But, Baby, It's Warm Outside

 Spring Break 2012. Lemme start out by saying that Spring came exceptionally early this season - we began emjoying our 70- and 80-degree days the second weekend of March, and with a few exceptions, maintained those temps. Crazy for the Rockies - Denver was blooming mid-March, but the most miraculous detail was that Castle Rock was as well, even at the higher elevation. Spring clothes kicked out, sunscreen demanded of merchants who had little in stock, pools closed when they could have been raking in customers.

 Week One found us with upper 80-degree temps, which posed its own unique problems...you couldn't find a parking space in the Mile High City within a mile of any museum or park. So, out of desperation, out of our neighborhood, and out of options, we saw 'The Lorax' in 3-D for a mere $50. A matinee. FIFTY DOLLARS. We also headed to Jump Street and the rec center leisure pool.

 And fought the crowds at Cheyenne Mountain Zoo - seriously? A 40-minute wait just to get into the parking lot?

 Eve is quite the photographer.

 Capturing those moments.

 The Lorakeet room was hysterical with noise. The Crawfords were right at home.

 After week one of tropical paradise was complete, more standard spring weather descended, and by that I mean that instead of 88 degrees it was 66. And since Eve is on a traditional schedule for the middle school and not modified traditional like my elementary-age young'uns, we had a week of Chuck E. Cheese, playdates, Denver Museum of Nature and Science, et. al., which ended each day promptly at 2 p.m. in order to free me up to pick up big sissie. Here, Gracie sleeps on the way up to ski Loveland with daddy and the gang.

 Pre-ski. Or pre-slushing, if you prefer. The resorts were most unhappy with our warm-weather bliss down in the valley below.

 There are locations in the metro area, but I'll tell ya, BeauJo's in Idaho Springs, en route from just about any resort you care to name, is the ultimate capper. Not one shade less charming and unique for being located in an extremely tight main street with little to no parking.

 Travelling exhibit at DMNS...this is a natural, right? And, bummer. Many, many field trips held that first week back at school - it was the Crawfords and every public school class in Denver.

 Just a sampling.

 The photo doesn't quite capture it, but the lizard is just as alarmed with what's in front of the glass as Shane seems to be with what lies behind it.

 That's one heavy plastic python.

Cool 'n groovy amphibian and/or reptilian wrist-gear. And so it ends, our little spring break. 

Toys

 Grace has turned into quite the thespian. This last February she starred in her second KidStage play at Clear Sky, a 'Toy Story' knock-off titled simply 'Toys'. She was an adorable sheep, one of Bo Peep's flock. And yes, those are bunny ears, tucked under to resemble, I guess in some small way, the head of a lamb. My new mantra, applied with varying degrees of success, is 'keep it simple.'

 Grace and Sophia. Sophia's mother's mantra is not 'keep it simple.' I admire her energy.

 As much as Eve has always professed a desire to act, she simply cannot stomach being in front of an audience. It wounds her soul. But Gracie is firmly in her element: broad, sincere smiles and giggles, beautiful recitation of lines, pure joy in the  process. There are no small parts, people. Only small actors.

 Patiently waiting for her certificate.

 Taking her bows. Seriously. Look at that smile. You could bottle that and sell it, for millions. I envy children for their purity and joy.

Dealing with your public, and their incessant clamoring for a piece of you - even just your signature - is trying. Or so I've heard.

Partay like a Princess

 Gracie's a saint. That's all there is to it. I comfort myself that she's never known a different existence, one where a child's birthday is promptly celebrated after one's birthday, a world where one's siblings didn't have swim meets and basketball games and who knows what all else scheduled every weekend throughout December, January and February, making it necessary to hold one's birthday party in late February rather than late December.

 Still trying to figure out the configuration for the new Blogger. But a great time was had by all when Ariel showed up to lead Grace and a few other princesses through their paces, beginning with a story and then face painting. Ariel was a magically, scantily-clad little wonder, and had many magic tricks for the girls, such as pulling random items out of her fun bag, as well as a coloring book that miraculously colored its own pages when the girls said a few magic words and wiggled their fingers at it just so.

 I love a parade.

 I hate the new Blogger. I most explicitly pushed the 'delete' button. I did.

 Two Ariels. Lets hear it for Birthday Express for sending her. And lets hear it for Groupon, who let Birthday Express send her to us for half price.

Love the Ariel cake, and the precious girl blowing out those candles. That patient, lovely, good-natured girl. 

Bison Strong

 The Bisons reconvened under Coach Nadine Boyd, who's so fabulous it's not even funny. The 2011-2012 season was beyond amazing. And that Crawford kid they had playing guard sometimes, though he'd rather be forward? Dang cute. Super scrappy. A joy to watch.

 Ty's basketball pics came up so much better than Shane's, for unfathomable reasons. They played in the same gyms with the same lighting, I used the same camera. They both have the amazing Crawford good looks. So it goes. Here Ty goes up for the sure shot.

 Unstoppable on the fast break. Ty's a great shot, fast up and down the court, super alert as to what's going on around him, anticipating the shot, the pass, the out-of-bounds ball to save. Practice was only a hair less enjoyed than the games, he loved the entire process. And those coaches - heaven bless them. So knowledgeable and able and dedicated, love their time and sacrifice and example: the kind of coaches who didn't order one of their players to 'take out' an opponent, or ask a cop to come and sit in the stands because the opposing team's parents were 'threatening.' Youth sports are ruined by the adults every freaking time.

 These, my friends, are the 2nd place trophies for the 5th grade playoff tournament, which they just barely lost to the team from Larkspur (great. So two years ago the Larkspur team didn't win one single game. Look how far they've come! Yeah, super heart-warming. It still stings). But what a great time filled with great boys - every last one of them had heart and hustle and sportsmanship.

 A few frustrated tears later. It's all good, Tysie-mo-Mysie.

The Bisons who entered the 5th grade boys' Hoopla 3-on-3 Tournament - a raucous good time in between games. Zack, Ben, Hunter and Trevor (front row, far left and far right, back row, far right) formed one team; Ty, Bryson, to his immediate right, and Collin, 2nd to left, front row, formed the championship team - what's not to love there? I have a lovely shot of the championship trio, but it was sent from an iPhone and will not upload, for the love of Pete. What a stellar season.



All You Need is Love

Well, love, and a decorated Valentine receptacle. This one's worth writing home about, if it weren't already created here and everyone already knew about it.

Shane. Need I say more?

I always get the crew goodies and balloons, but it was crucial this year: once one's in middle school, all Valentine festivities cease. Unless you count the grossly overpriced Val-O-Grams. And we definitely don't count that.

Shane's box would most assuredly get my vote for 'Most Crawford-like Box'...

but once I got a view of Ty's, it became a real toss-up.

Who even thinks to manufacture chocolate in the shape of a fish and package it for Valentine consumption? Whomever the genius is behind it, I'd like to kiss him. And give him a few more bucks next year.

Sweets for the sweet. I think I use that caption every year. You are powerless to stop me.

Well, you're right: it's technically not a valentine's picture. But it IS a third/fourth grade combo class recorder concert. So...it's obvious why I've included it in this post. Right?

Seventh Heaven

If you can believe it, Gracie's now 7. You can tell she's a true last child because I'm not even the least bit wistful about it. I don't know whether it's because 4 is definitely our threshold, or that all four came so closely on the heels of one another, but every time the little one closes one phase of development for another, I just feel this immense joy for her, and relief for myself.

So, two days after Christmas, we bundled up in the sub-Arctic air and headed 'to town' for our family party: dinner at Gunther Toody's (a family favorite for many moons, complete with canary yellow '66 Corvette, '50s soundtrack, and, apparently, waiters who make faces behind moms as they attempt to photograh the birthday girl).

After we had eaten burgers and fries and grilled cheeses, off to Brunswick bowl - Gracie, especially, loves the bowling ramp. And the bumpers. They keep one's score respectable.

Sweet little Gracie Lousie, the Caboosie. The best possible tail end to our conglomeration of personalities and agendas...from day one, the easiest of my children: laid back, agreeable, affectionate, obedient. Not without a pinch or two of sass, certainly, quick to stand up for herself, but, most importantly, also for others, which is perhaps my favorite trait. I've never seen someone so relish her role as baby, and so prone to rely on it when dealing with strangers or situations with which she is uncomfortable. But, really, she's my most independent Crawford, well-spoken, well-connected to her emotions and very precocious when sharing the details of her day. A recent favorite: 'Eve, my recital costume is TRICKED OUT!').

She's an actress, singer, dancer, artist and joker, the mascot of the family, the ray of sunshine wherever she goes, the baby girl Eve always knew would come, and the baby girl I prayed for. So blessed.

Your Loss is My Game

A boy and his coach.

Shane romped through his second season with the Firebolts, this time with Matt as head coach. Shane's got the eye of the tiger, so to speak, but, really, he's a natural tackler, and hand-eye coordination runs a distant second to his ability to outrun his prey and stop him. By whatever means necessary.

Football will probably suit him best, but he loves a good game on the court, and had his share this season. He's a great defender, and can bank in any shot he chooses. It's just so hard to photograph basketball from the front, you'll have to take my word for it.

Not much easier from the side.

Ah, better. Now, time to burp.

The Fact that We Even Have to Do This is a Tragedy

Following last spring's two nights of Pure Sunshine, fundraising gigs for my brother Rick's twin boys, organized, headed and performed by Denver's finest musicians and promoters, most of whom have relocated and come back multiple times to lend the hand only they could lend, the enterprise has turned a welcome corner: no longer a wake in my brother's memory, these shows have become a celebration of their love for him. Rick's good friends from Seattle, the fellas who make up Mudhoney, graced us on January 6th for another fundraising effort.

Mark Arm. And let me put it out there: most of these pix have been lifted from the online review of the show ran by Westword magazine, a Denver alternative paper that has always had Rick's name in its pages; I love how he's continually remembered by them in such a reverential way...and love how the members of Mudhoney, rock 'n rollers with wedding rings and kids and respectable day jobs and everything, came down to Denver to play this gig, particularly when a couple of them had to be at work the next day in Washington. A fun aside to all so inclined: late in the set Mudhoney they were joined briefly by the Dead Kennedys’ Jello Biafra for a cover of The Dicks’ “Hate the Police.”

John Robinson, frontman, The Fluid. Rick's comrades threw down quite the show - in the last few years they've reunited a handful of times to the extreme delight of Denverites who, when Rick was with us, used to view it as a way to gauge the passing of time and as a means of recapturing a period they'd largely left behind in the pursuit of life, for lack of a better word - nowadays you could just call it a bittersweet reunion of folks who've walked a similar path and who each year find less and less of their peers with which to share the memories. They get better and better every time they take the stage, though without Rick on guitar...well, I won't go there. Good friend Arnie Beckman did the honors, and more than capably. But.

Richard and Orrie, Purple Fluid. There's a lot of manic energy around the Kulwicki house before a gig; and mom will attest at the amount of head-bashing that accompany all rehearsals before a show. It keeps them focused, I think, and makes these get-togethers do-able for them; a distraction. But a good one. I love everyone's 'chip-off-the-old-block' comments, you can see how much it means to them.

I couldn't swear that I know what Rick's up to these days - I know he's busy - but on nights like these, I know where he is.

Other attendees don't seem to know what I know, late nights in the darkened Bluebird theater, but it is what it is. That's why I cry: not just because of the love these people have for him, not just because they're doing what they know how to do to support his kids, not just because their generosity completely trumps a casserole or a quilt or a well-meaning phone call. Largely because Rick loves them, has always loved them, and I know that even if they're not exactly having a scripture chase this Friday night, their offering is seen of God and accepted by Him. It's humbling.

Never having met the fellas from Mudhoney before tonight, we wanted to thank them personally for this gift, and so stayed up until 2 a.m. to do so. Not as young as I used to be, and I'm the youngest of the original Kulwicki nuclear family. It nearly killed all of us. But as I've been fond of saying the last year or so: what a treat, to meet all of these people who have been a second family for Rick and his boys, people of whom, for the most part, we had no real knowledge. To be reassured that for all of these years, Rick was in good hands, and they, having been in his orbit, were in good hands as well. The best hands.