we walked outside, I told Luca he could have a treat for being so brave. He asked for a Subway sandwich. It was 8:45am, so I said of course.

Mouth Crank

Luca is objectively beautiful. Sometimes his face just stuns me. Beautiful eyes. Beautiful hair. Beautiful nose. And a mouth that looks like a broken bottle filled with jigsaw pieces.

He is a little challenged in the toof area. So we’ve entered the lucrative world of mouth fixing. Luca’s nice Orthodontist, who clearly drives a Tesla, recommended he get a mouth expander. To…uh…expand his mouth? It’s this metal monstrosity attached to the roof of his mouth that extends across his mouth like a robotic spider. It was invented by an evil 4^th Century Duke for use in his dungeon.

For a few days after the installation, Luca couldn’t swallow anything solid. It just felt too weird. He subsisted on nothing but lemonade and yogurt. I assume we’ll shortly be entering the lucrative world of diabetes.

The mouth expander requires nightly cranking. There is a tiny hole in the center the size of a pinhole. You insert an uncoiled medical paperclip into it and then crank the thing towards the back of Luca’s mouth. You have to be careful not to drop the medical paperclip into his throat, killing him. You also have to avoid missing the hole and piercing the roof of his mouth, also killing him.

Diana abstains from the procedure because her eyesight is Mr. Magoo at best. My 46 year old eyes are no treat either, but I’m the best of two terrible options.

Our system is as follows:

I completely forget to crank his mouth until Luca is supposed to be in bed. Thankfully, Luca never, ever goes to bed on time. After some panicked yelling, Luca assumes the position on our couch, under a lamp.

I don this magnifying glass/flashlight apparatus Diana bought to read with but abandoned because she would rather be blind than wear something so ridiculous. Luca opens his mouth and I grab the medical paperclip and peer into the horror that is Luca’s mouth. Luca is not what we would call an enthusiastic tooth brusher. So, his mouth looks a lot like Yoda’s planet Dagobah.

In researching the spelling of “Dagobah,” I just fell down a long rabbit hole called “How Long Did Luke Skywalker Train on Dagobah?”

Okay I’m back. I poke the medical paperclip into the tiny hole, usually regretting the 2 glasses of wine I just drank. And then crank the sucker, which makes Luca gag. I fully expect to get barfed on one of these days.

But crank we do, and it seems to be doing…something? Nothing? Paying for a Tesla? If nothing else, it’s a little bit of gross father/son time.