Tag Archives: World’s Best Mom

Boughs of Folly

The holidays are all about extremes. Peace on earth! Goodwill to men! Black Friday mobs! Road Rage over hour-long back ups!

But that’s life, right? Every high is balanced by a low. And over the holidays, I combine the two like that last cocktail you didn’t really need…shaken or stirred…mixed or mingled…blended or beaten within an inch of its life… While I love this season-long celebration, I’ve never been very good at knowing when to leave the party.

When we were first together, Chris and I would host an annual holiday party AND attend many others as guests – often several in one night! Now, we are lucky if we can take turns dropping by a “grownup” party held within our own neighborhood. Holiday parties are fun and festive (HIGH!)…but beware the corresponding low… At one such event last year, holiday cheer (and far too many Moscow Mules) moved me to sing along with my favorite tunes on the host’s playlist. Really – you haven’t lived until you’ve heard me sing Little Feat at the top of my lungs. If you’ll be my Dixie Chicken, I will BE your Tennessee Lamb.

You know you have arrived as an adult when your day-after memories of a super fun-night out are less “SUPER FUN!” and more “I did WHAT?”

Then, of course there are the annual photos in front of the Christmas tree. Each year I line up my children, marvel at how beautiful they are – how much they’ve grown – and then start barking at them like a Hollywood director about to lose the evening light. “Look happy!” “Move closer!” “Stop making that face!” “You’re DOING it wrong!” …All things that have come out of my mouth while arranging a joyous holiday tableau.

Both of this year’s attempts – first in front of the kids’ tree the day after Thanksgiving, and then in front of my tree on Christmas eve – ended in either tears or injury. Actually, the latter ended in both.

There was a lot of this going on…

…and everyone was having a great time…

…then I finally got this shot…

…which was okay… But I thought I could do better. Sadly, three seconds later, Oliver decided to squeeze the twins to his chest and accidentally gave them an impressive head knock. Poor kid – he really doesn’t understand how strong he is and was more surprised and upset than they were. Though it was hard to tell with all of the wailing and “Oliver did that ON PURPOSE!” accusations. It’s clear that we have officially entered “The Lenny Years” and will have to keep a more serious eye on the roughhousing.

But don’t worry! Everyone was fine ten minutes later when I announced that they could all open a present. And I was only mildly thrown by the unexpected drama since I’m currently walking through life in a constant state of damage control.

A more recent addition to our holiday traditions is Charlie, our Elf on the Shelf. The kids love that elf and charge out of bed the second they wake up to see WHERE he will be today!

As someone who regularly forgets to follow up on Tooth Fairy duties, I’m a bit less enthused about the elf. Sure, it’s very convenient to point out that “Charlie is watching,” when someone (George) is being particularly bad. But that in no way compensates for those mornings when I have to use my best roller derby moves to elbow past my kids on the stairs before they find the elf we forgot to move.

By December 15th we’re usually scraping the bottom of the barrel when it comes to identifying new perching spots. One night Chris actually suggested doing something creative with props and I thought my head would explode, “What are you thinking!? Then they’ll start expecting ANOTHER one of those scenes the next day…and the next. Don’t raise the bar! NEVER raise the bar!” It’s like a universal truth of parenthood – always consider how your actions will impact the future. Charlie sticks to high cabinets and chandeliers – end of story.

I breathed a sigh of relief on Christmas eve when it was time for our elf to fly back to the North Pole. Though Alice seemed a little reluctant to let him go.

Sorry Charlie!

But anyone who has been reading this blog long enough knows where things really get ugly. I’m a horrible person when it comes to “my tree.”

I have written at length about my Christmas trees and the difficulty I’ve had in relinquishing sole custody of the decorating process. First, I imagined an unpleasant future of haphazard ornament placement, heavy on the preschool projects. The following year, I compromised and gave the kids their own tree. Then the pressure was on, and I had to be very strategic about keeping “my tree” to myself.

Last year, I had a love/hate relationship with our tree. As soon as it was set up, we could see that it was undeniably crooked. This is a risk that accompanies Chris’ tradition of taking one of our children to pick out a tree each year – I have NO control over the selection (just a long list of requirements and deal breakers).

And I had such high hopes for Eleanor! My color-within-the-lines girl was the perfect candidate to find a “perfect” tree. At first glance, it seemed she did. But no matter how many times we tried to fix the obvious leaning, there was always something off.

Eventually, I just put on the lights since that takes at least an hour (well, for ME it does). Then after getting the kids to bed, I decided there must be a way to make it appear straighter. Obviously, I assumed Chris would be 100% on board with this additional adjusting – so imagine my surprise when he announced that it was “good enough” and turned in for the night. I would have agreed if good enough meant leaning at a 45 degree angle…but I felt his perception of Christmas tree adequacy was a few notches lower than mine.

He may have been willing to concede symmetrical defeat, but I stayed up to fight the good fight. And I only spent a few minutes feeling annoyed with him. The truth is, he was holding me back anyway.

That tree almost fell on me at least three times. And it’s a miracle that my children didn’t find me trapped underneath it the next morning. But I couldn’t let that happen. I mean, SOMEONE had to move the elf to a new location.

After I got the tree looking marginally better than it did when Chris gave up, I decided that I had reached my own “good enough.” The secret to my success involved stuffing the tree stand with some plastic cups and emptied prescription bottles (which make surprisingly good wedges!) Feel free to pin that tip.

Before tidying up, I went into the kitchen to wash my hands (both of sap and the entire fiasco), and when I returned, I found that half the lights had blown out.

Then I dragged the damn thing outside and beat it to death with a snow shovel.

Of course I didn’t do that! For one thing, we don’t own a snow shovel. But more importantly, I had put way too much time into that tree to give up. Instead, I took a deep breath and set about checking each strand. Luckily, there were only two that had to be removed and I was able to replace them with a couple of spares. TOTALLY worth another 30 minutes of time that could be spent sleeping.

In the end, we had a lovely, only slightly crooked tree.

This year, it was George who picked out the tree, and he surprised us all by selecting a SMALL one. Well – not exactly small, but much smaller than the six to eight foot trees his siblings were bringing home. Apparently, he told the tree guy that “size doesn’t matter as long as it’s fat.” Oh George…

So small and fat arrived, and most decidedly did not fit into our tree stand. The trunk was too short, so I sent Chris out to get a smaller stand.

And starting right there, the smallest tree we’ve ever had became the BIGGEST pain in the ass.

It was next to impossible to get it to stay up straight in the new stand. And beyond that, it was never really secure regardless of how much we tightened the screws. This should have been the first sign of impending calamity. But Chris declared it good enough, and I could at least adjust it to look straight… So on went the lights!

This all happened after the kids were in bed and it was pretty late when I finished, but I decided to try to power through and do the ornaments too. That way the tree would be done before little, grasping hands had a chance to manhandle the boxes of holiday decor. I could even tell them that Charlie did it! How could they object to Santa’s snitch not letting them help? You better not pout indeed!

It was a good idea, but a bit ambitious. I gave up around midnight and went to bed. So the following morning was flooded with enthusiastic offers of help and ornament retrieval assembly lines. I have never been so happy to see the school bus.

That Monday was “early dismissal day” so I only had a few hours alone. And right before my children were due home, I stepped back to bask in the glory of the sweetest little Christmas tree I had ever seen. George chose well – it was possibly my favorite tree yet. Absolutely perfect. Perfect and…moving? Just like that, everything switched to slow motion as I watched the stand sliiiiide forward and the angel drop back out of sight. CRASH! The entire thing hit the floor in a crunch of breakable ornaments (my favorite kind!)

If I were a more emotive person, I would have screamed. Instead, I stood frozen in horror. Wondering what I did wrong…was it possible that I overdid it on the ornaments?…or perhaps this was some kind of punishment for extreme Christmas tree hubris… Either way – I had children to collect from the bus and a play date to host. So I propped my now disheveled little tree up against the wall and resigned myself to figuring it out later.

Luckily, the damage was minimal and only a few of my heirloom ornaments were broken. And come on – even I knew there were FAR worse problems to have. I just practiced some deep breathing and tried to restrain my snarling when children came too close to my wounded baby.

Much later, when the kids were in bed, I came downstairs with the intention of getting Chris to help me figure out what happened and how we could fix it. But before I had a chance to ask, he informed me that, “the tree fell again.”

I must have blacked out at this point, as I have no memory of the next 20 minutes. BUT it all worked out in the end.

Just as I started collecting plastic cups and prescription pill bottles to wedge around the trunk, Chris decided that the top heavy tree really did need a sturdier stand. The solution was to saw off the lower branches (something I hadn’t even considered since the tree was already on the small side) and make it fit into our bigger stand.

Then there was sawing, lifting, near misses with pine needle blindings, multiple attempts at tree straightening and screw tightening…and just a little bit of swearing.

Finally we stepped back to see a very straight, very secure, slightly smaller Christmas tree. We could also see that the branch removal effectively made what I decorated as “the front” of the tree a better candidate for “the back.” I employed more deep breathing and big picture priority checking to get myself to as serene a state of mind as I could manage…then I removed ALL of the ornaments and redid the WHOLE ‘EFFING TREE!

Done! Finished! No more lesson-learned moments thank-you-very-much! I had officially exceeded my limit for Christmas tree decorating mania.

Which of course, meant it was time for Christmas tree PHOTOGRAPHING mania!

I think I have more pictures of this tree than I do of my own children on Christmas… I’m not kidding. Wonder how many people unfriended/unfollowed me after the Christmas tree reign of terror I inflicted over social media…

Next year, we’re going as a family to pick out our tree. It’s time for a new tradition. The kids are old enough now to work as a group and compromise on something they ALL like. AND to know that from now on, we’re getting the tree that I want.

WISHING YOU ALL THE BEST IN 2014!

They Coulda’ Been Great: October 2013

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October highlights via Facebook… (What is this? All answers are HERE.)

October 1

5:52 p.m.

Aaaaaand third verse, same as the first (or second, since it’s Mr. Robinson again). George wrote ANOTHER apology letter tonight: “Der Mistr Ropsin, I em sore fr beying rood ad idrubing [and interrupting]. I em going to be god [good]. Frum, George” I can’t even…

October 4

8:06 a.m.

Last night when I got back from the Scary Mommy event…

Me: You know how this is one of my favorite tops?

Chris: No. When did you get that?

Me: I’ve had it for years – wear it all the time. Anyway – tonight when I put it on, I realized that it might be getting outdated… Have you ever put on a favorite shirt and thought it looked different?

Chris: No.

Me: Well it’s disconcerting. Normally, I put this on and think, “oh, I LOVE this top.” But tonight it was more like, “wow – that’s A LOT of ruffles.” Ruffles were really popular for a while, but now that they’re not, the ruffles on this collar seem less “pretty detail” and more “Queen Elizabeth’s Court.” Like even though I still LIKE this top, it doesn’t look the same to me anymore. Like something is off. I feel a little sad about that.

Chris: …..

It’s nice to have a partner in life with whom I can process these things…

10:00 a.m.

Just few of my gorgeous new bracelets from Simply Om. My favorite is the pink jade.

4:36 p.m.

My mother just had to get off the phone with me because my father can’t find Great Grandma Ruth’s leather-bound journal. He remembers packing it, but doesn’t remember UNpacking it when they moved into the new house and it’s very important that Mom helps him look for it THIS VERY MINUTE. #RetiredPeople or more accurately #MyParents

October 5

12:31 p.m.

So sitting in front of a rec center, waiting for a police officer so I can give him the KNIFE I just found on our neighborhood trail is not quite how I envisioned spending my Saturday afternoon…

8:10 p.m.

Conversation in the car on the way home from a dinner date with first grader Eleanor…

Eleanor: Mom – you want to hear something crazy?

Me: Sure.

Eleanor: Blake has a crush on someone!

Me: Is it you?

Eleanor: No!

Me: Is it someone at your table?

Eleanor: No.

Me: Is it someone in your class?

Eleanor: No.

Me: Is it someone I know?!

Eleanor: No – it’s a third grader.

Me: Really? Ambitious.

Eleanor: Well…Blake has a lot of dates.

Fast crowd at Yellow Table this year…

October 6

6:33 p.m.

Me: (following Eleanor outside) There’s George…can you find Oliver for me?

Eleanor: (looking down the block) He’s over there.

Me: (can’t see that far with my bad eyesight) Where?

Eleanor: Playing with the other kids.

Me: You mean George?

Eleanor: No – Oliver is there too.

Five year old neighbor: He’s making “chalk smoke.”

Me: Oh – then that’s definitely him.

October 8

2:58 p.m.

I think that the toy companies once had a big meeting with the paper product companies where they all went in on a profit sharing deal, stipulating that the toy companies would package toys in anything BUT a six-sided box as often as possible without raising suspicion. End game: parents would start spending THOUSANDS of dollars on $2.50+ gift bags and the required tissue paper. In popular Disney character prints of course (because you KNOW that group was in on it). They could feel fairly confident in their success since NO ONE in their right mind wants to waste time trying to wrap something with approximately 36 different angles!

October 10

5:03 p.m.

I have noticed a direct correlation between my children being really happy and really annoying. We all want our children to be “happy” but I’m wondering if “content” is an adequate compromise… Related: we are now leaving Target.

6:13 p.m.

So it sounds like George started his group for kids with impulse control issues at school today. I know this because when I asked if he was being good in class, he said: “yes – I’ve been ver’ good – ‘cept for once when someone mistracted me and I forgot.” [forgot to be good?] Then he went on to explain, “we talked about it in my new REpulse group. You know what REpulse means, mom?” His explanation was largely unintelligible, but I gleaned enough from it to confirm that he understands what an impulse is. Diction aside – I’m glad he’s getting help.

8:00 p.m.

I just e-mailed Oliver’s teachers my suggested “action plan” for picture day…the goal being that he NOT refuse to have his picture taken (which he has done for the past two years). Bribes will be involved. Even if he offers the photographer that rictus smile he gives me when I aim the camera at him, I’ll consider it a win. In fact, I’ll FRAME the damn thing. I’m on a mission…

8:12 p.m.

Remember that movie title, “There Will Be Blood”? I’ve decided that my parenting movie title would be, “There Will Be Bribes.”

October 12

10:23 a.m.

Pssst! All of my high school/college friends who excluded “year” from birth date in their FB profile… I know how old you are :)

7:03 p.m.

“Sniffing butts is NOT funny!” As far as ridiculous things I find myself saying to my children go… It’s up there.

7:21 p.m.

Highlights of college football are on TV and I overheard Chris telling the kids that the “Game Cocks” are South Carolina University’s mascot. Then George (who is operating on a particularly nasty combination of too much sugar and “stuck inside on a rainy day”) started chanting “Game focks! Game focks!”

Me: “It’s not ‘focks’ it’s…oh never mind…”

Feeling grateful that their school’s mascot is the “Mustang.”

October 13

12:58 p.m.

Eleanor: Just walk like a robot. Makes you feel better.

I like to think this would apply to pretty much any situation.

October 14

7:38 p.m.

Um – when did my eight year old turn 17? #BackFromTheBeach

7:40 p.m.

Clearly George had a terrible time… #BackFromTheBeach

7:42 p.m.

All cartwheels, all the time. #BackFromTheBeach

7:46 p.m.

We even brought the dog! #BackFromTheBeach

7:50 p.m.

One more! What DON’T I like about this picture? Oh – about 98 things… What DO I like about it? It looks exactly like me on a day with my kids – no makeup, hair pulled back, “practical clothes,” and all. More importantly, this is probably how my kids think of me, so when they see this picture, they’ll know “this is mom.” And Alice.

October 15

7:58 p.m.

Me: I’m confused. Why is baseball on? Isn’t it football season?

Chris: It’s October!

Me: But isn’t baseball over?

Chris: Haven’t you heard the term “The Boys of October”?

Me: I’ve heard “The Boys of Summer”…

Chris: The World Series is ALWAYS in October. What is the ONLY team to have won the World Series in NOVEMBER?

Me: [blank stare]

Chris: The Diamondbacks!

When someone asks why baseball is still on in October, do you think they would be able to guess who won the World Series in November? Has he met me?!

October 16

4:51 p.m.

George just wowed our neighbors by demonstrating his best pole dancing moves on the corner sign post. Yes – he said “pole dancing.” Guess I’d better GET ON IT and sew those velocros into his new tear-away outifts… Thanks Diane Cooper Gould!

5:49 p.m.

Finally joining the rest of the human race in worshiping at the alter of Breaking Bad. And I have to say, the 30 minutes I spend doing second grade homework with Oliver each day is eerily similar to watching Walter try to explain chemistry to disinterested high school students…

7:00 p.m.

THIS is how much I believe Oliver WON’T refuse to have his picture taken OR make a face so bizarre that he’ll be “that kid” when his classmates look at their yearbooks 20 years from now. Please send prayers/good vibes/voodoo if you can.

October 19

10:33 a.m.

Mah culuhs ah blush and bashful.

11:37 a.m.

It never ceases to amaze me how seriously kids can take their bizarre little games. Like…say…taking turns whacking a pumpkin with a stick. Apparently, shit gets real when one of them steals someone else’s turn. NO CUTSIES!

1:45 p.m.

Three words a busy parent most dreads hearing from small children: “Can I help?“

So laundry folding will take twice a long…

3:47 p.m.

Hawking popcorn at the school harvest festival. Total carnie now…sneering at all the norms…

October 27

2:43 p.m.

Realized I forgot paper products for Eleanor’s birthday party. Asked Chris to run out to buy paper plates and napkins. For a SEVEN YEAR OLD GIRL’S PARTY. So obviously…

October 28

7:26 p.m.

I kind of love the fact that Eleanor’s barometer for whether she’ll wear something or not is, “can I do a cartwheel in it?”

October 31

4:56 p.m.

Just finished taking some Halloween pictures of the kids! You should DEFINITELY hire me as your family photographer…If you want me to yell a lot and tell everyone that they’re “DOING IT WRONG!” I’m all about the fun.

5:14 p.m.

Oliver has been talking about Halloween since June – so he is THRILLED to finally be a “scary vampire” tonight. THIS is the child who refused to wear a costume until he was six. I had to trick him by putting him in superhero pjs. We’ve come a long way baby!

5:16 p.m.

Eleanor decided to be a witch again so I would only have to worry about costumes for TWO children this year. Okay – maybe that wasn’t her intention…but it didn’t go unappreciated.

5:18 p.m.

George is going as Rick Grimes “after” – because, you know, it’s only a matter of time… Of course, he just thinks he’s a “Sheriff Zombie.” But the grownups will think it’s funny.

Next up: NOVEMBER when Oliver calls PETA on Thanksgiving and the twins make into the Guinness Book of World Records for the number of times they can say “penis” within a 24-hour period. Stay tuned…

They Coulda’ Been Great: September 2013

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A little look back at September via Facebook… (What is this? All answers are HERE.)

September 2

1:12 p.m.

George: Dad, why is juggling free?

Chris: What?

George: Why is juggling free?

Chris: Juggling is what?

George: FREE! Why is juggling FREE?

Chris: I have no idea what you are talking about.

George: Why is juggling FREE balls? WHY FREE?

I’m dying. And kind of expecting to hear from the speech therapist at school this year…

September 3

9:51 a.m.

First day of school for Fairfax County. And this is the BEST picture they were willing to give me.

9:53 a.m.

….but this is all they really wanted to do.

9:54 a.m.

This of course is my favorite since it looks the most like them.

September 4

12:41 p.m.

So Alan Thicke has tweeted his dismissive attitude about the outrage over his son Robin and Miley Cyrus giving that controversial performance at the VMAs. But I wonder – am I the only one who really wants to know what Jason Seaver would think of all of this?

September 7

9:36 a.m.

“Dad! I’m half Italian, half Arizona and half American.”

George has really gotten into genealogy lately.

2:38 p.m.

Shopping at the Gap…

Eleanor: Mommy! You keep running off.

I’m telling you…take your eyes off me for a second and I’m GONE.

3:20 p.m.

The shoes Eleanor picked out are so hideous, they are kind of awesome. Also? They light up.

8:02 p.m.

Me: Honey, can you get me a glass of wine?

Eleanor: And can I have some water?

Chris: What – do I look like a waiter to you two?

Me: Oh I’m sorry, I know it must be really hard having to run around doing things for me all day…cleaning up after me…keeping me organized…

Eleanor: That’s not really real. Mommy does all the work.

That’s my girl!

September 9

9:48 p.m.

Some blues singer named Kermit on the Travel channel is cooking roasted raccoon (a Bayou thing?). RACCOON?! I can barely think about what sausage is. “Roasted raccoon” has scarred me for life.

10:09 p.m.

And now Hotel Impossible is on the Travel Channel. Chris hasn’t changed it yet. I just asked, “honey – WHY are you watching hotels? You like cooking, sports and ghosts. Not hotels.” Speaking of ghosts – have you seen The Dead Files with the detective and the medium? OMG! Also – I CAN’T WAIT for The Mindy Project premier next week.

September 11

4:44 p.m.

Last week I reprimanded the kids for not eating the lunches I packed for them. This week, their lunchboxes are coming home suspiciously EMPTY. Hmmmm…

September 12

1:57 p.m.

So I just took Alice out for a quick walk on this hot, sunny day, and we both jumped at the unexpected sound of a LOUD clap of thunder. More accurately, I was slightly startled and Alice jumped out of her skin, turning around in circles all, “WTF was THAT?!” Then I knew I have become one of THOSE dog owners because my first thought was “OMG that’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen – I have to put that FB.” Okay – maybe I’m not quite there yet…it’s not like I Instagrammed it. And speaking of dogs… If YOU happen to be one of THOSE dog people, I saw that Chicken Soup for the Soul has a new story call out for a book titled, “The Dog Did WHAT?!” If you have a good story – consider submitting an essay! I’m going to skip this one since all I could come up with was that time Alice puked in my lap while I was driving the twins to camp. Don’t think it’s a winner. P.S. There are several other book titles if you don’t have a good dog story (for example, “The Cat Did WHAT?!”)

September 14

9:41 p.m.

For a while now, I’ve jokingly referred to Oliver as “the unintentional vegetarian,” since he doesn’t like meat. Stopped eating it a few years ago – and without any agenda, just finds it unappealing.

Until tonight.

Chris decided to roast a chicken, which we rarely do, and when Oliver saw it on the platter he was horrified. It was only when I noticed a couple of tears rolling down his cheeks that I got concerned. He was VERY upset about us eating “the turkey.” I told him that it wasn’t a turkey, it was a chicken (I know…) and (surprise!) this didn’t help. He said that “chickens are for pecking not for eating.”

Not exactly sure where we go from here… But I CAN’T WAIT for Thanksgiving!

September 16

6:51 p.m.

First apology note to a teacher this year! “Der Mis. Datu, I soory foor beying rood. Luv, George“

September 17

12:52 p.m.

In a parking garage…

Me: Oliver – do you want to take the stairs or the elevator?

Oliver: Why don’t I go down the stairs and you can take the…

Me: We’ll BOTH go down the stairs.

AS IF!

4:33 p.m.

Just gave Oliver new shoes. He immediately told me that the right shoe’s name was “Barney.” Then he became very concerned about his old shoes’ feelings on being replaced. God bless his gentle soul…but really, this is taking the personification a bit too far…

5:56 p.m.

So it’s normal to have a glass of wine before back to school night, right? Like last year, I’ll have to be in three different classrooms at the same time… End game: set up back-to-back parent-teacher conference appointments and avoid any volunteer assignments that involve scissors and glue. Wish me luck!

9:53 p.m.

At bedtime, Eleanor usually asks me to lie down with her for a while so she can talk to me about all of her “stuff” – what she wants for her birthday, why she was grumpy this morning, who Alice loves best in the family, how she only wants to have dogs and horses when she grows up because having babies is too much work… As I was leaving her room tonight, the following conversation took place:

George: Mom!

Me: What is it honey?

George: Why do you always spend so much time talking to Eleanor and not to Oliver and me?

Me: (climbing into bed with him) I will ALWAYS talk to you if you want to talk to me. What do you want to talk about?

George: (long pause) You know? Venomous snakes? Have venom in their TEETH!

Me: George – you are very special to me.

George: So’s you.

I love my boys.

September 20

7:21 p.m.

I just said, “I don’t like that language!” to my kids and internally cringed as I heard my pre-teen self respond, “what? ENGLISH?” Sigh.

10:17 p.m.

I just made an someecard! This is what happens when I drink wine and pretend to work…

September 21

12:11 p.m.

And here is one for those of you who have sons. Warning: this may become my new hobby…

September 22

6:13 p.m.

For everyone who spent the weekend catering to their children’s needs (I told you. New hobby.)

6:54 p.m.

I found a small tortoise shell circle on my dog walk today. Handed it to Eleanor and asked if she could find a use for it. She looked it over carefully and then exclaimed, “oh yes! I know exactly what I can do with it!” She ran upstairs for a minute and then came down with a little box, “I’ll just put it in here where I keep itty bitty things.” And THIS is when I know she is MY daughter.

September 26

3:24 p.m.

Waiting at the dermatologist with George for something minor. Luckily, this exam room offers LOTS of informative pamphlets for our entertainment. He found one on acne for me. Also Restylane. Now I get to explain the melanoma removal surgery that’s playing on the video monitor. Awesome.

7:24 p.m.

What a coincidence! When I arrived at school to pick up George for his dermatologist appointment, he was already in the office…because he was acting up in class.

This wasn’t a huge surprise. Just a few hours earlier, the school counselor called to tell me he’d be participating in one of her groups for kids with impulse control issues. Bumping into him as he was marched to the principal’s office was the obvious continuation of that story….

On the upside, it was good timing.

September 27

8:16 p.m.

Second apology note to a teacher this year! Same kid, different teacher. “Der Mistr Robinsin, I em sore beying rood. I wil be betr in klas. Luv, George“

September 28

8:47 p.m.

Chris is watching TV – but this is what I get to experience every night while I’m trying to sleep (emphasis on “trying”).

9:54 p.m.

Finally watching the Parenthood premier and BEST LINE from new dad, Crosby: “I’m sure you are going to be the best thing that ever happened to me someday, but right now I really hate you.“

10:35 p.m.

Is there anything more precious than a sleeping child?

They Coulda’ Been Great: July 2013

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Another month has passed and exactly 0 blog posts have been written. Some good Facebook activity of course! So here are the “coulda’ been’s” (no idea what I’m talking about? Explanation HERE.)

July 1

3:30 p.m.

Earlier at the pediatrician, Eleanor suggested that doctors look in your ears so they could see your brain. I explained that they wanted to see your eardrums and the other parts that helped you hear. George enthusiastically agreed, “yeah – that’s why they’re called HEARdrums, because they help you HEAR!” then he asked me when they would take us to the teleportation room. What?!

July 3

9:00 a.m.

For everyone who asked about what I got at Zoe Boutique yesterday… Alice & Trixie top (on sale!) and Red Engine boot cut jeans. Necklace and earrings from my own “collection” (i.e. junk).

July 3

6:50 p.m.

Diane Cooper Gould just explained the difference between pole dancer outfits and stripper outfits to me.

Uh huh.

July 4

9:10 a.m.

Eleanor on her fear of fireworks: “I wish there was a different way to celebrate the earth!”

She thinks the Fourth of July is Earth Day. Another nail in the coffin of my homeschooling potential…

5:32 p.m.

Inconvenient? Yes. Frustrating? Totally. Yet. There is something very freeing about the camera battery dying.

July 6

3:50 p.m.

First French braid! Obviously by a mother who doesn’t “do hair…”

8:10 p.m.

Did you know that in “Swimbabwe” Africa, there are giant spiders? This is true. George told me.

July 7

4:40 p.m.

Me: No running! You can run in the gym, but not in the hallway.

Eleanor: Can we skip?

I love kids.

July 8

8:25 a.m.

Poor Oliver starts summer school today. We’re calling it “camp school.” He’s not buying what we’re selling…

3:20 p.m.

If your daughter gets a bloody nose in the car, and you don’t have any tissues, napkins or any other forms of paper products, what do you hand her as an emergency substitute? A tampon. Obviously.

10:10 p.m.

Reading the first book of Game of Thrones and it makes me feel like I’m a teenager who has hours to lie on my stomach on my bed, ankles crossed, until I feel like rolling onto my back and reaching for a chocolate chip cookie. To think that I used to consider that time, “being bored.” I miss 14.

July 9

7:30 p.m.

My kids just got their first official chain letter in the mail. I know – the mail?! Who the hell communicates via U.S. Postal Service anymore (other than lawyers and grandma of course)? Well if the chain letter involves mailing stickers to friends, then snail mail it is! And if I was thinking of possibly stashing the letter in in the trash before the kids had a chance to see it…here is the last line: “Please take the time for this quick project. It is worth it to see the smile on your child’s face when they open their mail.” Thanks for the emotional black[chain]mail [letter] Lita! Enjoy neighbors!

7:43 p.m.

Also – I had to explain chain mail that doesn’t happen via e-mail to my 21 year old babysitter. Feeling old…

July 11

9:55 a.m.

Just caught a vicious mosquito in my bare hand. Torn between revulsion and triumph.

July 14

4:45 p.m.

Nothing like listening to your six year old daughter singing Daft Punk in the back seat: “We’re up all night to get lucky…”

8:45 p.m.

Oliver: I’m going upstairs to play with my string.

Did I mention my son is a kitty cat?

July 16

7:57 p.m.

“Just keep on doing it! Then you’ll did it!”

Wise words from George.

July 17

8:22 p.m.

It just occurred to me that Danny, Uncle Jessie and Uncle Joey in season one of Full House are probably a full decade younger than I am now.

That’s depressing…

July 21

8:02 a.m.

Went to the Simply Om launch party last night and have now picked out birthday presents for the next 10 years. Wonder if Kiran does registries…

simply om necklace

11:19 a.m.

Woods walk with a friend. And jazz hands…

2:43 p.m.

Just hurt my back vacuuming. Officially old.

July 23

9:17 a.m.

On the walk to camp this morning…

George: This used to be England right?

Me: No – England “claimed” this land but this was never actually England.

George: OH right – so the English guys had a war and then they won and then they had freedom.

Me: Hmmm. That’s mixing a few things up… But you know who was here first?

George: Who?

Me: The Indians. Remember? England “discovered” this land and claimed it, but there were already people living here and THEY thought it was THEIR land. And in all honesty, they were right.

Eleanor: But that was a long time ago – so it’s not our fault. We can’t do anything about it now.

Me: Nope. We just have to live with the aftermath.

George: And the CURSE.

Where does he get this stuff?! Though he’s probably right…

July 24

9:51 a.m.

Just heard a Cranberries song on the radio and thought, “wow it’s been almost 10 years since that came out.” THEN I thought, “no – wait…it’s been almost TWENTY years since that came out.”

Feeling ancient.

And I don’t want to even talk about the Tracy Chapman song that’s on now…

8:13 p.m.

As I sat on the front steps “furminating” Alice:

George: Look at all of the mosquitoes!

Me: You’re right – can you run inside and get the bug spray for me? It’s in the pool bag.

George: Okay – I’ll get it right now!

[five minutes later…]

George: Mom! I can’t find the bug spray! It’s not in the pool bag!

Me: [resigned to a night of itching] That’s okay – I’ll live.

George: Yeah! You’ll live! Because you’ve got millions of blood!

Epilogue: I lived. But just barely.

July 25

6:29 p.m.

George: Mom! In Minecraft – when zombies eat the villager babies…

Me: WAIT! You play a game where zombies eat villager babies?

George: Yeah. In Minecraft. And when the zombies eat the villager babies…

Well – no one ever called me a Helicopter Mom.

July 27

3:57 p.m.

DON’T eat things off the floor! It’s like a grocery store RULE.

I can’t believe I actually have to say these things.

July 28

9:30 p.m.

The last two times we’ve grilled, Oliver has “helped” Chris by lighting the match. And now he LOVES lighting matches.

So I’ll basically never sleep again.

Dads.

July 29

8:36 a.m.

George: There are a lot of dead bugs in the world.

Eleanor: Especially at the pool.

Morning observations.

July 30

8:18 p.m.

The kids are watching Full House.

Chris: I wonder how much they drank on that set… Especially THAT one (Uncle Joey).

July 31

8:19 p.m.

Again – the kids are watching Full House. Some young intern at Danny’s TV station guessed that he “must be 27 or 28.”

Eleanor looks at me and says, “he’s younger than you.”

So I clarified, “he’s not really 28. He’s in his thirties.”

Eleanor: But you’re in your forties. So you’re still older.

Me: Yes – thank you for pointing that out.

Eleanor: But…the thirties are NEXT TO the forties…so I guess it’s not that bad.

Me: We can stop talking about this now.

Turn Signals

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*I read this at DC’s Listen to Your Mother Show, Sunday, April 28. Thought I’d post it here for friends and family who couldn’t come. Since I wrote it for the performance, it may not translate as well on the (virtual) page…but the videos will be online later this summer!

My mother once told me that when she was a new driver, my grandmother plotted out directions for everywhere her daughter could possibly need to go. The purpose of this was to ensure that the recently licensed teenager NEVER had to make a left turn.

Probably not the most realistic of long term plans.

When I was learning to drive in my Capitol Hill neighborhood, right turn only routes were a near impossibility. But I doubt Mom would have repeated this same tactic anyway. While she did her best to shelter us from the harsher realities of life, my brother and I were also given a great deal of freedom to make our own decisions. At the very least, we were allowed to turn left.

At the time, I didn’t acknowledge this leniency. Instead, I rolled my eyes as I caught the peripheral movement of her foot pushing down on the passenger side brake that all mothers have. I huffed in exasperation each time I stopped just a liiiittle bit short, and she flung her arm across my body like a back-up seat belt. I stared at her with incredulity when she instructed me to put on my left turn signal as we waited in a left turn lane.

“Mom, don’t you think people know I’m turning left? I mean, the big arrows painted on the road kind of give it away.”

“Well,” she said, “use the signal anyway. Just in case.”

My mother knew we needed to chart our own course in life, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t worry about us.

Over the past 15 years, Mom has had several recurrences of cancer. And it was our turn to worry about her. Each time, she said she would be FINE. She just knew it. And she was. We’ve been very lucky in that. But nothing is ever simple, and she’s had her fair share of left turns to navigate.

One summer, when my children were still toddlers and preschool age, things got a little weird. It seemed like Mom worried about EVERYTHING.

At the time, she was on a round chemo that was particularly rough and was taking various medications to help with the pain. Through previous treatments, she maintained a positive attitude and was relentless in her insistence that we share it. But now, she was filled with anxiety.

“Kate. I want you to make sure that your new stove is anchored to the wall. Is it anchored to the wall?”

“I don’t think so Mom. They just slid it in…but it’s pretty solid. I can’t imagine how it would tip over.”

“Can you check? Just in case. I’m worried about the children pulling down. You know how they like to climb.”

I looked at my very heavy, very square stove; and the teenager I once was rolllled her eyes and sighed in exasperation.

“Okay Mom. I’ll check.”

I tugged on the edges where it seemed my monkeys might find a hand hold.

“Yeah…I just don’t see how they could tip this thing. It’s pretty wide…”

“What about the top? If they climbed on top of it, could they pull it over that way?”

As my mother waited in anticipation of my answer, I wondered how it had come to this. Exactly how many wrong turns had we made to end up in Crazy Town. Well, I thought, since we’re already here…

I put the phone down.

“Mom. I’m putting you on speaker.”

I then reached over the top of the stove and pulled on the far edge of it. Nothing happened. I bent my knees and really leaned into the pull. Again, nothing. I braced my feet against the bottom of the stove, bowed my back and gritted my teeth, willing that behemoth to fall on top of me!

I broke a sweat, trying to severely injure myself with a kitchen appliance.

And as I held that ridiculous pose I called over to the phone on the counter, “Mom. I am trying to pull this thing down with every scrap of strength I have and it is NOT HAPPENING.”

“Well okay. I guess it’s safe. Thanks for checking.”

As it turned out, there was a reason for my mother’s extreme anxiety that summer. With all of her different medications and dosages, things were a bit confused. And her doctors inadvertently got her addicted to Oxycontin.

So she wasn’t just acting a little crazy. She WAS a little crazy.

Thankfully, this was something that could be fixed, and as my brother so eloquently put it, “we got Mom off the junk.” She went back to being her normal, power-of-positive-thinking self.

But we can’t blame drugs for all of our worries, can we?

I myself, once spent months living with the fear that I might accidentally drop my infant son down our apartment building’s trash chute.

I was too afraid to leave him alone while I walked five doors down to take out the garbage. So I’d bring him with me, and clutch him tightly to my chest the entire time. And yes – I do realize now that there were other options…like putting him the stroller. Or – I don’t know – telling MY HUSBAND to take out the trash!

All mothers visit Crazy Town every once in a while.

But in the end it all comes from the same place – this worry.

We just want to know that it’s going to be okay. And it’s so hard, not knowing.

We all live uncertain lives full of risk. Full of left turns.

So we make maps. And try to pull heavy appliances on top of ourselves. We tell our children that everything will be FINE, even though we know full well that there are no guarantees. We tell cautionary tales, and laugh and cry and learn. And just live. Live for the moment and assume that all will be well.

But no matter what, we’ll always send our children those exasperating – often ridiculous – sometimes CRAZY signals of our love and hopes for them.

Just in case.

They Coulda’ Been Great: 2012

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8/21/13

I know… A “They Coulda’ Been Great” post for ALL of 2012. ALLOFIT. Oh – there’s not that much of it – I was a sporadic poster that year.

I’ve had so much fun looking back at the silliness evidenced in my 2013 Facebook status updates, that I decided to stroll down memory lane in 2012 (totally worth it if you post funny stories about your kids). Anyway – I dumped it all in a Word doc and decided to post the whole damn thing here.

Yes – I posted it retroactively for December 31, 2012… But I have a thing for chronological order. If this is the first time you are seeing anything about this, my first “They Coulda’ Been Great” post was for January 2013. It explains everything. The impact of social media on blogging, writing, community… Whatever – I write some funny stuff on Facebook and then I post it all on my blog. It’s my new thing. Hope you enjoy it.

Here is 2012 (yes – all of it – allofit, even)!

February 3

7:05 p.m.

Look what just arrived! Thank you to Eleanor who took the picture and suggested a little lip gloss (though she neglected to mention a much needed push up bra…) Stephanie Dulli and I are now READY for those Listen to Your Mother DC auditions. Should we wear our new shirts? Oh – I think so…

February 4

12:00 p.m.

Eleanor just held something out for me to see, saying, “George thinks this is a tooth.” And…George is right. Half right…as it is HALF a tooth. Must be one of Oliver’s baby teeth that they all played with and LOST before it could be placed under a pillow for the Tooth Fairy. Eleanor’s reaction to this revelation: Gingerly handed it to me, and wrinkling her nose in an excellent “Mom” impersonation said, “well…I don’t think we need it anymore.”

February 16

4:55 p.m.

So….holiday binge eating lasts roughly from Thanksgiving through Valentine’s Day, right? Or is it St. Patrick’s Day? I can never remember…

March 19

1:50 p.m.

Great pictures from the St. Patrick’s Day celebration at the Reston Town Center! But this one reminds me of what a disaster Eleanor was last night… She was beside herself about her face paint washing off in the tub. Cried (SOBBED) for an hour straight. By the end, I was ready to take a permanent marker to her face and call it a day!

April 9

5:00 p.m.

Out of all of my annoyed demands that they just smile for the camera, already!…of course, this is the kind of picture I like best.

April 17

4:40 p.m.

First of all! That is NOT our trash can! Second of all – we NEVER play in trash cans! Life in the suburbs…

April 18

2:15 p.m.

I just spent the last hour mesmerized by the Saturday Night Fever Glee. I think I like Disco a little too much…

April 19

7:40 p.m.

I was totally congratulating myself on FINALLY having kids old enough that I don’t have to supervise them when they wake up at the crack of dawn. Then today, I noticed that Oliver has been getting into the ice cream… So much for sleeping in.

April 21

10:05 a.m.

I’m getting really excited for my 40th birthday next week since it means I will be biologically TOO OLD for teenager-like acne breakouts. Right? Right?!?!

6:50 p.m.

Eleanor lost her first tooth! This is always the most awkward shot…trying to see a gap in the BOTTOM teeth…

April 22

8:30 a.m.

This is Eleanor’s new Barbie. She’s a “horse doctor.” Like a female James Herriott…in satin hot pants.

April 24

10:35 a.m.

Filed under things that happen when 5-year-olds in hospital gowns have to wait over 30 minutes for their doctor.

11:15 a.m.

And in a shocking turn of events…We discovered that somewhere in the midst of all of the twins’ sick visits to the doctor, I forgot to schedule their 2011 well check. Mother of the year! Let’s celebrate with extra inoculations all around! I’m mortified…

April 29

4:20 p.m.

I have 3 children and the oldest just turned 7. How is it possible that today is FIRST day that I ever removed a splinter for one of them? Eleanor had one in her finger. Twenty minutes of wailing and running away from me – then a two-second removal with tweezers. With all of the screaming she did, I wonder if our neighbors thought I was removing her fingernail!

April 30

8:50 a.m.

Eleanor: Mama can I have some breakfast?

Me: Sure – what do you want?

Eleanor: I don’t know – what are the offers.

Let me check today’s circulars…

May 4

1:30 a.m.

A middle of the night thought: Is it still possible to invent a new emoticon? Or has every possible combination of symbols now been used?

Related: I hate emoticons.

Also: I now use ” :) ” regularly because I worry about people thinking I’m being serious when I’m kidding and assuming that I’m mad or just really bitchy.

Either way, I always feel like a sell out.

May 5

12:45 p.m.

Know what’s awesome about my mother and mother in law? They come into my disorganized house with its layers of dust and grimy surfaces, and they don’t judge or pointedly scrub counters in front of me. The downside? No free cleaning services.

May 6

11:01 p.m.

I’m exhausted – and I can’t believe the show is over. Though I expect my friends will be thrilled to see my months of shameless self promotion come to an end… Anyway – I want to say thank you to our incandescent Director, Stephanie Dulli and our brave and beautiful Listen to Your Mother DC cast (listed below as “with” since even FB thinks my LTYM reign of terror needs to end and therefore refuses to let me tag more than a few people at a time…) Couldn’t include our first reader (and theme inspiration), Cindy Green since she has of yet to accept my friend request – humph! But seriously – I am in awe of these women and the stories they have to tell. It was an honor to share a stage with them.

11:40 p.m.

On last thing before I stagger off to bed, Stephanie’s husband Zach tweeted this picture of me at the podium during my reading. Is it me, or do I actually look like a giant Oscar award?

May 7

2:45 p.m.

Eleanor is cracking me up! A relative gave her this paper doll fashion show thing, and after spending the morning coloring them all in, she’s now stationing the dolls around the house in their “homes.” One lives on the dining room table, one on the kitchen counter, one on a living room chair…

And now apparently, ALL the dolls are abuzz with news about a fashion show taking place in HERNDON. Every time I hear her gasp, “OH! You’re going to the fashion show in Herndon too?!” I die laughing. Then one of the dolls exclaimed, “Herndon? That’s really far for me – I’ll have to drive.” So I interjected, “really? Herndon is far for her?” To this Eleanor gave me a quizzical look and said, “well yes. She lives all the way at the refrigerator.”

8:05 p.m.

Typical conversation pattern between Chris and me:

Chris: So Cathy Trocchia said she DID go to the show.

Me: Yes – she sent me a message. But I don’t know if Jamie Seifert made it.

Chris: No – Jamie didn’t go.

Me: Oh really? Why – did something come up?

Chris: [shrug – “why are you asking me insane questions” face] I don’t know.

Me: What do you mean, “I don’t know?”

Chris: [more “why the interrogation?” faces] I just don’t. WHY would I know that?

Me: Because you know that she didn’t come – which means either she or Cathy told you that she didn’t come or wasn’t going to be able to come. And women don’t just say “I’m not going” or “I didn’t go” – they give each other reasons. In my world, we tell each other “WHY” we do or don’t do things.

Chris: [“you are crazy” look]

The End

Editor’s note: This was a Mars/Venus anecdote about my incredulity over how Chris always reports “what” information and never “why.” Not about my friend Jamie who obviously had something come up yesterday. She is darling and always answers questions with WHY information, like a good female.

May 14

9:15 a.m.

So I just discovered a major perk to turning 40. I no longer agonize over what to call my mother in law’s friends in thank you notes. Paula or Mrs. Garlick? I’m freaking 40 years old – I think I can just go with Paula!

Now I’m looking forward to turning 50. Because THEN I will no longer feel required to write thank you notes.

May 17

8:00 p.m.

Typical almost-3:00 p.m. scene: I have to get to preschool pick up right now! But I can’t find my keys…where are they?…searching…searching…not in my purse…not in the kitchen…not on the bed…not in the bathroom…not in the refrigerator (yes – I’m checking everywhere)…where can they be?! Now I’m late! No more time to look…where is that spare key?…Excellent! Right where it should be. I’m not THAT late…just a few minutes. No one will even notice. Out the front door! Make sure it’s locked! Wait – what’s that? Oh. … The key.

Note to self: first place to look for my keys would be IN the front door.

Also? This happens frequently.

May 23

8:25 p.m.

I have been so much better about FB lately… But I’ve been offline for a few days due to THIS! Meet Alice – a 5 month old rescue puppy that Chris brought home while I was at Christy Wood’s wedding reception in NYC. Chris and Oliver picked her out and I have to admit – she’s perfect for our family. She doesn’t chew shoes – but keep an eye on your Hungry Hungry Hippos marbles….

May 25

8:20 p.m.

I think I may be the dumbest person on the planet. Just today, I realized that some of the AMAZING photographers I see on Twitter and FB, are capturing those images of a crystal clear face amidst a blur of people, flowers, toys…what have you, using INSTAGRAM! Side note: I just started using Instagram!

8:28 p.m.

Also, remember when I wrote I’m Shy Every Day? WELL – today was the twins’ preschool graduation and all of the kids got up and said what they wanted to be when they grew up (George said sky diver and Eleanor said horse rider). But little miss “I’m shy every day” herself made my day/week/year when she faced the crowd and answered “Rock Star.” I almost cried – it was just that AWESOME.

May 27

7:35 p.m.

Am I a bad pet owner if I find his annoying? I am so tired… I would happily lie down on the floor if I thought I could get away with it. Now that it’s 7:30 p.m., I’m pretty sure that I missed the Sunday nap window. Yet Chris always manages to catch both (yes – there are two). And this dog…she mocks my fatigue with her spontaneous snoozing.

June 2

5:00 p.m.

Eleanor: Mama – what should I draw?

Me: The sun.

Eleanor: And what?

Me: And….flowers growing.

Eleanor: OR! How about people sitting under mushrooms – GIANT mushrooms – because it’s so hot?

Why does she even ask me?

June 12

5:25 p.m.

Our boring, rainy day inside has just hit a new low. The twins are now taking turns whacking each other with a package of cookie dough (the old school roll kind).

July 8

10:55 a.m.

Between the kids and the puppy, I sometimes feel like my whole life smells like pee pee.

Unrelated: everything is always sticky.

July 9

8:10 p.m.

Me: Oliver – go downstairs and get your ice cream bowl.

Oliver: [coming back upstairs – without the bowl] Gross! Alice [the dog] was licking it!

Me: Are you serious? You have touched some of the most disgusting…YOU have touched AT LEAST five dead animals. Go get that bowl!

Epilogue: the dishwasher is running and the licked ice cream bowl is still downstairs.

July 13

4:45 p.m.

Favorite moment of the week: running down to the basement to get something and finding my tiny 5-year-old, George dancing his heart out to Just Dance II (which my kids call “Dance Party”). The song: It’s Raining Men.

5:00 p.m.

Actual conversation I just had with my five year old daughter:

[sound of kids playing a loud/rambunctious game involving stuffed animals.]

Eleanor: [enters the dining room looking very pouty and put out about something] Mommy, Oliver is only doing the other animals and he won’t do my hippo.

Me: [yelling into the other room] OLIVER! Do Eleanor’s hippo. Right now!

My life is weird.

July 14

11:45 a.m.

I love listening to Oliver’s chatter these days. The combination of his communication delays, fast growing vocabulary and exposure to television makes for many moments of hilarity.

Oliver: [telling me something about Cars 2] And then Professor Z told his fugs…

Me: Fugs?

Oliver: Yeah – fugs.

Me: What are fugs?

Oliver: [perplexed by my ignorance] They’re trouble making villains.

July 17

7:10 p.m.

When you open a bag of ramen noodles and little noodle shards fly everywhere.

July 18

11:10 a.m.

After watching many episodes of The Dog Whisperer, we’ve concluded that we really need to meet with a dog trainer to discuss Alice’s “issues.” So of course the kids keep referring to the guy coming on Saturday as “The Dog Whisperer.” Wonder how disappointed they’ll be when Cesar Millan doesn’t show up on our doorstep…

July 21

7:30 p.m.

Am I the only one who finds the FB default to “top stories” sort annoying? Who is deciding what is a top story? Is this some kind of Netflix-like, “based on your recent selections” thing? Just show me the most recent status updates so I’m not commenting on things that happened two days ago, okay? Or at least default to most recent because I’m FB-challenged and never remember to manually select that.

Guess I should check settings or something to see if I can change this.

Listed under “things I have in common with your parents.”

July 22

4:35 p.m.

My neighbor and I had a twinsies moment today when we both walked out wearing the same Target tank top. Same style – same color – probably the same size. Ah – suburbia… I would say it was all very Stepford wife – but you know…Target. Cathy – in our next life, let’s reenact that scene in something a bit more upmarket.

July 25

11:55 a.m.

So, fun drive to the twins’ first day of camp. Since parking would be feet away from check in, I went ahead and brought the dog. Halfway there, she jumped up next to me and I said, “PEE-YEW Alice. You smell like dog food.” Then George yelled, “Gross! Alice puked!” I looked back and sure enough – two huge piles – one on the back seat next to George and one of the floor. And then – THEN – she leaned over and puked on my leg.

Seriously. HOW do people live without pets.

August 1

2:30 p.m.

I had no idea that black and white hides wrinkles so well. I’ll never go back to color!

August 9

8:45 p.m.

I see Oliver taking chalk down to the basement. And I ask “what are you doing with the chalk.” He says “I’m going to draw a picture,” as he scampers out of sight. Then I frantically yell after him, “on the chalkboard? ON THE CHALKBOARD?!”

It’s a legitimate question…

August 16

5:50 p.m.

So Alice is a total money pit… I feel like I’m at the vet with her weekly. Today’s reason: tail biting. Seriously? Here is a pic of her cone head. A dog rite of passage she’s not enjoying one little bit.

August 22

8:00 p.m.

Eleanor REALLY doesn’t like the movie Spy Kids. Her (dramatic) review: “It’s like a kid horror movie…it’s really scary…and pretty cruel.” I remember seeing previews…and that was not my take…but I guess we’re all entitled to our opinions.

August 24

5:50 p.m.

The twins had afternoon camp this week, so Oliver had me all to himself. Since this NEVER happens (he’s always getting pushed aside with all of their grabby neediness), I thought I’d do something fun with him every day. We went to the farm, the zoo…miniature golf…a WATER PARK. But here’s the problem: I’m intrinsically not very fun. And I would never choose to do any of those things without the incentive of making my son happy. It was taxing…but boy does he look happy, right?

August 31

9:30 a.m.

Woods walk feather

September 5

6:55 p.m.

George: The inside of my body is very hot, right?

Me: Yes, it’s warm inside our bodies.

George: But the outside of our bodies is very COLD!

Me: No…not cold. The outside of our bodies would be cooler than the inside though.

George: OH! so only when it’s WINDY.

Me: …

[five minutes later]

George: [holds up an arm] Mom – I’m not skinny anymore!

Me: Well…you’re still pretty slim…

George: So just a little skinny.

Me: Just a little.

George: But Eleanor isn’t as skinny.

Me: She’s just a little skinny too.

George: Mom – do you know what your boobs are for?

Me: WHAT?!

George: Do you know what your…

Me: Yes – I heard you the first time. And I’m dying to know – what do YOU think they are for?

George: For breathing!

Of course.

This is George’s idea of pleasant dinner conversation. What did you discuss this evening?

September 13

3:00 p.m.

Just remembered something I meant to tell you yesterday… I was driving home from the store with the windows down since it was GORGEOUS outside. And as I’m driving 50 MPH down a fairly busy street something fell through the window and into my lap. My first thought was that it was an acorn since the local squirrels like to throw them down at people (why not cars?) But I wasn’t near any trees. So I then assumed it must have been some kind of debris blowing back off a truck that had just passed me. Either way – it had fallen right between my legs and rolled down, almost under me. I then had to reach, well…you know where, to try to retrieve this mystery object while keeping my eyes on the road. And as I brought it up in my cupped hand to take a look, I discovered that it was a GIANT BUMBLEBEE. So I screamed, threw it out the window and indulged in a moment of silent gratitude for not getting into an accident.

So how about you? How was your day?

September 19

9:05 p.m.

My son, Oliver is so weird…

September 26

7:25 a.m.

An important reminder for my little girl who likes lunch notes and has so little confidence sometimes…

7:50 a.m.

Are ladybugs lucky? And if so, does the luck increase with the number of spots? Let me know, because a ladybug with 20 spots is sitting on a kid-made vase on my bedside table. And I could really use some luck…

October 7

2:55 p.m.

Group Effort

October 24

9:15 p.m.

It’s the World Series and my poor husband is stuck watching it with ME. My level of interest is reflected by insights such as “that guy looks like Luke Wilson.” [Justin Verlander] I’ve also spotted players who remind me of Justin Timberlake and Antonio Banderas. Epilogue: I brought a book.

November 11

6:00 p.m.

Hierarchy

November 7

10:25 a.m.

Post election morning banter at my house:

Me: George – get dressed. You have to wear pants to Kindergarten.

George: [slamming his tiny body into my legs for the 10th time in 10 seconds] I put my penis on you!

Me: Don’t put your penis on people. It’s not polite.

George: AND it’s no use.

Me: Usually.

November 13

5:20 p.m.

George: Mom – your self can control yourself, right?

Me: One would hope.

November 14

7:50 a.m.

Sometimes when I find myself battling the dog for bed space, I have to wonder how it came to this…

November 19

6:50 p.m.

Listening to Kung Fu Fighting, Car Wash, Fire, Flashlight… I have to say, that Pure Funk CD may have been my very best purchase of the ’90s

November 22

8:35 p.m.

Hand turkeys waving goodbye. See you next Thanksgiving!

November 28

2:35 p.m.

What was life like before chocolate chips…? Leaner I think – but perhaps a bit soulless…

December 1

2:00 p.m.

Started a shopping list and had to stop when I suspected that I may currently be possessed by Buddy the Elf.

December 2

11:50 p.m.

Is it just me – or do other people say “Pierce Brosnan” when they really mean “Bronson Pinchot”? Maybe it’s just me…

December 6

9:30 a.m.

Exciting morning! We were running late for the school bus – so I decided to drive the kids to school. George was ready first, so I told him to just get in the car. When the rest of us left the house several minutes later – he was nowhere to be found. Eleanor ran up to the bus stop to check and see if he was there (it’s happened before). Not there. Not in front of the house – not behind the house – not IN the house. Now I’m worried and drive the others (and the dog) up to the bus stop to look around there. Not there. Leave all in the locked car while I run back toward our house and call the school. They put me on hold to look for George and I continue to call his name, wondering if a neighbor could have thought he was left behind and taken him to school. Then a neighbor hears me and tells me that he GOT ON THE BUS (which must have been running late). Ran back to car to console crying siblings and drive them to school, where I stayed for a while to have a talk with Mr. George. Side note: this is about the 10th time I’ve spent more than 5 minutes running around my neighborhood calling frantically for one of my lost little boys. Epilogue: I am at Starbucks ordering coffee.

December 8

1:00 p.m.

George: Mom, remember a long, long time ago…we were demons.

Me: What?

George: No, I mean we were those guys from a long, long time ago and then we turned into Pilgrims.

Me: We did?

George: Yeah and then we turned into animals and then we turned into this place.

Me: What’s that?

George: Well, first we were in a tummy and then we got bigger and then we were two years old and then older and older and nine years old…

Me: So wait, first we were demons?

George: And you know what’s even badder than the devil?

Me: What?

George: DEMONS! Because they are huge.

I’m totally lost.

December 10

12:40 p.m.

Working on a database. Forgot how entertaining long lists of names can be. “Sarah Fawcett.” Subtle – but still cracks me up.

December 11

7:05 p.m.

I have now clocked enough hours in proximity of children’s shows on the TV that I can hear a character’s voice in an unknown cartoon and say, “hey that sounds like Quincy [Little Einsteins].” This is not the first time I’ve identified cartoon voice overs. If there was a game show for this I’d win big.

December 15

10:35 a.m.

It’s hard to not feel sad today… But I try to remind myself that everything is fine until it’s not. And when everything in your own life is fine, you have to go with it. Because when it’s not, you never really get fine back.

As much as my heart breaks for everyone who has ever lost a child, today I’m going to put all of my energy into making sure my own children who are so very HERE right now, know just how much they are loved. I’ll feel sad on my time – not theirs.

December 16

3:55 p.m.

Decided to take the dog out for a long walk. But only just now, one mile out did I remember letting Eleanor put makeup on me. Like an hour ago. And I should note that she’s not a light touch with the eye shadow…

December 17

6:05 p.m.

After a visit to the dentist…

Eleanor: Mom – look at my new toothbrush!

Me: Very nice. Why don’t you put it in the bathroom – we can get rid of your old one.

Eleanor: [back from the bathroom and showing me her old toothbrush] What should we do with it?

Me: Throw it out.

Eleanor: Gasp! Throw it out?? Why don’t we just sell it or something?

I don’t know…what do you guys think? Ebay or Craig’s List?

9:25 p.m.

By the way – if you have an Elf on the Shelf and hear the cynical observation: “he can’t be real – he has a TAG…like toys in the toy store.” Give your kids a conspiratorial look and say, “he’s in disguise. The tag is part of the whole ‘toy by day’ thing.” Makes your kids think they’re in on the subterfuge.

December 19

4:40 p.m.

Now THAT’S an old recipe!

7:00 p.m.

George: Mom! Overblah in French means “bye!” Always fermember it!

Not sure how much of that is misunderstanding French or how much is misunderstanding English….

7:40 p.m.

Chris was explaining Hanukah to George, who is now talking about the big battle between the Cereals and the Macabeans.

December 21

3:40 p.m.

Yesterday, I discovered that my kids were wrapping random objects from our house as presents for their grandparents. As much as I know my mother would love her roll of silver wire ribbon from Michael’s…I had to shut that down before they got into the good china.

December 27

4:40 p.m.

PSA for future parents: As you are considering the number of children you hope to have in your family, figure in the number of shoes and coats you would like to have strewn across your floor at any given time. (Note to the ladies: include your husband’s coat and shoes in your calculations.)

Horse Hell

13 Replies

You know those girls who are obsessed with horses when they’re young? They pretend jump ropes are reigns and run around the playground neighing and whinnying with their other horse-crazed friends? They inhale books on horses and collect plastic replicas to display on shelves?

I was NEVER one of those girls. I never took a riding lesson. I thought barns were stinky. When I looked at a particularly majestic specimen of equine beauty, I mainly focused on the huge teeth that could take off a finger or two. And possibly the flies buzzing around its rear end.

National Velvet? Never saw it. Black Beauty? Never read it.

I just never understood the the girls and horses thing.

This doesn’t mean that I dislike horses, of course. I just don’t really think about them.

I grew up in the city. I’m not much of an animal person. And this is totally fine with me.

But now – NOW – I have a daughter. And she IS one of those girls who is obsessed with horses.

Woe to the librarian who asks if she can help us… How could she know that a whip cracking pre-reader will have her searching the stacks for the infuriatingly few picture books featuring a horse on the cover. At least she doesn’t have to come home with us and sit with Eleanor as she goes through her check out pile, discussing each page in minute detail.

I’m just about as interested in this now as I was in third grade when my horse crazy best friend would make me learn terminology for horse anatomy and paraphernalia, and THEN quiz me on it. Hey – don’t judge. I was the new girl and thrilled that someone was actually talking to me. Whinnying across the playground with a jump rope around my waist was a small price to pay.

Back to Eleanor though… As much as I don’t share her fervor for equestrian life, I do feel a little sad for her. Because we live in horse farm HEAVEN and it would be easy to find a place for her to take riding lessons. She would LOVE it. And it’s never going to happen.

Yes – I’m aware that it’s not just a fun activity – it’s also wonderful exercise. In fact, it would be fabulous for all of my children. Especially Oliver. I know this because my old friend who force marched me through Horses 101 lessons in third grade is now a pediatric physical therapist in Hippotherapy (a practice of integrated intervention for various disabilities, utilizing “equine movement” in physical, occupational, and speech-language therapies). There are so many reasons for us to get our kids in to riding: easy accessibility, health benefits, fairy godmother-like wish granting for our daughter…

But it’s too expensive. Maybe if we only had one child. We have three, though. And we already spend more money than we have on therapies for Oliver.

I’m not poor mouthing or saying anyone should feel sorry for me. Nothing more than stating facts. Riding lessons just aren’t in the budget.

Luckily – Eleanor is still young enough to think that a pony ride is actual horseback riding. So I don’t think she’ll lament her lot in life with the non-equestrian family too much… And she IS only five. Next year, she could be into theater. Or soccer. Or Wicca. Whatever – as long as we can afford the associated fees, we’ll do the best we can for her.

Unless it’s Wicca. Didn’t I mention that I’m a city girl? I’m not driving her out to the woods to collect lichen and mouse skulls.

It’s one of the less fun aspects of responsible parenting…knowing when you have to draw the line.

The Myth of a Perfect Holiday Season

2 Replies

My mother tells a story about how she once spent the night before Christmas assembling 100 tiny plastic escalator steps in Barbie’s shopping mall. Her parents were both in the hospital and she didn’t actually start shopping for presents until Christmas Eve. She says there was nothing left in the stores—she had to buy the last of the picked-over toys. She was exhausted, defeated, and very unhappy about the pathetic display of junk that greeted her children that Christmas morning.

Here is what I remember: “Barbie’s shopping mall? YES!”

A perfect example of how much parents can beat themselves up over things that children don’t even register. We see cheap plastic—but they see fun. We see amateur attempts at festive decor—but they see holiday splendor. We see failure—but they see magic.

We are obviously missing something…

And isn’t this the season for it? Whatever the gift giving holiday, we are decorating and shopping and planning. And all the while, feeling like we could be doing it all SO much better.

Of course, we have these feelings of insecurity and inadequacy year-round. But there is something about the month of December that dials it up a notch…or twenty.

So the very first thing that you MUST do, is purchase some lifestyle and entertaining magazines. Already feeling like crap about your annual inability to adorn your front door with garlands? Martha Stewart is sure to make your holiday decor attempts look like those preschool crafts that you surreptitiously toss in the garbage when the kids aren’t looking.

I don’t know about you, but this overwhelming pressure to make things perfect gets the best of me far more often than it should. Starting with Thanksgiving, I find myself lamenting our lack of nice serving spoons. Then on a less superficial note, I also wonder when my children will be able to sit at the table for more than fifteen minutes and actually eat the holiday meal instead of requiring their own grilled cheese sandwiches. Our holiday dinners have never quite lived up to the ideal Norman Rockwell images of tradition.

January through mid-November, I could care less about how things should be. So what is it about this time of year that makes me such a flailing perfectionist who tries to force everyone around her into Hallmark holiday moments?

We celebrate Christmas, so right after Thanksgiving we run directly into two often-contentious holiday traditions: tree decorating and a visit to Santa.

I have to confess right now that I’m a complete maniac about my tree. To say that I’m somewhat particular about how it looks would be like saying that Christmas at the North Pole is a bit chilly. I just really love a beautifully decorated tree and my desire for perfection borders on pathological.

Decorating a Christmas tree is supposed to be a fun family tradition. Why should it matter that 70% of the ornaments are hung on the bottom left corner? Who cares if someone wants to add their Star Wars action figures to the mix? And what could be more festive than three pounds on tinsel dumped on top of it all? Right?

No. I’m sorry. I just can’t do it. It’s a problem, and someday I’ll get help. But in the meantime, we’ll compromise with a “kids’ tree” in the play room. There are others like me out there, so they understand. I just hope that the rest don’t judge me too harshly.

Thankfully, I’m much better about the Santa visits. But learned to let that one go early on.

My oldest child was eight months old for his first Christmas, and it really was the perfect time to take him to have his picture taken with Santa. I dressed him up in a cute outfit and proudly watched as he patted the fluffy white beard and then smiled for the camera. He was adorable.

The following year, he had newborn twin siblings at home and a budding sense of stranger danger. As I dressed him up to visit the same Santa, I had feelings of foreboding that this year might not go quite so well. Sure enough, the line was long and he refused to sit in the stroller. Thirty minutes of hearing “no” every time he wanted to play with the fake snow made him decidedly cranky. And when we finally approached Santa’s lap, he looked at me like I was about to hand him over to a jolly-looking ax murderer. A picture was snapped two seconds before he burst into tears, and I had to ask myself, “What the hell I was thinking?”

And year after year, I walk past mall Santas with wailing children on their laps. Of course in defense of all the parents standing in line with candy bribes and crossed fingers, there are plenty of children who LOVE seeing Santa. For every baby who screams and pees on him, there is another who giggles at his hearty ho ho’s. And we can never be sure which way it will go. So we get in line and roll the dice.

Last year, my five year old and two four year olds begged to visit Santa (they also got into three fights during the our long wait in line and knocked over part of a display…but they didn’t cry!). This year, unfortunately my oldest wanted nothing to do with it and hid under my coat while his brother and sister sat on Santa’s knee and smiled for the camera. And this was completely avoidable since I KNEW that Oliver didn’t want to visit Santa. He told me that he didn’t. But there was always the possibility that he might change his mind at the last minute… Honestly, I should have just taken the twins while he was in school.

At least I didn’t force him to be in the picture. Which was mediocre anyway. I have of yet to see a good Santa picture since that first one six years ago.

In the end, I think we all do our best to create good holiday memories for our children. If they are sometimes a little forced, at least we know we had good intentions. If there are tears as parent go from bribes to threats while taking a picture for their holiday cards…well, it was a really nice shot of everyone together.

But in experiencing all of this for ourselves, we should open our eyes to the fact that EVERYONE falls short. No family is perfect, so no holiday season is perfect. It’s an ideal that no one could ever achieve. A myth perpetuated by greeting card companies. A beautiful idea that could only ever fit into the glittery confines of a snow globe. Real life is messy. Not everyone can be Martha Stewart.

Even our own memories of happy holidays are part illusion. Because we’re viewing them through the kaleidoscope of childhood wonder.

We remember tearing wrapping paper off the presents and eating candy. We can close our eyes and feel the excitement we had for this once a year celebration when wishes are granted and anything is possible.

Our parents, on the other hand, remember tantrums and sugar-induced meltdowns. They thought the meat was a bit overdone and rolled their eyes over Great Aunt So-and-So’s diatribe on how children were disciplined when she was a girl. But they did their best and hoped it was good enough for us. And it was.

We need to remember that and realize that as long as we do the best for our own children, then that is good enough. For them AND for us.

The table decorations may not be up to glossy magazine standards…the serving spoons may be mismatched stainless…a display of Star Wars action figures might have suddenly appeared on the once perfect tree…and there may (will) be some tears…but if our hearts are full of love and good intentions, then that’s good enough. That’s life. And in it’s own crazy way, that’s pretty much perfect.

Originally posted on Health News HERE.

The Perks of Imperfect Parenting

5 Replies

If anyone asked me whether I thought I was a good parent, I’d say yes – for all of my faults, I am a very good parent. And I’d think (hope) that others would say the same about themselves.

It’s not an easy job, raising children. There isn’t an employee handbook…there are hundredsof them. All of which provide vast amounts of conflicting information. And there isn’t even an HR manager we can contact for clarifications. We have to figure it out as we go – come up with the annual goals and expectations. Write our own mission statement.

When things go well, we are filled with pride. And when we fail miserably, we learn from our mistakes. We try not to beat ourselves up and dwell on the bad stuff. We do better. We forget and fail again. We feel foolish about it but move on. It’s a process.

This is something we all have in common.

As a result, we become very aware of our strengths and weaknesses. And we allow ourselves both. As much as we might want to correct our imperfections, we can’t do it all. At the end of the day, we have to let some things go and just say, “Oh I’m the worst about…”

Everyone has their own set of foibles, and each takes root in our personal identity. We become known among our friends for always being late; for refusing to concede a point; for never remembering to bring a snack to the playground. We accept ourselves for these faults and others do as well. They even become expected of us.

But I’ve always thought that each con comes with a pro, and vice versa. Each positive or negative has its flip side.

I may be great at organizing closets and suitcases, but I’m also very rigid in the way I want things done. I can be somewhat indecisive when it comes to forming opinions, but I also consider all of the angles and don’t make many snap decisions.

Every fault has its benefits if you think it through. And as a parent I have many faults. So why not consider the benefits as well?

Just the other day I was thinking about how I tune out the twins’ constant chatter more than I probably should. So many half-hearted, “Uh huh…really?…you think so?…I’m sorry, what was that again?” responses, when I know I ought to be listening and participating in the conversation. It’s just that they NEVER stop talking. And sometimes it’s exhausting.

Ironically enough, I spent years desperately wishing my oldest child would conquer his speech delays and be able to communicate with me. And now I’m complaining about the constant communication with the younger ones. I really should correct this…and I’m trying. But in the meantime, I could try considering the upside.

O.K., it’s hard to find a pro for this one… But I guess you could say that my kids don’t expect the world to always stop and listen to whatever it is they want to say. Well, actually, they do expect it. But they’re learning that this isn’t the way things work. That they aren’t always going to be in the spotlight. That sometimes other people want a little quiet time.

They don’t expect me to drop everything and run when they call my name. Because I don’t. Unless they sound injured or terrified, of course…but then they’d better be injured or terrified when I arrive on the scene.

I also let them get away with a lot. Having an oldest son with special needs makes me far less worried about “typical” bad behaviors. I love it if he tries to sneak a cookie while I’m not looking. I appreciate the intelligence and stealth involved in finding something to climb without making any noise. Yes, I want him to be respectful of rules, but I take pride seeing him act like any other boy his age. I want him to feel like he can make things happen without me to help or tell him it’s O.K.

Unfortunately, this trickles down to the other kids. And in general, I’m not the best disciplinarian. I often pretend that I don’t know they are in the other room doing exactly what I told them not to do. Sometimes I just don’t feel like dealing with it.

Like the time they lined up three toddler bed mattresses along the stairs to create a giant slide? I totally knew they were doing that. But it was keeping them quiet and busy. And I figured I could just walk over and put a stop to it when the first body came hurtling down. All in all, I considered it a win-win.

So what do they gain from my passive enforcement of rules? Again, not enough to excuse my slacking, but they do get some great practice in problem solving (How do we get this past mom?) And teamwork! A critical milestone: when your children learn that they can work together to further their cause.

And of course, I DO call them to task often enough.

Personally, I’ve always been a big fan of the empty threat. It’s like my signature parenting move. Oliver, if you don’t stop throwing Thomas Trains, I’m going to put them in the garbage! Oh please, I would never do that. They’re far too expensive.

Once when I was single and child-free, I heard a mother saying to her kids, “O.K.—that’s it! If you don’t stop right now, I’ll have to call Grandma and Grandpa and tell them that we’re not coming over!” Ha! Like THAT would really happen: “Hi Mom? It’s me. I’m sorry, but we’re going to have to cancel on lunch today…yeah, the kids are being really bad.” Such an obvious empty threat made me laugh.

And now I’m the QUEEN of empty threats. Sometimes I actually lose track of what I can take away from them, and it degenerates into nebulous decrees like, “If you don’t stop kicking that door right now, I’m going to…do SOMETHING. And you’re NOT going to like it.” Now that one really stops them in their tracks. At this point I’m usually ready to send us all to our rooms for a nap.

And the positive take-away for issuing empty threats?

Oh, I don’t know… I can’t think of any great benefit to the kids. Maybe not every shortcoming has an equal and opposite upside. But I will say this about my children: If I followed through on EVERY threat I ever made to them they would have no toys, no friends, no clothes and no time outside of their rooms. So we have that going for us.

We don’t have the most regimented home life. Our kids are not as strictly disciplined as others, nor are they always well behaved. And I can’t find a positive flip side for all of my poor parenting moments. But…

I still know that I am a good parent. For everything I do wrong, there is something else that I do exactly right. And sometimes when I think I’ve hit an all-time low in bad parenting, we’ll look at each others’ incredulous expressions and burst into laughter.

We may not be perfect. But we have a good sense of humor about it. And that’s a definite perk.

Originally posted on Health News, HERE.

Hell Hath No Fury…

12 Replies

…like a woman watching her special needs son have a nervous breakdown in his adapted aquatics swim lesson because the instructor was 18 minutes late.

For a half hour class.

On the first day of class.

But first let me give a little background about me and fury.

I rarely have any.

I am one of those people who just doesn’t get very mad. Or if I do get mad it’s short lived and quickly dismissed if there is a good explanation on hand. I hate feeling angry. I’d rather things be pleasant. It’s not that I’m this sunshiny type who thinks every day is a big ice cream sundae party or anything (and I have the prescription to prove it) – but anger and drama just exhaust me. Kind of like walking around Home Depot. It sounds good when I first walk in, but then I get overwhelmed and want to run back out the door.

I have a good friend who is married to a British man. She jokingly complains about how exasperating he can be with his emotionally detached way of avoiding or ignoring tension and conflict. And it makes me think that I’d be very good at being British… Or even just a WASP. I could totally do “let’s just pretend it never happened darling – be a love get me another cocktail, will you?“

Alas – neither has been my lot, and instead I am married to a very emotionally evolved and passionate sometimes-hothead and have three children who operate on levels ranging from unpredictable to full on CRAY-CRAY. So as you can imagine, I spend much of my time looking like a deer caught in headlights.

Then I just “keep calm and carry on,” good Brit that I am.

But back to my fury. It does happen sometimes. And it almost always has something to do with one of my children. This time it was Oliver, my six year old.

Two Saturdays ago, he had one of the worst first time swim lessons I could have possibly imagined.

Here is why it shouldn’t have happened:

1. Oliver LOVES the water. He is a natural swimmer and taught himself to dog paddle and swim under water last summer. He leaps in without any floatation devices and would be thrilled if you threw him in (he’d be happy to push you in as well – for future reference). He has no fear when it comes to the pool.

2. I took Oliver and the twins to the rec center where his lessons would take place several days in advance. Since he wasn’t used to that pool, I thought it might be a good idea to make sure it was familiar and had good memories of fun times with his family. I probably didn’t even need to do this as he was practically IN the pool by the time I had stripped down to my bathing suit.

3. I spoke with someone at the aquatics center to learn more about how the lessons were handled. And I was assured that unless parents felt they needed to be present, it was always best to just hustle the young students in and then quickly disappear. Since Oliver does best with authority if I’m not around to confuse matters, this sounded perfect to me. And I could go upstairs to watch from an observation room.

4. We arrived at the lesson five minutes early so I could chat with the instructor – give her a little background on Oliver’s communication delays and his current level of ability in the pool. Since she wasn’t there when I arrived, I gave my speech to the assistant manager (a.k.a. one of the people with clip boards) and then to the volunteer, who showed up right around the start time of 11 a.m.

5. Oliver was lying by the side of the pool and literally rolled in when we told him it was finally time to start the lesson. He barely glanced in my direction as I gave him a brief wave and said I’d be “up there” watching.

6. For a full ten minutes I watched my water baby splash happily around with kick boards and other teaching aids. He was having a great time. He didn’t miss me or feel the least bit threatened by the notion of a lesson or wary of the new people and other little girl sharing his class time.

This should have been a fabulous start to his swim lessons this summer.

It wasn’t.

Here is why:

1. The actual instructor was late, so the volunteer had to try to keep the two students busy in their one small area until the class could start.

2. Ten minutes is a long time for a special needs child to stay content in a small space with no structured activity. My son is not sedentary. And he likes to do his own thing. So if he’s in a teaching environment, it is absolutely imperative that there is an authority figure with a plan running the show. Fifteen minutes is far too long to wait for that.

3. The above describes pretty much ANY special needs child.

4. The above describes pretty much ANY CHILD.

5. When Oliver did try to swim out of the official lesson area, he was pulled back and essentially told that he needed to stay put. This would make no sense to him and would inevitably be perceived as aggression.

6. ….aaaaannnd that’s when he would start looking for me. The last person who was obviously in charge. And I wasn’t there.

I was in the observation room. Watching Oliver being dragged back into the water again and again by the kind volunteer. And as he became more and more agitated, his confusion transitioned into defiance and then frustrated tears, AND THEN body shaking sobs like I’ve never seen before (he hardly EVER cries). And I slowly transformed from proud mommy to concerned parent to horrified onlooker to absolutely furious mother who wanted to charge downstairs, pull my wailing son from the pool and demand to know what the fuck kind of special needs class this was?!

But I stayed put. Unlike Oliver, I understood that I had to stay in my small designated area.

He is young and still learning the rules, but I am old and I know them all too well. While he needed to wait for the instructor in the area of the pool assigned to his class, I needed to stay out of the way. To let the professionals do their job. And if they had a rocky start, I still had to let them try to pull it together. They had to win his trust without any interference from me. The minute I appeared, Oliver would learn that if he cried and made a scene, mommy would come and save him. And they would lose all credibility.

So I watched.

I watched the instructor arrive and try to engage with my hysterical son. After a few minutes, it was obvious that he wanted nothing to do with her and she moved on to work with the other (easier and more compliant) student.

I wanted to hug the volunteer – she stayed with him the whole time and I could see the concern and sympathy on her face from my perch one floor above.

Fifteen minutes later at the end of the half hour lesson, I walked stiffly into the pool area to collect Oliver. I could barely talk to the clipboard people, but somehow managed an incredulous, “what happened?” I don’t think I even heard the apologies or excuses about being understaffed and assurances that this particular instructor is NEVER late.

You know what? I get it. Mistakes happen. People have personal emergencies and get stuck in traffic behind ten car pile ups. Volunteers are left alone with two students and do their best to keep them entertained as long as they possibly can. Management calls cell phones and leaves messages on voice mail and starts to put on their own bathing suits to fill in for the missing instructors.

But in the fifteen (by my watch, eighteen) minutes that all of those good intentions transpired and/or were thwarted, my son – my beautiful, incandescent son with his all consuming love of swimming – suffered.

And that made my blood boil.

I asked the volunteer what happened and then told her exactly why it shouldn’t have. I also thanked her for doing the best she could – but that didn’t diminish my all consuming anger. My fury.

Then I held my son for a while and comforted him. I calmed him down. I promised him a visit to Dairy Queen. I suggested that we might try again next week. I told him that I was proud of how well he did. That I watched him when he was swimming and I was so proud. I agreed that he could get changed and that we would leave.

I silently cursed the whole comedy of errors and its seemingly inept cast for ruining swim lessons for my son in less than 30 minutes.

While waiting for use of the family changing room I talked to the assistant manager, got more information about what happened (little more than I already knew – that this particular instructor had never been late before) and pointed out that this was the worst time to be late – on the first day of swim lessons for special needs children.

As Oliver calmed down and became more interested in the ice cream I promised and less concerned with the drama that just unfolded, I also found myself relaxing. I was still mad, but I didn’t feel like actually throttling anyone.

I wasn’t furious anymore. I was weary. I wanted to turn back time and go get my bathing suit – even though I didn’t think of it until the last minute and we had to leave immediately in order to be there a few minutes early to talk to the instructor. I wanted to be able to get in the water with Oliver while we were waiting – to help the volunteer keep him busy until the instructor arrived. I wanted him to have a fun lesson. I wanted him to leave the pool smiling – not sobbing.

I wanted to pretend that it didn’t happen. To just carry on and make things pleasant.

I just didn’t want to deal with it anymore.

And at that point, there wasn’t anything more I could do. I got mad, said everything there was to say and saved my child from misery. What else was there?

Only one more thing. I walked Oliver back to the pool to thank the volunteer and say goodbye. I thought they both needed that.

Later while watching Oliver finish his ice cream cone, I realized that I wasn’t furious anymore. I still thought it was a complete disaster and wasn’t at all happy about it…but I was already thinking along the lines of damage control.

I knew that we had to go back to that pool as soon as possible. To make it fun – a place where he would want to go. And I would have to get in the pool with him for the next lesson. To make it feel safe. I would have to interact with the instructor who had filled me with rage less than an hour earlier. I would have to make it work. For Oliver’s sake.

And I did.

We did visit the pool as a family the following day. And we made it fun. Then I brought Oliver back for his lesson last Saturday. And I wore my bathing suit.

When we saw the volunteer, he looked at her and (miracle!) said, “do you want to swim with me?” Then we all got into the pool together. I chatted with the instructor and told her about Oliver. I didn’t mention the previous week.

I watched Oliver have a wonderful time and then moved away to the whirlpool – where I could still see him, but have less of an obvious presence.

And it was fine. After 20 minutes, Oliver said he was tired and wanted to leave, and we all decided to call it a win and not enforce the full 30 minutes. Next time we could firm. This time it was better to just end on a good note. Which we did.

Frankly, I was amazed by how well it went – that Oliver was so easy going about everything and needed very little coaxing from me to get in the pool with the volunteer and the instructor.

But that’s kind of the way he is. His drama is brief. He recovers quickly. And he moves on without lingering remorse or grudge holding.

Maybe he’s like me. Maybe he just wants to keep everything pleasant.

If that’s true, he’ll be a better person for it. He faces so many challenges now, and there will be plenty of others later. He doesn’t have an easy path to follow, and an even temper may serve him well.

He may also find life somewhat wearying because of it…I know I do often enough. But he’ll innately know how to put the best face on things, keep moving forward and not sweat the small stuff.

He’ll be a survivor.

At best? He’ll be happier than most. At worst? I’ll just move to England with him and we can be emotionally detached expats with the rest of the Brits. Hopefully we can find a place with a pool.

The Big Piece of Cake

Never settle for a small one, and demand a corner piece with a flower.

Tag Archives: World’s Best Mom

Boughs of Folly

They Coulda’ Been Great: October 2013

They Coulda’ Been Great: September 2013

They Coulda’ Been Great: July 2013

Turn Signals

They Coulda’ Been Great: 2012

Horse Hell

The Myth of a Perfect Holiday Season

The Perks of Imperfect Parenting

Hell Hath No Fury…