There is this great song by The Proclaimers called “I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles)” in which the singer says, “I would walk 500 miles and I would walk 500 more just to be the man who walks a 1000 miles to fall down at your door.” If you haven’t heard it, I strongly suggest adding it to the ol’ iPod especially if you are a runner – it has a great stride beat. Granted, the song is about the person the singer loves but as any parent can attest, there are no lengths to which we wouldn’t go to be with our children or try to make them happy.
I know, I know, at some point these kiddos of ours need to learn that not everything in this world is joyful and happy. HOWEVER… we mothers are a fierce breed. Somehow, we spend as much energy trying to make our off-springs happy as NASA does to make one of those giant tin-cans of a rocket take off – in the case of some people I know, just as much pyrotechnics! Anyway, for some reason that only my shrink can possibly fathom, I have signed up my children for various camps this summer. But herein lies the rub…
We went to San Diego for a few days in June only to arrive home to drive half across Texas the next day to deliver middle child Simon to camp west of Kerrville. He’s there for 7 days before we haul across half of Texas, again, to pick him up. Five days later, we drag ourselves back across the same flippin’ stretch of road to take oldest son Christopher to Boy Scout camp which is north of San Marcus. To add to my driving enjoyment, I return 7 days later to retrieve him. After returning to Houston, I will wash and repack the car to trek to Oklahoma to visit my mother, return home, and go to and from Fort Hood at the end of the month of July. Hhhmmm, I think I might need an oil change…
Not only do I need a new set of tires and a butt transplant to replace my deflated touche, I am seriously beginning to question my motives for this summer of “fun.” What in the hell was I thinking?!?! I wanted everyone to have FUN! As a side note, on a recent trip I really felt sorry for youngest son Alexander for not getting to go to all the “fun” places his brothers attended. As a conciliatory effort, I actually considered buying him the $13 red, Buc-cee pillow at the renowned Buc-cee’s Stop. I mean, after all, he falls asleep in the car ALL the time and he might be able to use it…Poor kid, deserves so much more… but I digress…
I know it has taken a rather long time to get to my point here. The recurrent theme of being tired throughout this blog hasn’t been this prevalent in quite some time. But as I sit back this evening to recount the last few weeks and ponder what is to come, there is one thing that is certain: summer is a time of change. Oldest son Christopher has done his preview week at his new middle school and was actually BORED while middle son Simon was at camp. Christopher changed from being an elementary student to a middle schooler – in other words, he moved from being my first born baby to a young man on his way to discovering himself. We left middle son Simon at camp last week as the baby of the family (he really is the baby regardless of his middle child status – and I will totally deny I said this if he inquires!), and we picked him up today years older. Youngest child Alex is all about the “me do it!” with everything from getting in and out of the car to opening his juice.
I am so thankful that my children have these summer camp experiences. I remember every summer camp I attended and the ways in which I changed and grew. I want my children to have that experience, too! But, for me, it is a double edged sword – I want them to go forth and conquer, experience, and, just be. At the same time, I mourn for the loss of what they were, their childhood and infancy, a time that I can never recapture. I guess the bottom line is that I hope I’ve done enough for them, given them enough love, and helped to prepare them for what lies ahead. I’m thinking I might have done okay, though. Yesterday, I got the lone postcard from camp for the week. It was addressed to “Mom.” This alone sent me into a happiness orbit! Simon said he was having a great time and wanted to stay longer. He also wanted to know when he would be receiving his care package. Clearly we need to work on bringing him out of his shell…
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Sunday, June 27, 2010
The family pet and silly putty - yes, you heard me right.
The clues were subtle but I should have seen it coming. I was folding up the blanket that lives on the back of the couch when I first saw it. Let me preface this by saying this particular blanket had the pieces crocheted by my great-grandmother, was given to me by my great-aunt, and I stitched them together to form the blanket we now have. So I saw this spot on it and, upon further notice, found a hardened mass that resembled left over silly putty. Of course, no one took ownership. “What?” “What are you talking about – I don’t have silly putty!” Really, what was that you were just playing with?
Fast forward to today. Middle child Simon is at camp and oldest child Christopher and youngest child Alexander were at the in-laws for a sleep over. Hubby Shelby was mowing and I had an extremely rare moment to myself. I was on the computer when I hear a knock on the door. I leaned over to see who was behind the glass only to see Shelby hunched over holding some black mass in his hands. As I ran to the door, thinking he’d run over something with the lawnmower, I realized he had our cat, Horace, in his hands. I knew he didn’t like him but I really didn’t think he’d chopped him up or anything, but still… As I opened then door, he explained that the neighbors stopped him when they saw this blue mass stuck to his side and were concerned. By the way, one of Simon’s Mario Bros. characters was also embedded within the goo. Oh, goodie, at least we’ve now located Luigi.
So what was I to do? I put out the fervent plea on Facebook to find out how to remove silly putty from a cat’s fur. That right there should have put a few people into hysterics. A number of concerned friends put forth their suggestions but in the end I followed the cat around the house snipping, bit by bit, until I cut out this funky blue goo. Of course, my husband found this entirely too funny regarding the shaving of my “cat” – in his world he substituted the word cat for a synonym starting with the letter “p.” I told him this would result in sudden death if that particular line ended up on Facebook.
But it started me thinking about the “family” pet. We’ve had a few. When Shelby and I first got married, he had an Australian Shepard from a previous relationship. We added a Labrador to the mix who we lost to cancer. The children rallied to get another dog and we adopted yet another Lab. To that we added fish and a hermit crab all amid the cries of “Please, Mommy! I promise I’ll take care of it!” We picked up a few cats along the way, here and in New Orleans, which have all come and gone. Our most recent addition is a grey gerbil. Christopher wants a snake but I’m not too sure how that will work out with the gerbil. They fight enough as it is so I don’t really think I want to throw the “your-snake-ate-my-gerbil” argument into the mix!
Experts tell us that the best way for children to learn responsibility is to have a pet. I think they are full of poo. Let’s face it, anyone who has ever had a child who has had a pet knows, that pet does NOT belong to the child. That pet is the sole responsibility of the parent. But here’s the secret: I kind of like being the only one the gerbil will come to. I like that the fish climb to the top of the tank when I walk into the room. I like the way the cat sleeps on my bed during the winter for a few hours before Shelby comes to bed. These small beings love me because I give them the creature comforts. Not because I buy them the latest Lego sets or provide them with money for iTunes. They like me for me. They don’t care if I really should start South Beach on Monday or that I’m wearing last year’s shoes. In the quiet moments I have with all of these animals, I feel special. I am appreciated. Hey, I don’t know about you, but I’ll take it where I can get it!
On another note, oldest child Christopher walked by this evening and thanked me for feeding his fish. He also said that he thought middle child Simon was “probably thankful for me feeding his gerbil.” Maybe they do notice after all!
Fast forward to today. Middle child Simon is at camp and oldest child Christopher and youngest child Alexander were at the in-laws for a sleep over. Hubby Shelby was mowing and I had an extremely rare moment to myself. I was on the computer when I hear a knock on the door. I leaned over to see who was behind the glass only to see Shelby hunched over holding some black mass in his hands. As I ran to the door, thinking he’d run over something with the lawnmower, I realized he had our cat, Horace, in his hands. I knew he didn’t like him but I really didn’t think he’d chopped him up or anything, but still… As I opened then door, he explained that the neighbors stopped him when they saw this blue mass stuck to his side and were concerned. By the way, one of Simon’s Mario Bros. characters was also embedded within the goo. Oh, goodie, at least we’ve now located Luigi.
So what was I to do? I put out the fervent plea on Facebook to find out how to remove silly putty from a cat’s fur. That right there should have put a few people into hysterics. A number of concerned friends put forth their suggestions but in the end I followed the cat around the house snipping, bit by bit, until I cut out this funky blue goo. Of course, my husband found this entirely too funny regarding the shaving of my “cat” – in his world he substituted the word cat for a synonym starting with the letter “p.” I told him this would result in sudden death if that particular line ended up on Facebook.
But it started me thinking about the “family” pet. We’ve had a few. When Shelby and I first got married, he had an Australian Shepard from a previous relationship. We added a Labrador to the mix who we lost to cancer. The children rallied to get another dog and we adopted yet another Lab. To that we added fish and a hermit crab all amid the cries of “Please, Mommy! I promise I’ll take care of it!” We picked up a few cats along the way, here and in New Orleans, which have all come and gone. Our most recent addition is a grey gerbil. Christopher wants a snake but I’m not too sure how that will work out with the gerbil. They fight enough as it is so I don’t really think I want to throw the “your-snake-ate-my-gerbil” argument into the mix!
Experts tell us that the best way for children to learn responsibility is to have a pet. I think they are full of poo. Let’s face it, anyone who has ever had a child who has had a pet knows, that pet does NOT belong to the child. That pet is the sole responsibility of the parent. But here’s the secret: I kind of like being the only one the gerbil will come to. I like that the fish climb to the top of the tank when I walk into the room. I like the way the cat sleeps on my bed during the winter for a few hours before Shelby comes to bed. These small beings love me because I give them the creature comforts. Not because I buy them the latest Lego sets or provide them with money for iTunes. They like me for me. They don’t care if I really should start South Beach on Monday or that I’m wearing last year’s shoes. In the quiet moments I have with all of these animals, I feel special. I am appreciated. Hey, I don’t know about you, but I’ll take it where I can get it!
On another note, oldest child Christopher walked by this evening and thanked me for feeding his fish. He also said that he thought middle child Simon was “probably thankful for me feeding his gerbil.” Maybe they do notice after all!
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Vacation Time
I don’t think I’ve ever been more tired than I am right now. I am sitting on my bed and listening to the recordings of my last 2 statistics classes where my professor is discussing ANOVAs and sample linear regression with gusto and I am starting to stare at the wall. Aside from that utter madness, I have recently traversed back and forth across the better portion of the southwestern U.S. within the past four days multiple times – with children.
After arriving home yesterday evening from our stint in San Diego, I asked my husband if he thought our 2 year old, Alex, would be going down anytime soon as I had multiple mommy tasks to do before falling into bed only to get up and traipse across Texas to take middle son Simon to camp today. He looked at Alex, looked at me with pity, and said, “It’s 8:00 p.m. San Diego time, he’s naked, and he has a whip.” (DISCLAIMER: He’s naked because we’re doing the naked-baby-potty-training method, and, well, let’s face it, it is his favorite modus operondi and the whip is actually a thin strip of cloth that he waves around in homage to his hero, Indiana Jones.) Sooooo, after subduing Alex, washing half of the San Diego laundry, repacking it for Simon after climbing down off the ledge from Shelby asking if he could do anything as I was pulling the string shut on the already packed duffle bag (phfft – as if!), getting the heathens in bed; I got some down time. Did I mention that my oldest and ungrateful child, Christopher, managed to bring to my attention that I had not yet upheld my promise to set up his iTunes account so he could download music to his mp3 player for which I’m pretty sure I will be paying? This after I spent the better part of Monday and this month’s salary at Legoland. Where ever were my priorities?
This whole thing reminded me of the Father’s Day card I got Shelby this year. The front has two people in bed – the man has the pillow held tightly over his face and the woman has her face buried in the pillow. The speech bubble from the side has a large “Waahhhaaaa!” of a crying child. The man says “I’ll give you $100 to get this” to which the woman replies, “Make it $250 and a foot massage.” The inside says something about to the man with whom I’ve discovered hereto unknown levels of exhaustion. As I think back, I would gladly trade the amount of sleep I got when the kids were infants to the amount I get now. Seriously, most babies sleep for approximately 16 hours a day. So what if it is 2 hours at a time? Most of us learned the advice of sleep while the baby sleeps really pays off. Now, I’m lucky to get six hours of sleep a day. See, that infant thing is starting to look pretty good, right? Plus, they don’t talk back, but that’s a topic for another post…
Somehow, as the alarm was going off this morning, I found a way to get up. As I was welcomed back to work and recounted our adventures numerous times to co-workers, I had an epiphany. These are the times from which memories are made. I look back to my own childhood and can’t remember ANY vacations. We just didn’t take any. Our family had a lot of dysfunction, and whose doesn’t, but aside from the requisite trips to grandparents and family members, we didn’t do anything. I don’t want that for my kids.
Sure, the trips were hard. Our time at the world famous San Diego Zoo was taken down a notch because we all had jet lag and were hungry. The trip to the USS Midway was cut shorter than we wanted because we had to go to my graduation. Yes, my graduation – pictures and blog to follow soon. But we did it all together. The kids saw the Pacific Ocean for the first time. They went to Legoland. We experienced history on the ship. My children saw me graduate and learned the importance of education. And we did it together as a family. Sure, during the day they made me crazy; but in the wee hours of the morning when I awoke to discover them piled in the next bed like kittens, I was filled with peace and happiness. I watched them sleep and said a prayer of thanks. This is what being a parent is all about and we have to capture those moments where we can. As the title goes, THIS is what I signed up for.
As a post note I have to recount this incident at both the Houston and San Diego airports. As we all know, security is high and thankfully so. However, after pulling out my driver's license for the umphteenth time, I too have my limits. Finally, as we were going through security in San Diego on the way back, I had had it. We were late, most likely going to miss our plane, and the children were acting like the village idiots and worse. The solemn-faced security checkpoint guy asked for my ID. As I handed it over, I asked him if anyone in their right mind would use this for a disguise. Seriously, look at the amount of crap I am carrying and the children in my ward. These roles alone took on the labels of "suicide" and "martyr" to a whole new level - no avarice in mind. I informed the man that if I was really going to steal someone's identity and go somewhere, it would be to a tropical destination and would be alone. The guy must have been a parent because his stone-faced fascade broke into a smile, he chuckled, and instructed us to go to the front of the line. As a result, we actually made our flight. It seems that traveling with children is a universal misery to which we can all relate. I didn't say we signed up for, but that we could all relate...
After arriving home yesterday evening from our stint in San Diego, I asked my husband if he thought our 2 year old, Alex, would be going down anytime soon as I had multiple mommy tasks to do before falling into bed only to get up and traipse across Texas to take middle son Simon to camp today. He looked at Alex, looked at me with pity, and said, “It’s 8:00 p.m. San Diego time, he’s naked, and he has a whip.” (DISCLAIMER: He’s naked because we’re doing the naked-baby-potty-training method, and, well, let’s face it, it is his favorite modus operondi and the whip is actually a thin strip of cloth that he waves around in homage to his hero, Indiana Jones.) Sooooo, after subduing Alex, washing half of the San Diego laundry, repacking it for Simon after climbing down off the ledge from Shelby asking if he could do anything as I was pulling the string shut on the already packed duffle bag (phfft – as if!), getting the heathens in bed; I got some down time. Did I mention that my oldest and ungrateful child, Christopher, managed to bring to my attention that I had not yet upheld my promise to set up his iTunes account so he could download music to his mp3 player for which I’m pretty sure I will be paying? This after I spent the better part of Monday and this month’s salary at Legoland. Where ever were my priorities?
This whole thing reminded me of the Father’s Day card I got Shelby this year. The front has two people in bed – the man has the pillow held tightly over his face and the woman has her face buried in the pillow. The speech bubble from the side has a large “Waahhhaaaa!” of a crying child. The man says “I’ll give you $100 to get this” to which the woman replies, “Make it $250 and a foot massage.” The inside says something about to the man with whom I’ve discovered hereto unknown levels of exhaustion. As I think back, I would gladly trade the amount of sleep I got when the kids were infants to the amount I get now. Seriously, most babies sleep for approximately 16 hours a day. So what if it is 2 hours at a time? Most of us learned the advice of sleep while the baby sleeps really pays off. Now, I’m lucky to get six hours of sleep a day. See, that infant thing is starting to look pretty good, right? Plus, they don’t talk back, but that’s a topic for another post…
Somehow, as the alarm was going off this morning, I found a way to get up. As I was welcomed back to work and recounted our adventures numerous times to co-workers, I had an epiphany. These are the times from which memories are made. I look back to my own childhood and can’t remember ANY vacations. We just didn’t take any. Our family had a lot of dysfunction, and whose doesn’t, but aside from the requisite trips to grandparents and family members, we didn’t do anything. I don’t want that for my kids.
Sure, the trips were hard. Our time at the world famous San Diego Zoo was taken down a notch because we all had jet lag and were hungry. The trip to the USS Midway was cut shorter than we wanted because we had to go to my graduation. Yes, my graduation – pictures and blog to follow soon. But we did it all together. The kids saw the Pacific Ocean for the first time. They went to Legoland. We experienced history on the ship. My children saw me graduate and learned the importance of education. And we did it together as a family. Sure, during the day they made me crazy; but in the wee hours of the morning when I awoke to discover them piled in the next bed like kittens, I was filled with peace and happiness. I watched them sleep and said a prayer of thanks. This is what being a parent is all about and we have to capture those moments where we can. As the title goes, THIS is what I signed up for.
As a post note I have to recount this incident at both the Houston and San Diego airports. As we all know, security is high and thankfully so. However, after pulling out my driver's license for the umphteenth time, I too have my limits. Finally, as we were going through security in San Diego on the way back, I had had it. We were late, most likely going to miss our plane, and the children were acting like the village idiots and worse. The solemn-faced security checkpoint guy asked for my ID. As I handed it over, I asked him if anyone in their right mind would use this for a disguise. Seriously, look at the amount of crap I am carrying and the children in my ward. These roles alone took on the labels of "suicide" and "martyr" to a whole new level - no avarice in mind. I informed the man that if I was really going to steal someone's identity and go somewhere, it would be to a tropical destination and would be alone. The guy must have been a parent because his stone-faced fascade broke into a smile, he chuckled, and instructed us to go to the front of the line. As a result, we actually made our flight. It seems that traveling with children is a universal misery to which we can all relate. I didn't say we signed up for, but that we could all relate...
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
So, today is almost over. I think most of us can relate to this feeling we have at the end of a normally hectic day when the kids are in bed and the night's quiet begins to creep into our surroundings. I got home after work only to talk the babysitter down from the ledge while convincing her that my children are not really the spawns of Satan and that she really should come back tomorrow. Apparently, the two older ones decided to see what happened if you tried to melt a Lego in the microwave - repeatedly. The youngest, currently doing the whole naked baby thing for potty training purposes, has now decided that our entire home should be his own personal litter box. In the past few days, he has "sprayed" more floor space in my house than Chemlawn has done yards. The speech therapist assures me this is because his schedule is off due to the fact his brothers are at home. Pffffttt... she clearly doesn't know this headstrong mini-me from hell...Cerberus cowers at his name.
Anyway - I finish a particularly grueling statistics class and am working on the never ending task of laundry. I am in my bedroom with a pile of clothing on my bed when I hear the national anthem playing from the TV in the living room where my husband is viewing while folding the other half of the Kilimanjaro-sized laundry pile we've accumulated. I'm suddenly confused. Is the channel going "off the air?" Wait, what year is this? Do channels actually go off air anymore?
Shelby and I started reminiscing about a time when televisions actually stopped showing, well, shows. At the end of the viewing day, they showed the American flag waving in all her glory while playing the national anthem. Those of us that might have woken up and wandered into the living room to look for a comforting parent might remember seeing this through squinted, fist-rubbed eyes. This started the Reminisifest 2010.
Shelby brought up the fact that, for most of us, we crammed a week's worth of cartoons into a few hours on Saturday morning. We didn't have Nickelodeon, Sprout, Disney Channel, or the Cartoon Network. And for heaven's sake, the stores didn't carry merchandise that furthered the obsessions that our children now contain.
My big contribution to the discussion was "Friday Night Videos." I remember trying so hard to stay up late on Friday night to see the latest videos - the NEWEST hot item in the 80's. This also ties into MTV. Just for kicks and grins, does anyone remember the first video shown on MTv? According to Shelby (I haven't actually checked this for factual accuracy because I'm too flippin' tired right now), it was "Video Killed the Radio Star" by The Buggles.
Aside from all the emergent technology we experienced during this period, we still played. I mean we went outside, interacted with each other, got sweaty, and PLAYED. Yes, I know any hot, up-and-coming, Oprahesque, self-respecting child psychologist would advise that the optimal period for brain development and, thus, key to future successes, is 0-8. But I think there is a lot to be said for free summer play with friends.
We learned how to get along. We learned independence. We learned that, regardless of what happened, life would go on and things would be alright. Today, it seems that we feel our kids need to be so scheduled for their own "good," that we have neglected to let them have down time and the ability to let them work difficulties out for themselves. When the kids say, "Mom, I'm bored!"; I'm excited! Why? Because my response is find something to do. When they say, "There's nothing to do!" I am elated - they can finally turn off the television and read! When they come to me at the end of the day and share with me what they put together with Legos, wrote as a screenplay, built as a fort out of left over wood from the kitchen remodel; I rejoice! I celebrate their accomplishments because we hail from a long line of average families. Families that, somehow, produce some amazing kids. After all, THIS is what I signed up for!
Anyway - I finish a particularly grueling statistics class and am working on the never ending task of laundry. I am in my bedroom with a pile of clothing on my bed when I hear the national anthem playing from the TV in the living room where my husband is viewing while folding the other half of the Kilimanjaro-sized laundry pile we've accumulated. I'm suddenly confused. Is the channel going "off the air?" Wait, what year is this? Do channels actually go off air anymore?
Shelby and I started reminiscing about a time when televisions actually stopped showing, well, shows. At the end of the viewing day, they showed the American flag waving in all her glory while playing the national anthem. Those of us that might have woken up and wandered into the living room to look for a comforting parent might remember seeing this through squinted, fist-rubbed eyes. This started the Reminisifest 2010.
Shelby brought up the fact that, for most of us, we crammed a week's worth of cartoons into a few hours on Saturday morning. We didn't have Nickelodeon, Sprout, Disney Channel, or the Cartoon Network. And for heaven's sake, the stores didn't carry merchandise that furthered the obsessions that our children now contain.
My big contribution to the discussion was "Friday Night Videos." I remember trying so hard to stay up late on Friday night to see the latest videos - the NEWEST hot item in the 80's. This also ties into MTV. Just for kicks and grins, does anyone remember the first video shown on MTv? According to Shelby (I haven't actually checked this for factual accuracy because I'm too flippin' tired right now), it was "Video Killed the Radio Star" by The Buggles.
Aside from all the emergent technology we experienced during this period, we still played. I mean we went outside, interacted with each other, got sweaty, and PLAYED. Yes, I know any hot, up-and-coming, Oprahesque, self-respecting child psychologist would advise that the optimal period for brain development and, thus, key to future successes, is 0-8. But I think there is a lot to be said for free summer play with friends.
We learned how to get along. We learned independence. We learned that, regardless of what happened, life would go on and things would be alright. Today, it seems that we feel our kids need to be so scheduled for their own "good," that we have neglected to let them have down time and the ability to let them work difficulties out for themselves. When the kids say, "Mom, I'm bored!"; I'm excited! Why? Because my response is find something to do. When they say, "There's nothing to do!" I am elated - they can finally turn off the television and read! When they come to me at the end of the day and share with me what they put together with Legos, wrote as a screenplay, built as a fort out of left over wood from the kitchen remodel; I rejoice! I celebrate their accomplishments because we hail from a long line of average families. Families that, somehow, produce some amazing kids. After all, THIS is what I signed up for!
Monday, June 14, 2010
No rest for the weary OR why do we let people make us feel bad?
I am weary. I love that expression - "No rest for the weary." I've also heard it said that there is "no rest for the wicked." While I admit to both, I can never remember to Google it to actually find out which is the real version. While I had the utmost intention of writing about our weekend trip for a life cycle event, things took a turn for the different this afternoon.
First let me start by saying that we had a great family trip to Dallas for my brother-in-law's 40th and sister-in-law's 39th - okay, I know that sound physically impossible: the brother is Shelby's step and sister is biological. Anyway, the kids had a great time playing with the cousins and the adults had a great time visiting and debating current events after the kids went to bed. When we got home, the five of us sat down for pizza and a double header of Toy Story 1 & 2. Before I got into bed, I did the usual rounds of checking for blankets, lovies, and shifting them from those sleep positions that I maternally just know will create bizarre deformities in the future. In the quiet of the night, I said a quick prayer to count my blessings. Time flies so fast and, in the blink of an eye, they are grown. As parents, we really have to cherish the moments that life brings.
For my children's sake, they are lucky I had that epiphany last night. That sentence of the last paragraph became my mantra this afternoon. I swear that if someone had knocked on my door this evening and given me a descent offer on the little dervishes, the only question I would have had was "Pickup or delivery?" Let me explain.
It is summer camp time and everyone and their brother needs a health report before accepting the little heathens. According to my pediatrician, I inadvertently forgot to schedule my middle child, Simon's, annual exam around his b-day in January. So I had to bring him in... Well, since I had been in and out of work for the better part of last week driving everyone all over hell and half of Georgia, I scheduled this for 3:45 - after work for me - and just when everyone morphed into super pain in the nether regions.
So I get to the doc's office with all 3 lovely children and all hell ensues. The doctor, an orthodox Jew of grandfatherly age, comes in. I have to preface this with the whole "he-totally-makes-me-want-to-be-the-perfect-parent-type-thing." He has something like 4 kids who I imagine to be this Norman Rockwellesque type family that always sits down to dinner together and the children have nothing but the utmost respect and admiration for their parents. And what happens? Simon throws a fit because I take away his car at exam time, Christopher narcs on everyone that the 2 of them have 3 chocolate sandwiches for lunch (Nutella really should be a food group), and Alex decides to go ballistic because I run out of the gumdrops I have been feeding him to keep him quiet. The nurse determines that no shots are necessary but Simon does need to "pee in a cup" and proceeds to cajole him with an impromptu pee-in-the-cup song. Weeeelllll. 2 year old Alex latches on to this like a newborn to a teet. All of a sudden, the only thing he wants to do is pee in a cup - obsessively! I told the nurse that if he peed in his milk cup at dinner I was so coming after her. All the while, the parental doctor is looking on.
So now, six and a half hours later, I pause to reflect. I have to preface this with I sent Simon to the neighbor's to play and they invited them to dinner*, I have finished my statistics class for the evening and have no energy to think of anything anyway remotely analytical, and have just poured a glass of wine. Where was I? Ah, yes, reflection. Why on earth did I let that doctor, who I TOTALLY respect and trust make me feel this way? Was it my own insecurities as a parent or was I caving to what I thought this person wanted? Periodically, I find myself doing this. However, I know that at the end of the day my kids are intrinsically good. They volunteer, they show compassion and remorse, and they don't retaliate when Alex beats the bejeebers out of them! So why do I let someone else make me feel like poo? The take-away is this - let it go. At the end of the day, we ARE weary. Weary from being there, weary from being a bus service, weary from being a referee, weary from being the best parent we can possibly be. And you know what? In the long run, our kids will turn out just fine. That's we average parents do. And that is more than fine!
*We are blessed with the most amazing neighbors. They have a son who is the same age as Simon but somehow have managed to incorporate all of my children into their lives and household. Our children are interchangeable geographically speaking - you never know within whose house they will be. Somehow, they have been able to overlook my poor parenting and love me anyway. They are truly a gift from G-d!
First let me start by saying that we had a great family trip to Dallas for my brother-in-law's 40th and sister-in-law's 39th - okay, I know that sound physically impossible: the brother is Shelby's step and sister is biological. Anyway, the kids had a great time playing with the cousins and the adults had a great time visiting and debating current events after the kids went to bed. When we got home, the five of us sat down for pizza and a double header of Toy Story 1 & 2. Before I got into bed, I did the usual rounds of checking for blankets, lovies, and shifting them from those sleep positions that I maternally just know will create bizarre deformities in the future. In the quiet of the night, I said a quick prayer to count my blessings. Time flies so fast and, in the blink of an eye, they are grown. As parents, we really have to cherish the moments that life brings.
For my children's sake, they are lucky I had that epiphany last night. That sentence of the last paragraph became my mantra this afternoon. I swear that if someone had knocked on my door this evening and given me a descent offer on the little dervishes, the only question I would have had was "Pickup or delivery?" Let me explain.
It is summer camp time and everyone and their brother needs a health report before accepting the little heathens. According to my pediatrician, I inadvertently forgot to schedule my middle child, Simon's, annual exam around his b-day in January. So I had to bring him in... Well, since I had been in and out of work for the better part of last week driving everyone all over hell and half of Georgia, I scheduled this for 3:45 - after work for me - and just when everyone morphed into super pain in the nether regions.
So I get to the doc's office with all 3 lovely children and all hell ensues. The doctor, an orthodox Jew of grandfatherly age, comes in. I have to preface this with the whole "he-totally-makes-me-want-to-be-the-perfect-parent-type-thing." He has something like 4 kids who I imagine to be this Norman Rockwellesque type family that always sits down to dinner together and the children have nothing but the utmost respect and admiration for their parents. And what happens? Simon throws a fit because I take away his car at exam time, Christopher narcs on everyone that the 2 of them have 3 chocolate sandwiches for lunch (Nutella really should be a food group), and Alex decides to go ballistic because I run out of the gumdrops I have been feeding him to keep him quiet. The nurse determines that no shots are necessary but Simon does need to "pee in a cup" and proceeds to cajole him with an impromptu pee-in-the-cup song. Weeeelllll. 2 year old Alex latches on to this like a newborn to a teet. All of a sudden, the only thing he wants to do is pee in a cup - obsessively! I told the nurse that if he peed in his milk cup at dinner I was so coming after her. All the while, the parental doctor is looking on.
So now, six and a half hours later, I pause to reflect. I have to preface this with I sent Simon to the neighbor's to play and they invited them to dinner*, I have finished my statistics class for the evening and have no energy to think of anything anyway remotely analytical, and have just poured a glass of wine. Where was I? Ah, yes, reflection. Why on earth did I let that doctor, who I TOTALLY respect and trust make me feel this way? Was it my own insecurities as a parent or was I caving to what I thought this person wanted? Periodically, I find myself doing this. However, I know that at the end of the day my kids are intrinsically good. They volunteer, they show compassion and remorse, and they don't retaliate when Alex beats the bejeebers out of them! So why do I let someone else make me feel like poo? The take-away is this - let it go. At the end of the day, we ARE weary. Weary from being there, weary from being a bus service, weary from being a referee, weary from being the best parent we can possibly be. And you know what? In the long run, our kids will turn out just fine. That's we average parents do. And that is more than fine!
*We are blessed with the most amazing neighbors. They have a son who is the same age as Simon but somehow have managed to incorporate all of my children into their lives and household. Our children are interchangeable geographically speaking - you never know within whose house they will be. Somehow, they have been able to overlook my poor parenting and love me anyway. They are truly a gift from G-d!
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Week 4 of summer vacation for my children begins tomorrow. This period is also known as "parental hell" for me. Not that I begrudge them this special time - I don't. I have wonderful memories of my summer breaks as a child riding bikes, sleeping late, and swimming at the local pool. The difference is that now I am the parent.
My mother worked as a teacher up until about five years ago so she was home with us ALL summer long. I have no idea how she did it and remained sane. On second thought, this may explain some of the increasingly bizarre behaviours she exhibited such as muttering to herself incessantly about kids and drinking. All I know is lately a number of my Facebook posts have revolved around my children and their summer activities. Here is a brief sample:
June 7 at 5:48 p.m.
Hhhmmm - I can't decide which is worse: the news from my 2 year old that yogurt is indeed a finger food or the older ones' slip and slide/BMX bike ramp contraption I just discovered when I jumped up to look out the window when I heard one of them yell, "Holy mother of...!" I hate summer...
June 7 at 8:06 p.m.
I guess I also failed to mention that the above mentioned yogurt is also the latest medium for leather sofa art...
June 9 at 5:03 p.m.
The summer adventure continues - as I walk in after work, I see my 2 year old flying through the air as he leaps from the coffee table onto the sofa. Now visualize this: he is wearing a cowboy hat, tie-died t-shirt, a pull-up with a toy cap gun tucked in the side ala holster style, while humming the theme song from "Indiana Jones" in tune and on key. Did I mention that he is 2? How many more days until school starts?
Then there are the summer activities. Good grief! My children need their own personal assistants just to organize who goes where and when. They also need a Swiss bank account to pay for all of this but that's a whole other post. Last week my oldest son, Christopher, went to summer bridge camp at his new middle school. This camp was M-F from 9:00 a.m. until 2:00 p.m. and was to help acquaint him with the school and the kids in his program and do some academic work to keep their brains nimble. Alex, my youngest, started his camp at the early childhood program he attends during the school year. This camp is M-W-F from 9:00 a.m. until 1:00 p.m. My middle child, Simon, attended a one day art session from 9:00 a.m. until 12:00 a.m. and had a play date in the afternoon. Theoretically (and according to the contract I sign every year) I work M-F from 8:30 a.m. until 3:30 p.m. during the summer. Did I mention we were leaving Friday evening to go visit relatives out of town? It doesn't get any better. The future months hold a short family vacation, sleep away camps for the older ones, and visiting my mother - all back to back and in completely different geographical locations. Who ever coined the phrase "the lazy days of summer" clearly never had children!
I used to think my pre-parenting days were busy. And talk about organization! I honestly think that all top level positions in the armed forces should be handled by women. Seriously! Does anyone really think a man could have organized the troops for the schedule listed above, gotten his own work done, taken a statistics midterm for a master's program, packed for the trip, AND colored his hair? Really? Bring it on, Patton! This is no average mom you're dealing with!
Have a great week!
My mother worked as a teacher up until about five years ago so she was home with us ALL summer long. I have no idea how she did it and remained sane. On second thought, this may explain some of the increasingly bizarre behaviours she exhibited such as muttering to herself incessantly about kids and drinking. All I know is lately a number of my Facebook posts have revolved around my children and their summer activities. Here is a brief sample:
June 7 at 5:48 p.m.
Hhhmmm - I can't decide which is worse: the news from my 2 year old that yogurt is indeed a finger food or the older ones' slip and slide/BMX bike ramp contraption I just discovered when I jumped up to look out the window when I heard one of them yell, "Holy mother of...!" I hate summer...
June 7 at 8:06 p.m.
I guess I also failed to mention that the above mentioned yogurt is also the latest medium for leather sofa art...
June 9 at 5:03 p.m.
The summer adventure continues - as I walk in after work, I see my 2 year old flying through the air as he leaps from the coffee table onto the sofa. Now visualize this: he is wearing a cowboy hat, tie-died t-shirt, a pull-up with a toy cap gun tucked in the side ala holster style, while humming the theme song from "Indiana Jones" in tune and on key. Did I mention that he is 2? How many more days until school starts?
Then there are the summer activities. Good grief! My children need their own personal assistants just to organize who goes where and when. They also need a Swiss bank account to pay for all of this but that's a whole other post. Last week my oldest son, Christopher, went to summer bridge camp at his new middle school. This camp was M-F from 9:00 a.m. until 2:00 p.m. and was to help acquaint him with the school and the kids in his program and do some academic work to keep their brains nimble. Alex, my youngest, started his camp at the early childhood program he attends during the school year. This camp is M-W-F from 9:00 a.m. until 1:00 p.m. My middle child, Simon, attended a one day art session from 9:00 a.m. until 12:00 a.m. and had a play date in the afternoon. Theoretically (and according to the contract I sign every year) I work M-F from 8:30 a.m. until 3:30 p.m. during the summer. Did I mention we were leaving Friday evening to go visit relatives out of town? It doesn't get any better. The future months hold a short family vacation, sleep away camps for the older ones, and visiting my mother - all back to back and in completely different geographical locations. Who ever coined the phrase "the lazy days of summer" clearly never had children!
I used to think my pre-parenting days were busy. And talk about organization! I honestly think that all top level positions in the armed forces should be handled by women. Seriously! Does anyone really think a man could have organized the troops for the schedule listed above, gotten his own work done, taken a statistics midterm for a master's program, packed for the trip, AND colored his hair? Really? Bring it on, Patton! This is no average mom you're dealing with!
Have a great week!
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Life in the day of an not so average mom is not always easy. This battle call to unite also calls for chocolate, tissue, friendships, and margaritas!
As I was looking back over some of my Facebook posts over the past year or so, I noticed a trend. Almost ALL of them dealt with my role as a mom. Whether it was some crazy vacation destination or some life cycle event, my children or husband's antics were chronicled. I reached a conclusion: motherhood is funny. Not funny like peculiar, but seriously chuckle-worthy, laugh until you snort kind of funny. I'm not saying everyday because, today for example, my three sons were lucky to make it to bedtime without being sold on e-bay. In hind sight though these are the days that we revisit after we've caught our breathe from fear or anger and seriously laughed about with our spouses or friends. And after all, don't we all need a good laugh every now and then?
So who am I? I am a mother of four - three children to whom I've given birth and one to whom I am married. I work three full time jobs none of which provide me with a super high financial income but an amazingly high satisfaction level. During the day I work at a school where I find funding to support the amazing programs available to the students. Tucked throughout the day, evenings, weekend, school holidays, and vacation I am a mother to three boys ages eleven, seven, and two - yes, I drink. At night and the wee hours of the morning I am a full time college student. I just completed a bachelor's of art in Global Studies and felt compelled to continue the agony and have just started a master's program in Organizational Leadership. Did I mention I drink? Throughout it all I occasionally take a step back to marvel at everything in my life.
So, where does all of this fit in? I couldn't help but notice that we moms seem to have some common grounds. We cheer when our children succeed, become morose when our children fail. We have been known to leap tall buildings in a single bound when we felt our children were being slighted. Our spouses piss us off on a REGULAR basis but they are good people and we couldn't dream of traveling on this journey without them. Well, there is the solo trip to a tropical island for a few days that we all dream about but you know what I'm getting at... This whole thing - being an adult, not having enough money, wondering if we are doing the right thing, being a parent, being a spouse is soooooooo much harder than we ever imagined. I don't know about you out there but I need help. I need a shoulder. I need some camaraderie. I need to be understood. So let's do it together. Seriously, what could it hurt? You bring the wine, chocolate, and computer. I'll supply the ridiculously normal, everyday stories we all experience. Together we'll face it all with laughter, friendship, and understanding.
From my zoo to yours,
Julie
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