Paper Napkin

The Last Mispronunciation

The other day Will and I were driving in the car. We drove by this gorgeous new hospital-- seriously the architecture makes me want to admit myself. As we drove by I heard him say "hospital."

"What, honey?"

"Nothing, I was just reading that sign."

"What did it say?"

"Hospital."

"What?"

"Hospital," he repeated.

Until that moment Will had always pronounced the word "hostiball." I never corrected my kids mispronunciations. I always thought they were adorable and I knew sooner or later they'd correct themselves.

When Emily was little she used to say caterpuddle instead of caterpillar, and a dog's tail was a puddle too. I guess because a dog's tail looks a little like a giant caterpillar.

Foods were always a gold mine of mispronunciations. Granola bars were gorilla bars, yogurt was yogrit, grilled cheese was girl cheese.

There were many more; I wish I'd recorded them better.

Hostiball was the last one.

The very last word my children consistently mispronounced had now righted itself.

I'm so thankful for every one of those mispronunciations. Each one gave me a lift, like sitting in the yard, and looking up to find a butterfly on your knee.

They stood like landmarks; points of reference showing how beautifully my children had managed to navigate the rocky terrain of language and human interaction, and how far they still had to go.

I marked the moment in silence. The wide field adjacent to the hospital slipped past my window; I made my way through the intersection, past homes, and a brick strip mall, and kept going.

Questions

I sometimes worry about Haley. She's the middle kid, which I think is a tough placement. She sometimes pretends she's more unflappable than she really is. She... how shall I put this? She believes rules are elastic, like a trampoline, and should be blithely bounced upon. So she gets corrected more. Or at least I feel that way.

We try to take our kids out for one-on-one time, and this week I took Haley out to get a smoothie. We sat and talked. Sometimes I ask questions that are open ended to get a feel for how the kids are feeling. Things like: What's one thing you would change about our family? Or what's your favorite thing about our family? Other stuff too, but the family ones are the only thing coming to mind right now.

So I said (bracing myself for her response), "I want to ask you a couple of questions. Who do you think gets in trouble, or gets corrected most in our family?"
"Will. Because you always have to talk to him about his rude tone of voice."
(Whew, one down, I thought.)
"Hmm, that's interesting. And, you know, your dad and I try to make things as fair as we can among the three of you, but if you had to pick somebody, who do you think gets treated the best."
"Duh! Me!" She exclaimed. "You know, 'cause I get a lot of special stuff."

Boy did I breathe a sigh of relief, that that's her perception. I think I'll ask Will and Emily the same question, and hopefully they'll think somebody else gets the reprimands while they get the good stuff.

____________________

Most evenings when we sit down to dinner we have a "conversation question". This is due to the fact that Aaron and I are rotten conversation starters. We can sustain a conversation, but we're bad at introducing a topic. Most of the time we don't feel like talking about the newest puffle at Club Penguin, or which Jonas Brothers song is the best (answer: none), so we conjure this little artifice to get the conversation moving. Sometimes the question is something I think of during the day, or we have a couple of question books we keep on the dining table to help us out.

I've written here and on Twitter about the differences between Emily and Haley. (Those links are worth clicking.) And the responses to tonight's question were pretty characteristic.

Me: Tonight's question is, "If, like the newspaper or milk, you could have anything of your choice delivered to your doorstep every morning, what would it be?"
Haley: A million dollars.
Me: Wait a minute. You'd want a million dollars delivered to your door everyday?
Haley: Yep.
Me: What would you possibly need that much money for?
Haley: Dude, it's money.
Me: ...
Aaron: How about you Emily, what would you want delivered everyday to your door?
Emily: A salad.
Me: A salad? You can have anything you want.
Emily: Well, not just any salad, a really yummy fresh salad. You can never have too much salad.
Me: ...

These kids slay me.

By the way, what would you have delivered everyday? (I said, "something inspiring wrapped up in a beautiful package.")

Our Valentine's Present To Each Other

This morning as I stepped onto the evil treadmill, I began thinking about how enthusiasm energizes people, while cynicism drains people.

I try to think deep thoughts on the treadmill to distract myself from the fact that I'm exercising.

My thoughts fluttered around for a few minutes, and landed on the concept of reluctance and resistance.

In this world there are Foot Draggers and there are Jumper Inners: Eeyores and Tiggers, if you will. I am a Foot Dragger.

This means that often I put off doing the simplest things, and am often reluctant to do more than the bare minimum, and generally any act of obligation is prefaced by whiny whiny-ness (thankfully, I usually don't verbalize it).

I think part of the way I got to be a foot dragger is that I'm a mother of 3, and kids? Are demanding. I mean they need a lot of stuff. They need to be fed, clothed, and bathed (occasionally). They need owies kissed, and help with homework, and lunch money, and rides to swimming lessons. They need their special monkey cup, and they don't have a lot of tolerance for the monkey cup being in the dishwasher, because IT'S MY SPECIAL CUP, AND I CAN'T DRINK MILK OUT OF A PLAIN BLUE CUP, WOMAN! So part of my reluctance to do more stuff is that I already do a bunch of stuff, and I'd really just like to sit here on the couch for a while, or PEE IN PEACE, FOR CRYING OUT LOUD.

Some of my resistance is cultural. Everything is so convenient. We can get coffee, or lunch, or our dry cleaning without ever leaving our car. We can cook dinner in five minutes. We have a glut of information on any subject at our fingertips. Sometimes I'm even hesitant to click on a link, because it's just too much of a trial to wait 2.1 seconds for the next page to load. That's just ridiculous. We're taught that life should be effortless, aren't we?  Not only that but it's considered cool by in large to have a "whatever" laissez faire attitude. What's your reaction to an eye-rolling slacker, as opposed to a perky go-getter? If you're me, you look upon the perky go-getter with round suspicion and a smirk. I hate that about me.

But a lot of my reluctance to go the extra mile is just habit. Bad habit. For example, sometimes Will will be downstairs in his pajamas and he'll ask me to go upstairs and get his clothes. It doesn't happen often, but I always say no, because, hey his legs aren't broken, and it's a long way up that flight of stairs and all the way down the hall. I can feel resistance raise it's hackles. But this morning Will asked me to go upstairs and bring him his clothes, and you know what? Not a big deal. Took me about 15 seconds.

I notice this attitude in my kids too. It's like pulling teeth if their brother or sister asks them to do Something Which Is Not Required. I don't want to be a family of foot draggers.

So.

We have a system for allowance in our house. I have a white board in the kitchen with each child's name on it. Each time a child does a chore that Aaron or I ask them to do, with a good attitude, they get a blue mark. At the end of the month, I count up all the blue marks. Everyone gets money, but the one who has the most blue marks gets the largest amount of money.

For the remainder of the month I've added a new twist. This morning I wrote "GO OUT OF YOUR WAY" on the white board. The kids and I read the passage in the Bible where it says that God loves a cheerful giver, and one of the ways we give to people is through acts of service. And by being cheerful givers, we're also making God happy, which is something I really want to do. (See, right now in my head, my inner cynic is berating me for writing such sap on my blog. Shut it, Cynic.)

So, this month, if any of us are asked to do something, we need to go out of our way to do it with a good attitude. And the doer gets a blue mark (well, Aaron and I don't, but the kids do). I also explained that they shouldn't take advantage of other family members. This is "Go out of your way" month, not "Make your sister an indentured servant" month.

We'll see how it works out. I'm really hoping to see some improvement in myself.

She'll have to learn to write with her toes.

Haley got a paper cut on her knuckle yesterday. It was actually a pretty bad one. One that actually required a band aid, rather than all the other owies around here that get band aids, but do not really need band aids. This morning she had to put another band aid on, and came to me with a solemn face. She looked up and said, "Mom, this is my writing hand, and I can't bend my finger now, so I won't be able to hold a pencil to do my work, so I think I should stay home from school today."

There are a lot of ways I indulge my kids. Some might call it "rescuing" or "doing a lousy job of instilling responsibility and discipline." I call it trying to interact with my kids in a way that makes sense to me.

If they forget things at home, I will generally make an extra trip to drop them off. I know most parents say that letting the forgotten item stay at home will teach them real life lessons about responsibility, but I say hey, even in real life people help cover for each other sometimes. Now granted, if they had a habit of forgetting things, I'd draw the line, but since as a general rule their very conscientious students, I don't see the harm.

If they don't know how to spell a word, I don't make them look it up in the dictionary. I don't think me telling them how to spell a word is going to hinder their spelling proficiency.

I let them stay up late, like 10 or 11, on Friday nights. And sometimes Saturday too. I pretty lenient with TV and computer time on the weekends too.

And yes, once in a while I give them a "well day" off from school. I do not however let children stay home from school because they have paper cuts. Hey, I have to draw the line somewhere. I didn't just fall off the turnip truck yesterday missy, so get your butt down to breakfast.

Unfortunately, I don't have any cash.

I've had a minor cold for about a week, hardly noticeable really. Then yesterday it decided to launch a coup de tat against my head. It has set up it's primary military base in my left ear, and has been coordinating guerrilla assaults through out the region. I don't know if I'm just getting older or what, but I've been lying in a stupor on the couch  for most of the day.

But then something exciting happened, and because I am now the proud owner of a Flip, I can capture these little moments on video! The sound is a little low, because I'm new at all this.

25 Seconds of Life

Will's first tooth from Sheryl on Vimeo.

Decisions Decisions

 So what's been going on with you? What's been going on with me is trying to figure out where Emily should go to middle school next year. Our neighborhood middle school has about 1100 students in it, and I think Emily would get lost in the shuffle. Another local school has about half that, and comes highly recommended on greatschools.net. And it feeds into a great high school, which of course is the other major consideration, because we don't want her to have to start high school not knowing anyone.

There is a charter school option too. But from everything I've read and heard so far, it's super academic, like basically eat, sleep, go to school, do homework. I personally think that kids need time to goof off, but I'm not exactly the poster child for ambition and success either. Aaron is still mulling the charter school option over.

And then there's homeschool. Or our version which would be online school, or attending a cottage school branch of another charter school. I really really liked homeschooling. I miss it. I like having my kids around. The kids are always asking me why we can't do it, and I never even mention it. And what I tell them is, "I think it's important for you to be around other kids, and have other teachers. I think the routine and structure that public school gives you is valuable." But in my mind, I'm asking why we can't do it too. Other than the socialization issue, which I know is not a problem for most home schoolers, but it is an issue for our [introverted] family, I think I should probably go back to work next year.

Frankly, I think it would be pretty difficult to acclimate to having a full time job teaching school after not working for ten years. My work muscles have atrophied, and I've never tried to juggle work and kids. Well, I did work from home, but that's quite different because you can still hang out in your pajamas. I think about the money we need for college, and the money we could save. Basically we would use my salary for those things. And I think about teaching. I loved teaching, and I miss the classroom. I think about how isolated I've been since Emily was born, and how nice it would be to be around people again. Even if most those people would be 4 feet tall. Then I think about homeschooling and my brain starts ruminating all over again. Ow, my head hurts. Feel free to weigh in if you have an opinion.

Life is like Let's Make A Deal. Of course, as a Christian, I think that there is Divine Purpose to everything, and that it all works out for the best. I also think figuring out what to do is tough, no matter what your belief system. And from my tiny human mind, life looks like Let's Make A Deal. You talk with Monty, you listen to the shouts from the audience, you dress up like Little Bo Peep. (Maybe that's just me.) And then you choose. You choose what's behind door #1 or 2 or 3. You get luggage, or a new toaster oven. You win a new car or a pygmy goat. (BTW, did you know that when Monty Hall, the host of Let's Make A Deal, was a young man, a total stranger made an amazing deal with him? Watch the youtube video at the 4:20 mark.)

Anyway, in real life these decisions impact not just my circumstances, but my personality, my frame of reference and how I view and interact with the world. Staying at home for 10 years has made me a different person than I would've been as a working mom. It's made my kids different people. It will be interesting to see how the decisions we're making this year ripple our pond.

Unexpected Traveling Companion

So the vet wanted $600 to fix Marshmallow's gaping wound, which was definitely caused by Blizzard, who is going back to the pet store as soon as we catch him.

How's that for an opening run-on?

I'd like to think my compassion knows no bounds, but I'm not that self delusional, and $600 for mouse abdominal surgery? You are now leaving Compassionville, we hope you enjoyed your stay!

Fortunately the vet said we could opt for giving him antibiodics twice a day for 10 days. .01 ml of antibiodics, which is like, a fifth of a drop, deposited into a pea-sized mouth. Which means we have to take said mouse on vacation with us, and thank goodness we're driving because I'd hate to have to explain a convalescing mouse to airport security.

Yes, Friday the kids and I are driving to my parents house in AZ, and Aaron will fly in on Weds.. After much cooking, eating, 'round-the-table thankfulness, tryptophan-induced naps, unspoken disappointment about my weight and my sister's single status, family hot tubbing, reading, laughing, card playing, and general relaxation, we will all drive home.

In the meantime I have a boatload of trip prep, and a mouse to catch. Yes, Blizzard, rogue that he is, is not only a biting scallywag, but an escape artist as well, and I will shed no tears returning him to Petsmart, which hopefully will be before we leave on vacation. We've spotted him several times, but the little dude is fast. Maybe (or maybe not) you are surprised at my laissez faire attitude, but getting worked up over the fact that there's a mouse loose in my house (SQUICK) won't help me catch it.

Anyway, Marshmallow is looking pretty good, all things considered, and I'm pretty surprised he's survived. Thanks for your kind wishes. He's a hardy little thing, and I suggested to Emily if he survives she should change his name to Miracle.

It's a good thing I didn't opt for mouse surgery because I took my van in for routine maintenance, you know, before our long car trip. After inspecting the engine, my mechanic (who came highly recommended, so I don't think he was scamming me) called. Apparently I should have replaced my timing belt about 50 thousand miles ago, and my water pump was leaking, and my Ohio mechanic used the wrong kind of spark plugs, and when was the last time I had my transmission fluid changed, etc, etc, and as he recited each problem I sank lower in my chair, until finally I lay on the floor cradling the phone from the fetal position. A thousand freaking dollars and two apoplectic fits later, I hung up, better, stronger, and free of all those unwieldy dollars cluttering up my bank account.

So now, although I'm not nervous about the van breaking down, I am nervous about how we will pay for food and electricity this month. Perhaps I'll cook up a nice batch of used spark plugs with leftover transmission fluid gravy, warmed by candlelight. Mmm, sparkplugs.

Mouse euthanasia wasn't on my to do list.

Emily has mice. She's had mice for several years, ever since we went into the pet store to get a guinea pig, and left with 3 white mice. I am not a fan of mice. Frankly they're something I'd rather keep OUT of the house, in all forms, both wild and domestic. Nevertheless, I am a pushover and we have mice.

Emily is an extremely good mousy mother. She trains them not to bite, she walks around with them on her head, she teaches them little mousy tricks, and feeds them exotic cheeses. The last mouse she had lived to be about 4 years old, which is like the Methuselah of mice. Recently that mouse went to the big Swiss cheese house in the sky, and so we went to get Emily a couple of gerbils. And came home with more mice. Not that there's much difference between the two types of rodents, so whatever, we have mice.

Last night she discovered that one of her mice has a huge raw spot on it's stomach. I don't know how he got it, but we suspect one of the other mice was picking on it. One of her mice, Blizzard, seems to be on the aggressive side, so much so that I put a dab of nail polish on its tail so that we could observe it more closely. Also because we couldn't find a black leather jacket small enough to fit it.

The injured mouse, Marshmallow, seemed fine last night. He was eating and drinking ok, he seemed to be alert, and active, and I didn't relish taking him to the nearest mouse ER, so we isolated him from the other mice, made him as comfortable as possible, and I told Emily I would take him to the vet today.

This morning, Marshmallow is looking a little worse for the wear. I don't think he's going to make it. So now what do I do? The only appointment I could get with the vet is during the time I'm supposed to be volunteering in Haley's class, so I had to cancel an appointment to tutor math to take a mouse to the doctor. Part of me is a curmudgeonly Scrooge, who cannot see her way clear to spend a minimum of thirty dollars to treat a mouse which only cost $1.99. But of course the bigger part of me says, this is a living creature, and it's something my daughter cares about, so suck it up and kiss the 30 bucks goodbye.

I actually Googled how to euthanize a mouse, because I think Marshmallow may be close to the end, and I don't want him to spend his last few hours in pain. That did me no good, because the only painless way to kill a mouse is to give it an overdose of the anesthetic Halothane. Hmm, let me check, do I have any Halothane in the medicine cupboard? I usually keep it between the Nyquil and the Pepto Bismol. GEE, I SEEM TO BE OUT OF MOUSE ANESTHESIA. NOPE, NO ETHER EITHER. I doubt I could have done it anyway. Not liking mice is one thing, but holding solvent-soaked cotton balls over his little nose is another.

So I'm off to the vet. I hope she can save him. If you're in tight with St. Francis, put in a good word for Marshmallow.

Sometimes love refuses.

My kids are... I'm not sure what's the right word. Unassuming? Tentative? Reticent? My kids don't jump in feet first. They sit at the pool's edge; they check the water's temperature; they look around and see how others are experiencing the water.

This temperament has some advantages. It disposes you to understanding people, to seeing all sides of an issue, to thinking things through. They won't make the mistakes that those who are rash and exuberant will make. They'll make different kinds of mistakes. They'll have a hard time telling people what they want and need. They'll be worried they're breaking a rule by asserting themselves.

For better or for worse, via nature or nurture, this is the way they are. It's the way Aaron and I are. We are a family of hobbits, not dwarves, for you Tolkien-ites out there. But I know how the world works. I know the squeaky wheel gets the oil. I know if you worry about what people think of you, you waste a lot of energy. I know it's a dwarf eats hobbit world out there, and you have to learn to assert yourself. And I know I have to nudge them toward that end, as much as I can.

Yesterday I took Will to lunch at Subway before his grueling afternoon of Kindergarten. He picked out the chips he wanted, and we moved down the line choosing our sandwich toppings. The line grew behind us as we traveled past the meats and veggies, and on to the cash register. When we got up to pay, I noticed Will had left his chips behind.

    "Will, you left your chips back there in line, run get them while I pay." The boy looked at me like I was asking him to walk over Niagara falls on a wire.
    "Mommy, will you go get them?"
    "No, I'm paying." I paid for lunch, including the missing chips and we headed toward the table, with Will's whining revving up like an air raid siren.
    "What's the matter?" I asked, knowing perfectly well what was the matter.
    "I want my chiiiiiips!"
    "Your chips are right over there. I paid for them. Go get them."
    "I can't do that! Those people will think I'm cutting in line, or stealing the chips!"
    "We are Lastnames. We do not say can't. You can explain what you're doing if someone asks you, but no one is going to ask you."
    "No mommy, you have to do it for me! Please!" He was tearing up now. I got down to his level, and took off my glasses for emphasis.
    "I want to have a nice lunch, and I don't want to spend a lot of time on this. Getting your chips is something I could do for you, but it's my job to help you do things you can't do. It's your job to do things you can do. Every time you do something scary, you exercise your brave muscle, and then things that used to be scary won't seem scary at all because your brave muscle is stronger." He looked at me uncertainly.
    "There's no such thing as a brave muscle," he humphed. "Is there?"
    "You better believe there is. You can have chips or not have chips. It's up to you, but now let's eat our lunch and talk about something else."

I could see his little wheels turning as we munched on our turkey sandwiches, and talked about going to the library later. In another minute he got up and went behind the line. He stared at the people who stood between him and the chips he had left on the counter. He stood there, summoning his courage, and then went over to the rack of chips and got another pack of the same kind. Even doing that was exercising his brave muscle. He wasn't quite forthright enough to claim his chips, but he still got what he wanted. Hey, whatever works. He marched back to the table with a little spring in his step. I gave him a smile and a thumbs up. We ate our subs in silence for a few minutes.

    "I like how you love me," he said. My heart skipped a few beats. I mean how often do you hear a kid say something like that? And because I'm greedy I said,
    "In what way?" He thought for a moment, his eyes moving back and forth as if they were tracking his thoughts.
     "I dunno," he shrugged. I didn't really expect him to be able to articulate what he meant, nevertheless, it was the most sublime confession of ignorance I've ever heard.

And to top it off when we got to school and saw Emily at lunch recess, she came up and hugged me-- in front of her friends. My fifth grader! Who likes to pretend she was hatched from an egg! It was a very good day indeed.You can read more Love Thursday entries here, and here. And visit the main site here.

I can cook dinner in less time.

Haley learned to ride her bike without training wheels this week! Hooray, Haley! I'd post a picture, but currently the camera is riding up some mountain in a backpack. We gave away her too-small bike to Goodwill before we moved, and bought another one at Goodwill this week (with a basket! woo!), and she quickly mastered it sans training wheels. Maybe seven is a little old to lose the training wheels, but really, what's the rush? I think the same could be said for transitioning from crib to bed, and from dating to marriage.

So we've been riding bikes to school. It's only about a mile, and we can walk in about 15 or 20 minutes. 30 if we're stopping to examine every worm and rock.

It takes us 45 minutes to ride to school. 45 minutes. I equate our morning rides with the leisurely flow of drive time traffic in L.A. or, an expedient jaunt to the unemployment office, or filling a bucket with an eye dropper. AAAAAAUGH!

Will, who used to zoom like a rocket on his old bike crawls along; Haley, who doesn't quite have her bike legs yet, weaves and stops, weaves and stops. I circle back, and circle back, like a sheep dog, herding the flock. While Emily sits, her elbows on the handle bars, her chin rests in her hand, dazedly staring down the street waiting for us to catch up. Maybe she should bring a book to pass the time.

My only consolation is that I'm in horrible shape, and if we're ever on a ride where there's a big hill, I'll have plenty of company as I walk my bike.

But they're so excited, and can't wait to hop on their bikes and ride to school. And I am too, at least in theory. I mean what could be more fun than a caravan of bikes, whizzing to school! I'm just waiting for reality to catch up.

Because they're there.

Yesterday Aaron and Emily got up at o'dark-thirty to drive a few hours to Kite Lake, in their continuing quest to conquer 14ers. 

They went up Mt. Democrat, then down Mt. Democrat, up Mt. Cameron, then around Mt. Cameron following the ridge that ascends to Mt. Bross. Then down from Mt. Bross, back to to Kite Lake. [map] I'm tired just typing that.

They we're going to climb Mt. Lincoln too, but the weather was getting dicey, and they had already been  hiking seven hours. Seven. hours. My brain does not compute. They were both exhausted when they got home, but the good kind of exhausted. Or maybe just the pass out in your clothes kind of exhausted.

I know Emily will remember all these trips with her dad when she's old and gray. And so will we. Or um, older and grayer, in any case.

My kids start school next week, and I'm really sad. This is nothing unusual, just the annual school blues, but just because it's an annual event, doesn't make it any less painful. Like a mammogram, for my brain. I wish I was one of the many mothers who deeply love their children, yet could not wait to get them out of the house. I hate the idea of being away from my kids all day. Fortunately, I grieve in advance, so when the first day of school arrives, I'll be fine. But today I'm feeling far from fine.

In addition to feeling un-fine, I'm also feeling very confused. I guess our city has school choice, which I didn't know. I thought that you could enroll your kids in one of the charter schools (but not! because there are waiting lists!) or send them to the neighborhood school. I'm still not clear about all the ins and outs, but one thing I am clear about is that our neighborhood school is full. Which means I can either send them to the "overflow school" until there's an opening, and then transfer them later in the year (how much later no one knows, but I'm not thrilled about having them start a new school twice this year), or I can choose another available school, and forfeit my right to bus service, for the rest of elementary school. I'm not sure what happens when the kids reach middle school, if I can opt back into bus service then, or not.

Anyway, after researching my options I'm heading back over to the district office at oh-seven-thirty this morning armed with a list of questions and a latte. Also, I totally missed the boat on applying for a teaching position, because school starts much earlier here, which I didn't know, and didn't bother to check, because who starts school before Labor Day? And also, I was in denial, because if I don't know when school starts, then I don't have to face up to the fact that school starts, thereby prolonging the weepy inevitable. So now I've royally screwed both myself and my children. And that's a good, good feeling.

Mountain Boy

Today Will turns six. SIX, how is it possible for my youngest child to be six?  I don't do birthday letters because getting teary and nostalgic is a feeling that vaguely mimics my post-partum depression, and I didn't enjoy the three times I had to crawl my way through that, so I certainly don't want to go there.

I don't even want to smile and wave to over-there from over-here.

Avoiding reminiscence is also the reason I don't take very many pictures of my kids. Also because I can never remember the darn camera, which in a way is a shame, because I have a truly crappy long term memory. Seriously, I can remember almost nothing if it happened more than 3 months ago. Sometimes it concerns me, and I think maybe I should go see a doctor, but then I remember that I really don't like reminiscing anyway, so if I can't remember much about high school graduation, or my wedding day, or when somebody took their first step, it's not like I'd really be accessing those memories very often anyway. It's not a disability, it's brain conservation!

*crickets* What? You're just now realizing I'm a little odd, and you've been reading this blog for how many years?

Aaanyway, I did want to mark this occasion because last week Aaron took a couple of days off of work to take Will hiking. (Click to enlarge.)

 

They went over to climb Pikes Peak, from the bottom,

to the top.

They climbed up about half way, and camped over night, then the next day they climbed the rest of the way to the top, and back down to their camp again. Take a look at the stairs leading to the halfway point. It's about a 2000ft. vertical climb and 3000 steps over 3/4 of a mile.  I get queasy just looking at it.

Apparently Will was making headlines up and down the trail, because 5 year-olds do not climb Pikes Peak. I'm so proud of him! He did SO well, and had a great time, except for once on Saturday, the third day, as they were heading back down the incline. Aaron said he got very quiet and surveyed long path leading downward, and cried because HE WANTED HIS MOMMY. And I was so proud again, because that's exactly what you should do when facing a task like that. I would've cried for my mommy too. But Aaron talked him down, and pretty soon he was taking those steps like they were nothing, and asking when they were going to climb Mt. Elbert.

In my house we're declaring Saturday a "no screen time" day in our house. I think we need a break from the virtual and the fictional; a 24 hour respite from the untouchable worlds we spend so much of our lives absorbed in. I of course, am starting off brilliantly by cheating. Hey, it's 2 am, who's gonna know? I think it will be tough to do in the beginning, but ultimately beneficial. We're also putting a 2ish hour limit on how much time the kids can spend with their friends. We have a bazillion kids in a half block radius, and I usually have anywhere from zero to eight kids in my house, at any given time. So we're trying to steer Saturday toward more family time. Especially as the kids get older, and are off doing their own thing more, it will be nice to have a day that we spend together. Alternate scenarios flitter through my head in which we're either learning to churn our own butter, wearing high button shoes and bonnets, or sitting in front of a giant clock, green, and slightly sweaty, counting the seconds until midnight Sunday. One thing is for sure, I'll be making a trip to the library. And possibly learning to whittle.

One of those dreaded posts about posting.

Dude, I haven't blogged in so long, Typepad made me log in today. I think I've lost my will to blog. I'm not shutting her down because that feeling may change at anytime, as long time readers know how sporadic am. Then of course I will take my December sabbatical, where my stats plummet right into the tank, and never fully recover. Good thing I stopped checking my stats loooong ago, it's just too easy to get going on that hamster wheel. However I can tell by the number of comments I get now, vs the number of comments I used to get, a lot of my readers are long gone. It's really okay though, because sometimes I'm not in the mood to post, so let the chips fall where they may.

I am thinking of doing NaBloPoMo, as a truncated version of x365, and possibly some childhood memories thrown in for good measure. Doesn't that sound scintillating. I have been blogging over here with Belinda some, but these days if I'm online, I'm either playing with my Webkin, or twittering.

I really wish I could think of something to say. I had a Halloween party last night. I'm sure if I invested some energy I could spin a tale that would be amusing, but my writing energy is on par with a five year old. "I had a party for my kids. It was fun. Kids are cute. It was funny when they wrapped each other up in toilet paper for the Mummy Wrap game." Yeah, like that. Writing no one but your mother wants to read.

My nine-year-old is showing signs of dieting, which scares the holy living crap out of me, so I could write about that. It's really a messed up world when I have NEVER brought a Vogue or Bazaar or Cosmo into this house, I don't get the Victoria Secret catalogue, I never say a bad word about my own body, we don't watch ANY of the plethora of shows about models, makeovers, or plastic surgery, and yet Emily has picked up the message loud and clear that only skinny women who are 20, with long hair, and big boobs are beautiful. Because it's everywhere, unless you're living in a cave in the Andes with only Sherpas for company, you are going to be subjected to the message that your body is bad.

We have talked and talked, about how the body is so much more than an ornament, about what a narrow standard our culture has-- we don't even know anyone like that, so no one we know can even qualify as beautiful, under that standard. I pulled up pictures of the Karen tribes, wasp waists and bustles, foot binding, and even paintings of women during the Renaissance, just to offset. We talked about how people of different periods and cultures have had different standards of beauty. Some of those standards have been bizarre, some have been painful to achieve, and have imposed self hatred among the big footed, small bootied, or short necked. What else can I do? That's not rhetorical, please leave suggestions in the comments. Ultimately this is an arena I have no control over. All I can do is go through it with her, and hope that it remains something that pops up occasionally, but remains a small, if extremely annoying, part of growing up as an American girl.

A rip roaring post you'll never forget!

Sheesh, what a weekend. My house has been filled with children, both morning and night. Thankfully at the moment the house is quiet because my kids are at other people's houses. (Or they were when I started this post. Now they're in bed.) I've been having a lot of anxiety/depression something-or-other syndrome this weekend, which consists of me not thinking about moving, and sighing, a lot. Maybe it's SAD and I need to pull out my lightbox, I dunno. I don't even realize I'm sighing, and then I'll hear myself, and realize I've been doing it all day. It's my go-to outlet for anxiety, I guess. Why am I telling you this?

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Hey, those of you who read my sidebar, do you like the new format for my book reviews, or did you prefer when I posted my mini-reviews of the last three books I read in the sidebar? I just thought this new widget was kind of cool because you can comment on the books I'm reading and my reviews. Of course the downside is you have to click through, which, you know, on the internet is the equivalent of running a marathon or sewing your own clothes.

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I made Jiffy Pop popcorn today, for the first time ever! I have to say it was very anti-climactic after all those commercials in the 70s built it up so.

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Several of you emailed me to ask how I bust my cycle with Haley. I don't know if this will help anyone, but this is how I down-shift my inappropriate anger:

• take a time out
• instead of laying into her, I give a spontaneous compliment about something related (I love how you know exactly what you want, that's really going to serve you well.)
• sometimes I whisper-- it helps me be gentler
• I speak to her like she's someone I've just been introduced to (this little mind game helps A LOT to shift me into polite gear)
• pray
• give her a hug
• if she's doing something to get my goat, I pretend I'm a behavioral scientist studying her in a controlled experiment, sometimes I mentally narrate, just to make myself smile (subject seems to have forgotten how to buckle her seat belt)
• change the subject-- ask her a question about herself, to try to dissipate the tension (What's one thing I could do for you to make your day better today? What your favorite SpongeBob episode? If you could change one thing about our family, what would you change? If you were going to take a trip where would you go?)
• use neutral words. My 4 favorite are: Oh, wow, really, and hmm. I've found these are words that cue I'm listening, and don't cause her to be defensive, or me to be harsh.

There are more but I feel kind of silly sharing them because some of them are just me playing make believe, but they shift my perspective, and get me to view the situation in a different way quickly, which is exactly what I need in order to react differently.

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What? You want to see picture of my kids at the beach? OK. Click to embiggen.

That third one is Will pretending to hang ten.

Here comes a big one!

Haley before she decided that this ocean thing was alriiiight!

In which I am a jerk

Haley and I have a dynamic in our relationship which I do not like. It played itself out again this morning. I overslept, I have a cold, I'm grumpy. The kids are getting ready, and I offer to help Haley brush her hair. (Okay, first of all, why did I do that? Haley has a very tender head, and never, ever likes to have me comb it because it hurts her. She's the only one who can comb her hair.) Anyway, I offer to comb her hair, and she covers her head and falls on the floor like the roof just collapsed. Now, with my other two kids, this might cause me to roll my eyes, or tell them to give me a break, when Haley does it, IT PISSES ME OFF. A LOT. I snap at her, she cries, I apologize.

Scene 2: Haley is not as coordinated as Emily and Will, she falls a lot more, she knocks stuff over more. This morning as she was walking through the library and tripped over one of the suitcases. Does this engender sympathy from me? No. IT PISSES ME OFF. A LOT. This time I make a quicker recovery, asking if she's okay with my mouth, while my brain berates her for not being more careful. She says "Wow, I'm lucky I fell on the carpet instead of into the brick fireplace." I agree, and a wave of guilt washes over me, because she's right, that would've been bad.

So essentially the dynamic is like this: 1. Haley acts like a kid. 2. IT PISSES ME OFF. A LOT.

Yeah. Not good. And of course, when I'm tired or sick or grouchy or all three, it's worse. It's hard to change a reaction that's so ingrained, and instantaneous. My anger goes from 0 to 60 faster than a Lamborghini. Because it's so immediate, it feels instinctual, like the fight or flight response, but I know it's not. It's a learned behavior. I've conditioned myself to feel this way.

I think the seed of this pernicious weed was planted (sorry to switch metaphors so abruptly) when Haley was about 18 months. She was SO verbal, she spoke in complete sentences. She was much more verbal than Emily was at that age, so I think I assumed her development was comparable to her speech. Also she had a sister who was two years older, so my brain was kind of in older-kid gear. In short, my expectations were too high from the get-go. And Haley has always known exactly how to push my buttons, and sometimes likes to do just that, to see if she can get a rise out of me (I did the same thing with my mom). Combine those elements, and voila, emotional combustion.

De-conditioning myself is proving to be tricky, but I have several things I do, both to prevent and deescalate my anger.  I've gotten a lot better, but I still have a long way to go. She's such a great kid, and I want her to identify with how much I love and admire her, not with my unjustified anger, that has nothing to do with her.

Houston we have lift off

Will's first day at school was a little rough at the beginning. He cried a lot on the drive to school, and once we were there he cried in class. It was hard for me not to cry. It was hard to tell him he was going to have a lot of fun. It took all the strength I could muster not to say "Hey, you're only 5, you don't have to go to school if you don't want to." But I think he needs school. He needs the academic, social and structural aspects of school. In the long run he wouldn't be happy with me for his only playmate, day in and day out. And I don't think I could get a whole lot of work done in between games of Hi Ho Cherrio.

When I  picked him up, I asked what he did today, and he said, "Well mom, we did a whole lot of fun things, I can tell you that right now." The kid cracks me up. He was bubbling over with enthusiasm about his day, and his teacher, and the playground, and the cafeteria, and, and, and. I'm so happy he likes it. I hope I'm doing the right thing sending the kids back to school. As I've said before, I'm primarily sending them back because structure and routine (the precursors of self-discipline and responsibility) are not my strong suits, and I think they're exceedingly important fundamentals. Hopefully I'm not paying too high a price for them. Anyway, at least Will had a good day. That right there is worth a lot, I can tell you that right now.

Stars in their courses

I'm going next door to  BBQ in 10 minutes, minus the time it takes me to put on a bra and brush my hair, so I'll type for 5 minutes and we'll see what comes out. All the backpacks are hanging on their hooks, water bottles are in the freezer, lunch boxes at the ready. Will starts school tomorrow, and the girls start Tuesday. They've slid, friction free, back into school mode. I, on the other hand, hide in the bathroom and breathe into a paper bag as often as I can, without arousing suspicion. You'd think they were being deployed to Iraq on Tuesday. This time of the year is always tough for me (except for last year when I homeschooled), and involves a lot of fruitless time spent thinking about what in the world I'm doing with my life. I look back on my life, and the lives of my children, and how we're raising them, and where we're going, and my thoughts build to a frenetic crescendo, until I'd like to grab myself by the shoulders and give myself a sound shaking.

It's all going to be fine. I hope.

Kid Rock

Aaron had arthroscopic surgery on his knee today. I thought I'd be able to drop him off in the morning and pick him up in the afternoon, so I didn't bother trying to find someone to watch the kids. Unfortunately the orthopedic surgeon wanted me to stay, so he could consult with me immediately following surgery. I could've been more assertive and requested that he consult with me via phone, but sometimes I'm a wimp, so I complied.

Y'all. My kids were so awesome. We waited there all. frigging. day. with nary a complaint. Of course I had told them to bring stuff to do so I could be there for the pre-op consult, but even still, I just wanted to butter them and eat them whole.

Now we're all hanging out with Aaron (he's cute when he's in a narcotic stupor), and I'm about to get the kids ready for bed. Getting used to the school schedule again is grueling, and I know they're tired. Aaron's got PT bright and early tomorrow, I swear if they endure waiting for Aaron tomorrow the way they did today, I'm buying every one of them a pony.

Now with 33% more cuteness!

I am trying to take more pictures of my children. And put them in albums instead of leaving them on the hard drive. Because when they grow up, and all their friends have elaborate scrapbooks, with the tender loving care of their mothers emanating from every page, documenting every moment of their lives, and all my children have is an old shoe box with half a dozen photos, I know it's going to cost them an extra few hundred dollars at the therapist's. We don't own a video camera either. (Cha-ching!)

This week I actually remembered to bring my camera with me somewhere! So here I bestow pictures of my son at his very first softball game.

You want the cuteness? You can't handle the cuteness!

The cheeks! I must eat them!

Also...

I've taken up gardening. It's weird though, because they don't look like the pictures on the little cards. Hmm, maybe I'm watering them too much.

Today I'm flying out with the kids to spend a weekish at my parents. One more nice thing about homeschooling: it goes where you go. Aaron has to work, so he'll be all alone, with nothing to do except whatever he wants. Poor guy. 

I'm feeling a little better about public school, even though I don't want to send the kids. One thing about me is, once I've made up my mind to do something, I can pretty much psyche myself up for anything. Drink lemon juice while chewing broken glass? "Well, if I chew really really well, it'll pretty much be like swallowing sand, right? And I'll drink the lemon juice first and..."  I think Emily is... not hating the idea as much. For a few days, the last thing she said to me at night, and the first thing she said to me in the morning was "I don't want to go to S. school."

She's afraid she'll get a "mean teacher," like she had in second grade. Her teacher was a little on the jerky side, I must admit. So we've had many talks about how it's not a good idea to do something, or not do something based on fear, unless a tiger is chasing you, and we can tackle problems with her teacher after she actually has a teacher.  We talked about Ruby Bridges, and Sacagawea, and what they did, even though they must have been very scared. If she were a teenager, she probably would have rolled her eyes at me and been humming a tune in her head while I was talking, but since she's 9, it really helped her.

Before I go pack (yes, I'm leaving tonight, hey, I know! I'll post on my blog instead of doing the 8000 things I need to do!) I must tell you that my 4 year old is a different kid than he was a month ago. He's only had 2 or 3 tantrums. Aaron and I discussed the whole situation at length, and thought about it until my brain melted out my ears, and finally came to the conclusion that we were using too much talk, and too little action. That's the short version. If you want to get your drone on, click on, brother.

Weekend in Pictures

So how was your weekend? Ours was very busy. So busy, I hardly even had time to Twitter. Now that's busy. Here are a few highlights (click to enlarge). Summer isn't here yet, but my kids are doing their best to usher it in.

We had all the summer essentials: popcicles, bubbles, and the Slip-N-Slide. The only thing missing was temperatures above 75° !

Here Will, with the concentration of a concert violinist, prepares his mighty bubble wand. There, in the background is our patio, which is in desperate need of a good pressure washing.

Bubbles ala James Brown: Yeeeow! Jump back! Wanna kiss myself!

Yeah, about those mice.

When Emily first got her mice, they weren't very friendly. In fact they bit her several times, and at one point she wanted to take them back to the store for a refund. My advice to her was to leave the mice in the cage, and enjoy... whatever it was she liked about them (eesh) from afar. But she kept taking mice out for a visit everyday. Now, several months later...

Look closely at this picture, (enlarge at your own risk).

This is a frequent sight in my house.

Children walking about the house with mice on their heads.

To all of the good, sanitary mothers out there who just fainted, I apologize. 

They go about their daily business, teeth brushing, TV watching, book reading, with mice on their heads. And then they will saunter up, nonchalantly, to ask me a question, or show me something "totally awesome," and there it will be. A mouse. On the head.  Have you ever tried to have a conversation with someone, who say, had spinach in their teeth, and they just keep chatting along, but all you can think is SPINACH. IN TEETH.?* That's kind of what this is like, if spinach had fur and squicked you out.

Also? It's a little distracting trying to teach math to someone who has a mouse on their head.

*This is what I like about having a blog. I can end a sentence with a period and a question mark.

And the mice! They just sit there! And they don't poop or anything! Although now that they've become so close, what's a little mouse poop among friends?

And you see Emily there, outside. Yes, she lets her mice run around the yard, and the mice do not run away. They know how good they've got it: go for a jog on the wheel in the morning, a nap in the nest in the afternoon, and peanut butter hour at 5:00 sharp. And the feeling is mutual. I can't count the hours of enjoyment they've gotten from these mice. They are thrilled that the mice seem to like nothing better than to lounge atop their heads.

For a while I kept saying things like, "Those mice are going to run away." or "When that mouse falls off your head, and breaks its leg, I am NOT taking it to the vet to have it put in a tiny cast." 

But now I realize: my daughter is the Mouse Whisperer.

Good Evening <----(say it like Bella Lugosi)

I went to the optician to order new glasses today. Wow, are my old lenses in bad shape. I've only had them about 3 years, but the reflective coating has peeled off, due to me washing my glasses with Windex, and my shirt, instead of the fancy-schmancy optician's cleaner. I've been putting off buying new glasses forever, because I am blind as a bat, and even if I buy cheap frames my glasses can still end up costing me $300 or more. But! I just found out Aaron has eye insurance through work that covered almost the entire cost! I walked out of there only $59 poorer, yipee! If you don't wear glasses I'm sure this paragraph has put you to sleep, but if you do, I know you're doing the happy dance with me! 

On the health front, we're doing well. We've cut out sugared soda completely, and almost completely cut out junk food (except in very small servings). I told the kids I wasn't buying them fast food anymore; if they want a Happy Me@l, they have to pay for it with their own allowance. (Was that a great idea or what?) We're increasing our fruits and veggies little by little, and drinking more water. It really helps that Aaron is on board, because I've tried to do it on my own, only to be sabotaged countless times by him bringing home donuts or ice cream. I just don't have the internal fortitude to do it all on my own. He's lost 13 pound this month, and I've lost 6, whee!

Will continues to be a conundrum. So angry, that little boy. But that's not the part I mind, it's him being so disrespectful to everyone in the house, including the dog! I ask you, could you be rude to this face?

No you could not. Cuz she's a wittle snuggle muffin. Jes she is. Okay, sorry. Anyway. Will can be the sweetest kid, but whoa to ye if ye should incur his wrath! Yea, verily there is weeping and gnashing of teeth. Mostly his. Of course I feel loads of guilt because he was such a mellow, sweet baby, and there was a very rough period there about 3 years ago, when I vented external stress by yelling. A lot. And it took me a long time to break that habit, and of course he's just mimicking what we've modeled for him. Oy the guilt. The guilt only my enemies should know.

I think his bad attitude also comes from a desire to be cool, and a big boy. Girls are sent a lot of messages about their looks, but boys have pressures too. And on TV cool generally comes off as aggressive, or sardonic. He has a deep-seated need to avoid looking like he's four, at all costs. He HATES The Wiggles, Dora, and Blues Clues, so he says. When Dora comes on television, he says, "Mom, let's watch Dora-- just to see how stupid she is." Yeah, right son, who do you think you're fooling? It pains me to see that he feels like he can't be himself, for fear of how it will look-- at FOUR! Poor little dude.

He hates that he can't do everything his sisters can do, that he can't use the men's room (not that I let his sisters use the men's room), that he can't sit in the front seat. I'm expecting to hear from his lawyer about emancipation any day now.  Oh well, my parenting motto is "don't worry, it's just a phase."  All I can do is give him consistent consequences, and try to help him sort out all his very big feelings. And buy a good set of ear plugs.

6 year old, at her finest

The kids are playing in the other room. I hear some very loud thuds in quick succession.

Me: Is everything okay in there? What's going on?
Haley: Nothing, nothing! Everything's fine! We're all peace-loving children in here!

God I love that kid.

Tongue Calluses

The PMS express is barreling down the tracks, next stop Hormoneville! Aaalll aboard, wooo wooo! It's hard when your feelings are so big, and feel so true, to tell yourself, it's just your hormones having a block party.

Tonight I sat down to read (I try to do as little as possible during Countdown to Slough Off ) and saw two thick black stripes of (washable) marker running across the arm of the couch.

I thought about summoning Will, our resident artist, to gripe at him. And then I thought, what's the point? He either did it on accident, or he did it on purpose. Either way he knows it's something he shouldn't have done. He knows he's not supposed to have markers in the living room. Either it will come off or it won't (although I have yet to find the stain a Magic Eraser can't eliminate). What will I accomplish by rehashing the whole thing? Really, I'm sick of my own voice, I'm sure they are too.

I'm not abdicating, I mean the kid is only four, I have a lot of parenting to do, but honestly I think the nagging and the lectures go in one ear and out the other. I can't remember one lecture my mom ever gave me, except the one about cleaning my room (which I got on a daily basis) but I do remember the only time she grounded me. (My parents were pretty permissive, and I also remember her temporarily un-grounding me because a boy I really liked asked me out. Uh mom, isn't that the whole purpose of being grounded, to you know, feel the sting of missing out?) Anyway, I wasn't going to give him a consequence for this particular infraction, and it's action that shapes behavior, not carping

And, come to think of it, it's not just reprimands. I say a lot of other things, that really don't need to be said, like "don't fall!" What the hell kind of imperative is that? Wow mom, I was seriously considering the prospect of losing my balance and letting gravity send me headlong down the driveway, but now that you've brought it to my attention, I'll think I'll refrain. Thanks.

So I'm going to give my kids the gift of silence more often.

Sometimes when I see shoes and coats and mittens piled in a heap in the middle of the hall, I won't yell and tell them to come pick up their stuff, I'll just put it away for them.

Sometimes when they clog the toilet, I will spare them the lament about our enervated plumbing, and how we must treat our toilets like delicate porcelain dolls. I will not squawk about the Pooping Procedure: wipe and flush, then wipe and flush again. I will just plunge, and cleanse, and go on.

Sometimes when they put pennies up their nose, or color themselves blue, or cut their brother's hair, or eat spaghetti like an aardvark, or leave their bikes strewn across the driveway, I'll be quiet.

It won't be a martyred silence, or an angry silence. It will be a little present, from me to them.  A present they won't realize or remember, given with a small smile, if I can muster one.

But sometimes when they're in the garage mixing nitrocellulose and nitric acid...

Educate Me

I was visiting Jessica over at Daydreams and Musings yesterday, and read her post about poor parenting. One of the things she talked about was the epidemic of childhood obesity. That's an issue I'm concerned about with my own kids, and I'm not sure I have all the tools I need as a parent. So naturally, I turn to my blogging friends for help.

We Break For Ducks

We interrupt this language arts lesson to catch the neighbors ducks! (Click to enlarge.)

That's Daisy on the right and Blueberry on the left. It's the second time this week they've escaped from the neighbor's yard, and found their way into ours. We have no idea how they're getting in, but they waddle right up to the sliding glass door to say hello to the dog, and see what we're up to.  Even after 2 years, I'm sometimes surprised we live someplace so rural.

Project Tote Bag, Completed

Will starts preschool Tuesday, like many 4 year olds across the country he's supposed to bring a decorated tote bag. The tote is something he'll carry with him all year, so I wanted it to be something he'd like and something he could "make" himself. But I don't have much time this weekend, and I didn't want him to be covered head to toe in glue and pom-poms, or feathers, so I wandered through the isles of the craft store looking for something easy and not too messy he could do. Here's what I came up with.

First, I found a colored totebag, cheap. Only three bucks at Michaels, when his school wanted to charge me six, for a plain one. Next I found a picture he liked, and had him color it. (Don't quit your day job son.)

Click to enlarge photos

I scanned the picture into the computer, and printed it on T-shirt transfer paper, which isn't too terribly expensive, about $3.50 for 3 pages. Then I printed his name onto transfer paper, cut it all out, ironed it on the bag, and voila.

Now onto the next thing on my growing list of things to do before Monday.

Say Cheese

Okay, I finally, after months got a new USB cord for the camera. If it weren't for this blog, there might be no pictures of my children, so I guess this space is good for something. (Click to enlarge.)

Here's the cake I made for Emily's birthday (in May).

It's really easy to make. The sand is graham cracker crumbs and the water is blue gel icing. It doesn't get much easier than that.

Here's Will's cake. The spikes are Guacamole flavored Doritos. Which really aren't that delectable with frosting, go figure. But, it looks cute!

And speaking of cute, here he is Mr. Cute himself.

Here he is at Christmas, shaking his dino-groove thang.
Watcha gonna do with all that junk?
All that junk in your dino-trunk?

Cringe

I made a mistake today, a lapse in judgement. Nothing bad resulted from it, except I felt shame flip-flip in my stomach. I took Emily to gymnastics today. My kids were playing in a neighbor's yard, along with a bunch of other kids, and I drove down to pick up Emily, and take her to the gym. She got in the car, and Will and Haley asked if they could stay and play. Since the gym is about  2 minutes away,  I said sure. We drove down, I got Emily settled in her class, told her what time I'd pick her up, and headed out. About 3 blocks from my house, I realized I'd had a nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach the whole time, because I'd done something I was totally uncomfortable with. I had left my kids to play in a neighbor's yard, without telling any responsible adult where I was going.

Now before you call CPS, let me tell you our street is very tightly knit. In fact every afternoon, our neighbor jogs around the block several times, leaving his two kids (8 and 5) unattended, because there's sort of an unspoken agreement that we all watch out for each other. We feed each other's kids, if we're going to the library or the skating rink, there's usually a few extra kids in the car.

Still, I shouldn't have done that. What if I got in a wreck? What if one of my kids got hurt?  What was I thinking? It's not the first lapse in judgement I've made, by a long shot, and I'm sure it won't be the last. I don't even really know where I'm going with this. And I feel the shame all over again announcing my blunder to the internet.

Can it be that parenting gets harder as kids get older? Obviously I say that with a little irony. I mean sure the teen years are harder, everyone knows that. But what about the years between now and then, when you're trying to determine how much freedom you kids should have, or what's okay for your family that may be too strict or too lenient for another family.  Even my own standards are a bit more lax, I can see Will gets to do things I wouldn't have allowed Emily to do. Just by virtue of being youngest he has more freedom.

When I drove back home 9 minutes later, everyone was playing just as I left them. Two moms were playing in the yard, and we waved as I stopped and told my kids I was back. The whole scene seemed so carefree, and normal, which was nothing like the way I felt.

Like I say, I don't know where I'm going with this. Maybe it's just to say, the next time a parent you know makes a mistake, try not to rush to judgement. The next time a parent you know makes a decision you disagree with, try to see things from their perspective. Maybe they already know they blew it, and are trying to do the best they can. Unfortunately the only training parents get is while on the job.

Sayounara, Baby

Will, my baby, my third and final child, turns 4 in July. He can dress himself. He can even get his shoes and socks on. If the milk carton isn't too heavy, he can pour himself a glass. He can walk next door to play with his friend M. The last bit of his baby fat is long gone. And the other day he buckled his seat belt.

Mastering the seat belt is the last milestone on the road out of Babyville. Watching the last traces of babyhood slip away can make a mother a little melancholy, remembering the warm little bundle who used to caress your breast as he nursed. Watching your preschooler race around the yard can make a mother wistful, recalling the first time those chubby legs stood alone. And I'd just like to say,

They Shoot Horses, Don't They?

Haley had her first softball game last night. 5 year-olds playing softball are hilarious. Here is the Kindergarten play book:

When you hit the ball:

• run toward the pitcher's mound
• stand there
• run, and take your bat with you
• run, but stop half-way to pick up a really cool rock

When in the outfield:

• point skyward at passing planes
• pick your nose
• watch the ball roll right past you
• spin in circles with your arms outstretched
• draw in the dirt

Emily's game is tonight, and with all the practices, our nights have pretty much been non-stop softball.

___________________

Thanks so much for your input about Haley's academic situation. The internet maybe weird, but where else can you poll people and get such a wealth of experience for free? We've decided to take your advice (or most of your advice-- not the tip about using a live porcupine as a loofah) and hold her back a year. The more I thought about it, the more I realized she really has nothing to lose by being held back a year, and maybe a lot to gain. I didn't think about how it might be beneficial to be a bit older in the higher grades, but you're right, Oh Wise Internet.

The emotional fallout* is really taking a toll on me though. I know logically Haley repeating Kindergarten isn't due to me sucking as a parent, but unfortunately logic is a thin stratum in the canyon of the parenting mind. Mine looks more like this:

Yesterday I brought Emily lunch from McDonald's. As I was waiting for her class to come down the hall, another parent said,
    "Oh is it someone's birthday?"
     "No," I said "My daughter was buying today, but she says she hates the school pizza so I decided to surprise her with a Happy Meal."
    "Ha, I'd never spoil my kid like that. I'd just make him tough it out."

It was just small talk, she wasn't criticizing me. But that conversation replayed in my head all day yesterday. I do try to make things easy for my kids, and I wonder if I'm doing them a disservice*. If Emily has a lot of homework, I sometimes make her go to bed instead of staying up to finish, because to me, sleep trumps doing dictionary work. I sometimes let them play hooky, or keep them home if they say they don't feel well, even if they're not running a fever. Or I pack a cookie in Will's lunch, even though it violates his daycare's no sugar policy.

I make them toe the line too. If I say no, I mean it...but truth be told, I like to say yes. But am I "treating" them or sewing the seeds for an irresponsible adulthood? Of course, this is all magnified, because as you all know, I'm not exactly belle of the Responsibility Ball. It makes me wonder. Maybe if I pushed them harder, and was a little more rigorous, they'd be better off. Maybe Haley would be going to first grade. Geez, I'm tired of doing the Double Back* Second-Guess Two-Step with my dowdy partner Mr. Fret. Maybe I can sit the next one out.

*Crikey I'm so sick of looking up words to see if they're hyphenated.

On the other hand

Okay innernets, I gotsa delimma for you. Haley's teacher recommends that we have her repeat Kindergarten next year.

I'm flying on one wing today

I've been up since 3:30 when the invasion of the body thrashers began, and little arms and legs pummeled me right out of the bed. I went to Starbucks this morning because I needed coffee, and I don't own any, nor do I own the pot to put it in (also I'm not that crazy about chocolate, I've never seen an episode of the West Wing, and I have a bust of Hitler on my mantle). I went outside with a bottle of hot water for my frosted windshield, and poured it out, while my windshield wipers were on. Nothing says RISE AND SHINE SLEEPYHEAD! like water sprayed in your face.

Since it froze last night, the grocery store (where Starbucks is) had the exit heaters on. Exit heaters make no sense. They give you a few seconds of toasty bliss, and as the automatic doors cruelly shut behind you, you freeze. What they should have is a butt-freezing-cold vestibule, so that when you go outside it's a relief.

As for the hop-to-it enforcing, I wish I'd read this article in Pavlovian Skinnerists Today! magazine (run-on sentence edition) beforehand.

If parents mandate that children do what they're asked, when they're asked, and that said cooperation will result in fewer squinched faces from mommy and daddy, thereby making the world a happier place, whereby bluebirds perch upon shoulders, and, if said cooperation is not executed, a consequence will be meted out with a calm and pleasant demeanor, our study shows that children will forthwith: a) be afflicted with a case of acute selective hearing b) acquire psychosomatic aches and pains which will render them lame c) generally increase incidents of button-pushing and line-crossing by a factor of 3, causing parents to d) celebrate bedtime with a Zima, half a jar of maraschino cherries, and the thought that they're not having a fourth.

Incidentally, I've been taken over by pod people. My house is still clean, one week after the white tornado*, I've only been on the internet about 20 minutes a day, and I cleaned the garage yesterday. Still on the lookout for those loop de looping pigs.

*"Ammonia?! Why of course I'm not worried about lung damage or death, Madge! I have a sparkling clean floor!"

Schmuts on the lip of my psyche

Haley is... creative with the truth. Very creative. And she expects absolute trust in what she says. Hmmm, sounds like some governments I could mention. I no longer try verbally winking, like "That's a really creative story honey." or "It's fun to use your imagination, isn't it?" No, no. She is adamant. Each word which floats heavenward from her lips is a crystalline bubble of truth.  Here was today's story lie experience, after she came home from visiting Aaron's office.

I probably won't post tomorrow.

I am so sick and tired of my son screaming "you don't wuv me," and hitting and kicking, and telling me noooooooo. I thought this crap was supposed to be over by the time we arrived on this side of two. Here we are three months shy of four, and I would just like to throttle that kid sometimes. Usually I'm able to shrug it off, geez, I have three kids, it's not like I haven't heard/seen it all before. But today I'm having a total freak out over here. Not sure what the hell my problem is, maybe Aaron forgot to spike my juice with Clozapine. Or I'm PMS. In any case I cannot take one more second of this crappy day and I'm going to bed.

Top O' The Mornin' To Ya

Happy Saint Patrick's Day! Enjoy various green foodstuffs!

On a totally unrelated topic, over at my house we are Pissy. We are grouchy, gruff, and grumpy; we are snipe-y, and snide. And I am really sick of it. I am tired of being snippy, and I am tired of being the snipee. This kind of problem is not something you can motivate with prizes or consequences. It has to come from the inside. The problem is that pissiness reciprocal, and once you're in the habit it's hard to stop. I know there are times when my tone is harsh about things I'm not even mad about, it just comes out that way because I'm in the habit. But in the same way that being pissy gathers momentum, so does being kind. I know if we can just get the ball rolling, things can be put to rights.

Emily is home from school today, she threw up last night, but feels fine this morning. I think she just had a wee bit of food poisoning, but I still keep them home if they tossed their cookies the day before. Usually when all three are home there are lots of opportunities to practice doing unto others. We had a conversation this morning about how families go through times when they grate on each other, and we need to make a U-turn around here. We talked about what made us feel good/bad, and decided that we would really make an effort over the weekend to work on it.

I had some black foam, and colored sand from a project we never did, so I made these badges we can wear, as a visual reminder for all of us this weekend (I'm all about the cheesy gimmicks). I predict by Monday we'll all be happier.

Partay

I am having some serious trouble functioning these days, and my house really needs to be cleaned. Last week I planned to clean it...everyday. And while I was procrastinating all those days, it actually got messier. Apparently good intentions mean nothing to my house, pfff, whatever. Sometimes when I just cannot get moving, I invite someone over for dinner, which guarantees I have to get off my arse. But it's kind of short notice for that, and it needs to be cleaned today. So I decided I would have a surprise party for my kids. Nothing big, just some balloons, streamers and a clean house. I would do it while they were gone, but since Haley only has half-day Kindergarten, that means I had 3 hours to clean my entire house, and get party favors. The fact that I thought I could clean my 4 bedroom, 3 bathroom house, get, and put up decorations in three hours may be a clue as to why I'm always late. Anyway, about a half an hour ago I figured out that it was time to modify the plan.

So! I declare this Surprise Week. When my kids get home from school I'll have more cleaning done, and a surprise waiting for them. (Notice how today and tomorrow I'm enlisting them to help me clean as part of the surpise). Whee! Surprise week! And at the end I'll have a clean house! Here's what's on the agenda:

Today: I'll hide balloons, and some small toys in my room. After the kids help me clean, I'll tell them that I need help cleaning my room too. They'll open the door and voila!

Tuesday: Laundry day (ugh!!) I'll hide some quarters in the laundry baskets, and some in the drawers. We'll have a scavenger hunt for quarters. When all the laundry's put away, I'll take the kids to the Dollar Store.

Wednesday: Treasure Hunt. While I'm cleaning, I'll leave clues on Post-it notes around the house leading to something hidden somewhere in the house (my kids love this game, and they don't even care what the "treasure" is).

Thursday: Game/Craft Day. I really need to organize the games and art supplies around here. What better way to motivate myself, than to have a some activities for them to do when they get home.

Friday: My house should be spotless, so to keep it that way I'll get out of it and take the kids to the museum, or park or someplace.

My kids may think all this is for them, but it's really for me too, because I'm much much MUCH happier when the house is clean. Gotta run to the party store now and pick up a few balloons. Hope whatever task your dreading this week, you can find a fun way to get through it.

ETA: Y'all, I got so much done today! I still have to clean my room, and bathroom, and vacuum, but other than that my house looks great! I've decided after I've cleaned everything, I need to re-organize  my kitchen cabinets

Haley's Spin On Cleaning

(After telling her for the 12th time this morning to pick up numerous articles of clothing she had dropped on the floor.)

"Mom, do you know why I drop my clothes on the floor? It's because I'm a floor person. I am. I like the floor because it's warm. And it's everywhere, so I always have someplace to put my stuff!"

I take comfort in the fact that one day she'll be a senator.

Oh Deer

Browsing zap2it I saw Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer was on tonight.  I loved that show when I was a kid. Every winter I looked forward to the annual showing of Rudolph, and Frosty (also The Wizard Of Oz, although  I have issues with Uncle Henry and Auntie Em). But Rudy and I have grown apart lo these many years, and, well, I'm just not that into him. I debated whether I should tell the kids it was on tonight. It started after their bedtime, and I really didn't want to sit through 2 hours of bad animation (even a mother's love has its limits).

The part of me that inwardly squeals like a cheerleader at the thought of bedtime was vetoed by the nostalgic part. I got everybody in jammies, and made them pinky-swear that after the movie they would all go straight to sleep. I decided I would bake a quick batch of cookies, and searched allrecipes for something I could make in about 10 minutes (they weren't bad).

It wasn't exactly the Norman Rockwell scene I envisioned, more like ferrets on crack. You would think, by the way the were bouncing in and out of the kitchen to check the status of the cookies, I had never baked before. Once the cookies were fiiiiinalllly done and the ORDEAL of cooling was mercifully over, the real arguing could begin-- he took two, why were they way over there out of arm's reach, the dog stole mine, etc..

Cookies, along with the privilege of staying up past bedtime on a school night put them over the top. As my dad would say, it was like keeping crickets in a can. I think I was the only one watching the movie. I was really disappointed with the work culture at the North Pole too-- berating elves who want to be dentists? Santa of all people needs a good dentist, with all the cookies he eats. 

Halfway through the movie they all wandered off, thinking it was over, which shows you how much they were paying attention. (Ending? We don't need no stinkin' ending, hand over de cookies.) My inner cheerleader did the mid-air splits, and did not disabuse them of their mistake. Then the cajoling, negotiating and stalling began, because when the party of the first part is hopped up on cookies, all promises involving sleep shall be null and void, and why didn't I read the fine print?

Despite the fact that they were doing their best impersonations of bunnies on pogo sticks, and barely paused to listen to Burl Ives croon "Silver And Gold" it was fun. I can say that, because I only had to sit through one hour of bad animation instead of two, and as I write this the children are nestled all snug in their beds. *waves pom-poms* Gimme a B! Gimme an E...

William Of Orange (Plaid)

My dad goes on these little kicks where he finds something he likes, and is so convinced of the merits of whatever it is, he buys everyone one. He's cute like that. Lately it's the tamo'shanter. This morning Will got this in the mail.

As you can see, he thinks he looks pretty fetching, and I must agree. Then as I was uploading the photo, I found this self portrait.

Quite the photographer, eh? He's like the Ansel Adams of nostrils.

We decorated for Halloween today, that was fun too.

All 5 of us went to the grocery store last night and it was really fun. No, I'm not being sarcastic (alert the media!), really it was fun. I know, we're party animals. We bought a few treats for the kids and were generally silly. Aaron and I were cracking each other up, and we all enjoyed each other's (others' ? others?) company  enjoyed the company of each other liked being together! (Sheesh, my brain hurts. Stupid grammar.) That really broke up the flow of the story didn't it? Not to mention, Will just sprinkled the contents of a large hole punch all over the carpet "Look mama it's snowing!"

Anyway! I was trying to tell you that we had fun together last night, and I really needed that.  Hypothetically speaking, if two people have been together almost two decades, and they have three little kids, the face of life sometimes feels drawn and papery and one of them may be driven to just get through the day, doing what needs to be done, so she can make it past dinner, and get everyone in bed without making that pinched-squinchy-mama face, too much. Hypothetically. So it was nice to step back say, hey, I'm having fun right now, and it feels good! (I'm not sure how pathetic that is, and I'm not stopping to think about it. I know some of you are saying, "What that woman needs is a good roll in the hay." Indeed, tonight.) Ahem, moving on!

I haven't posted to my Mommy Merits category in a while, but last night's spree reminded me of something we've done in the past that is fun, easy, and cheap (the three requirements for any activity taking place under our roof). You roll a die, draw straws or whatever, and the person who comes up high, or short, gets to choose the activity for the rest of the night. So if your two year old wants to dance the Hokey Pokey, or pound Play-dough until bedtime, that's what everyone does. Now I know it sounds tedious, but when you're all doing it together, for some reason it's (surprisingly) fun.

Idea The Second
We have this green plastic mailbox the previous owners left. I knew the kids would like to play with it, but I wasn't exactly sure how to get the most of its lettery potential. I came up with the idea of keeping scrap paper next to it, and writing down things for which we're thankful. Then on Thanksgiving we'll read them all.  Maybe we'll even decorate the mailbox, if I'm feeling motivated. (Chances of that? Nil.) If it works well, maybe we'll do it every month, because I've been wanting to incorporate an element of gratitude in our lives, but with all the complaining to be done, I just can't find the time.

Payback Is A Bitch

Today my children were hell on wheels, and I was as patient as a saint with them.  I do get make-up points, right?

Hi, We're Here

Equation of the day: 1 parent+ 3 children+4 hour flight= a long day. Also, when you're 7, you think turbulence is a rousing good time.

I wanted to post a picture of the cardboard spaceship Haley built yesterday, but I didn't have time. We had the following hilarious exchange.

Haley: Mom, my spaceship runs on water, because if you feed it garlic bread it goes blind, and starts steering crazy all over the place.

Me: And it probably has bad breath too.

Haley: That makes no sense. Spaceships don't have breath.

Me: Yes, of course, stupid of me.

Damn The Torpedoes Full Speed Ahead

I love autumn. I love the way the earth begins to mellow. I love the colors, the pumpkins, the hay rides (even though I haven't been on a hay ride since 5th grade I love the idea of hay rides), pulling sweaters out of storage, building the first fire of the season. Even the lights in the windows at night seem cozier.

So many things in autumn are on the verge. Leaves are on the verge of igniting in color, nights are on the verge of the first frost, I'm on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Ha, not really, but okay, maybe. In the words of Annie Lennox, "here comes that sinking feeling."

I usually struggle with depression in the last quarter of the year. Maybe it's because there's less light, and colder weather, maybe it's The Something that occurred at the end of a long ago September. Who knows, but every year comes The Slipping Down. It feels like my brain is full of cotton, and I cry a lot.

But this is not a post about that, because if I think of That, and try to describe That, soon I will succumb to That, and that is bad. Look! Something shiny!  So! I will batten the hatches, and moor the lines, and...uh... swab the deck, and other boating... things. Ahem. Anyway, I think this year will be better because I've finally admitted that HELLO THIS HAPPENS EVERY YEAR, so let's figure out a way to keep it to a minimum.

I alluded to Big Changes (good grief, there is so much random capitalization in this post I'm getting vertigo) in a recent post, and a couple of things have happened recently which are going to help me. A) Emily has discovered the computer. Why is this helpful? Because now that she's so engrossed, I have to limit her time on it. And can mommy be a good model sitting awash in the glow of her monitor all day and night when her offspring are limited to an hour a day? No mommy cannot, she must adhere to the same standard, which is good, because spending too much time on the net exacerbates my malaise.

B) Haley's pants are tight. You can read more about that here, but our eating has drastically changed in the past week and a half. Honestly, it's almost too good to be true. I may have found a way of eating that is healthy enough it will not send me to an early grave, and yummy enough it will not make me wish for an early grave. I am still reserving my jump-in-the-air-and-dance-around-the-kitchen dance because I've tried and failed so many times I hate to celebrate prematurely, but between you, me, and the walls it's working. *fingers crossed, rabbit's foot rubbed, horseshoes hung* (Actually I don't believe in luck, did you know that? Lucky is God's name when he wants to remain anonymous.)

The Binky Has Got To Go

Will is three now, and should have eighty-sixed his binky (or for non US-ers dummy, or pacifier) long ago. When Emily was about two, and I was 76 months pregnant with Haley, we got rid of her binky because I knew I wouldn't be able to take it away after the baby was born, since the baby would have one, and and I didn't want a recipe for instant sibling rivalry. Of course Haley would have nothing to do with The Binky. "What? You dare to try to squelch my complaints? I have lungs, hear me roar! I shall put the Banchees to shame, fear me!"

The way we rid Emily of The Binky was very creative, if I do say so myself. We had a Bye-bye Binky Party. We invited our friends, I made a special cake, and we went to a kids' place called The Funky Monkey.  I had gathered up all the binkies in the house, and tied them to helium balloons. Then we all stood in the parking lot and let the balloons sail through the air as we all shouted "Bye-bye!" Then quickly, before she could be too sad, we whisked Emily into the party awaiting her. It worked like a charm.

I know the same tactic will not work on Will. He is far too attached, and if he saw his binkies float away into the heavens there would be much weeping and gnashing of teeth. So I had to think of a way to ween him. I tried just saying, "Look kid, you can only have your binky when you're in your crib." That failed miserably. Then Emily lost another tooth (you should see the gaping chasm that is her mouth) and I had a flash of genius. The Binky Fairy.

Every night when Will goes to bed, he puts one of his binkies under his pillow, and in the stealth of night, the binky fairy takes said binky off to Putacorkinit Land, and leaves a toy in its place. We've done it every night this week, and he is really into it. He has enough binkies to take him though Sunday, when (as we have spelled out for him in 105 pt. bold font) he will place his last binky under the pillow, and there will be no more binkies forever and ever, Amen. I don't know how Monday will go, but I have a hunch it will go pretty smoothly.

I wanted to write about some of the other Big Changes happening around here, but as I've already taken up three paragraphs on the fascinating subject of binkies (why has no one offered me a book deal?)  I'll have to leave you waiting on the edge of your seats.

Happy (5th) Birthday Haley

Lesson Of The Day

This morning Haley and I had the clash of the Titans. She wanted to wear a long sleeved shirt to school, and since her classroom isn't air conditioned, I wanted her to wear something cooler. I tried reasoning with her-- she'd be cooler in a short sleeved shirt, see, look it's pink! Nothing doing. I usually let my kids pick what they wear, within certain guidelines: play clothes (read:stained) are in the dresser, good clothes are in the closet, beyond that they can pick what they like.

But no one can push your buttons like your kids, can I get an Amen? It just irked me. But I didn't want to throw down the gauntlet over something minor, if she's hot, she's hot, she'll live. "Just wear WHATEVER YOU WANT! Go naked, I don't care." was my mature, and dulcet reply.

I know better. I know not to let my kids get my goat, I know better than to get fed up over something so small, I know I can avoid a fight if I give her a choice between A or B. I know. I thought about the exchange throughout the day. I thought about how to lengthen my fuse. I thought, WHY OH WHY CAN"T SHE JUST DO EXACTLY WHAT I SAY, AND CARRY OUT MY EVERY WHIM?

This afternoon I was on the phone to my mom. She said in her AA meeting this morning a man came in in tears. A few years ago, his ex-wife had been awarded custody of their children; they both had a drug habit, he was in recovery, but she wasn't. This morning he said that the police had contacted him last night, because his wife, in a coke induced stupor, had passed out, leaving their daughter locked in the car. In Arizona. The little girl was in a coma, and had sustained brain and liver damage. They don't know if she'll live or not.

Her name is Haley, and she's four.

Yeah, sweetheart. You wear whatever you want. I'll be over here, keeping my mouth shut, and counting my blessings.