Tag Archives: Little Ones

Lake…Big Lake.

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Are we still quoting from Sixteen Candles? I guess I still do…

And whenever I think about lakes I think about the Donger. As I did just now since I’m about to post a ton of pictures from our trip to Catoctin Lake on Sunday.

It’s been so hot in the DC area lately that Chris suggested we head for the mountains, and hopefully cooler temperatures. Instead of baking at our community pool, we could take a picnic to a nearby lake.

This particular lake was about an hour and a half away – a drive that wasn’t too painful, but long enough to require a little planning. And by planning, I mean that Chris did research and then Sunday morning, I asked him, “are we still going to that lake?” Then ensued a confused flurry of towels and bathing suits, followed by a stop at the closest grocery store where Chris ran in to pick up our picnic lunch. And by picnic lunch, I mean two pieces of fried chicken that only he and Eleanor would touch, a box of butter crackers and a can of spray cheese.

Luckily, it my “cheat day” for the low carb diet I’ve been doing and I had already consumed a hearty breakfast.

Then we were off to the lake!

Now, when Chris had proposed this trip, I – with my lack of lake experience – had pictured a quiet spot reached via brambly path. So I was more than a little surprised by the packed parking lot and crowded beach.

There were even lifeguards!

Not exactly “oh the humanity!” – but not far from it…

It was really pretty though if you looked at the view above the heads of the crowd.

I also liked all of bright umbrellas against the dark green foliage.

More importantly – the kids LOVED it!

Chris and I didn’t really swim since we had to keep an eye on the kids (of course that’s why!). So my pictures of him were more like this:

And (unprecedented!) he actually took some pictures of me. This was the only one that turned out though…

You see, there is a reason that I am the official family photographer. It’s just not Chris’ forte. He doesn’t have a lot of patience for setting up a shot and his sense of composition isn’t the best.

Here is a perfect example:

Seems like it would be a fine picture, but I’m turned at a strange – and entirely unflattering – angle. And check out my siamese twin!

But hey – good intentions and all that…

After we (meaning the parents) had enough of the lake, we took a short (and daughter-who-needs-to-rest-every-ten-paces friendly) hike.

And then my camera battery died. But you know – if you’ve seen one tree or rock formation, you’ve seen them all.

And NOW I have to get the kids out of the house since they are literally ripping it apart as I type. Think it’s time for the pool. Which is quite honestly more my speed. It’s walkable, the water is fish-free and I’m the one packing snacks.

Hope you’re staying cool!

Back from the Beach

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We got back from California late Saturday night and I feel like I’m still recovering. Words aren’t happening for me…so here are some pictures:

Taking approximately one million pictures on vacation helped to ease some of my anxiety over losing six months of pictures the other week. There is still a chance that the data could be retrieved (my friend hasn’t had a chance to look at my computer yet), but I’m not holding my breath.

And now I need to catch up on a week of e-mail correspondence and read a thousand blog posts. See you when I come up for air!

Hell Hath No Fury…

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…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.

I Forgot That Summer Could be Scary…

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With the Fourth of July approaching, fireworks stands are everywhere. And no one gets more excited about fireworks than my husband. He can’t restrain himself – it’s inevitable that he will purchase some long before the actual holiday.

This year, all three kids have real memories of fireworks displays past and they were thrilled to have their own private show in front of our house on Saturday. That is – until it actually took place.

Eleanor, who still talks about the smiley face fireworks she saw in the sky the night of her uncle’s Fourth of July wedding, didn’t realize that the explosions would be closer to earth this time. And she was not pleased. At all.

I was taking pictures of the kids to catch their reactions and she gave me one hell of a reaction…

The pictures end there as I had to take her inside. But I do have some earlier shots of smiling faces during the less threatening sparklers and colorful smoke bombs.

Still experimenting with my new camera… Really do need to read the manual. The smokey shots make my children look like ghosts.

Eleanor is the only fraidy cat – but I remember how that felt. I can imagine standing at adult knee level torn between clinging to a parent’s leg and holding my hands over my ears. That booming noise seemed to shake the earth. It was terrifying.

Another big summer threat back then was killer bees. Okay – so I didn’t grow up around killer bees – but that is the way we perceived them. So much time was spent “being a flower” or “a statue” in hopes that they would buzz away without stinging us. I remember the stories about that boy who accidentally swallowed a bee that crawled into his soda can and stung his throat until it swelled up and he almost died in the ambulance on the way to the hospital… Urban legends about bees were a summer tradition. As were war stories about the stings we survived or narrowly missed.

How funny to be the grownup flicking away bees and telling our kids that if we don’t bother them, they won’t bother us.

We have several lovely butterfly bushes in our front yard, but this summer the butterflies have been scarce. Instead we have a colony of bumble bees coming to visit each day.

Aren’t they gorgeous? And not at all nefarious looking… In fact, we’ve had to keep reminding the kids that while they aren’t really all that dangerous, they still have stingers and we shouldn’t touch them.

And of course – my sensory integration disorder son who can’t NOT touch something to save his life has been petting them. I thought that yesterday when George got stung by a wasp at the pool (flew up under his sun shirt – it was awful) we would all learn a good lesson about why petting bumble bees could be very unpleasant…

Not so much. Oliver was back petting the bees today. And of course he got stung. There were some tears and not just a little outrage. But he recovered quickly and didn’t refuse to walk out the front door later. This was encouraging since it means he probably won’t have a severe bee phobia (like his more recent fear of small dogs – not big dogs, mind you – just the small ones) sending him screaming into the street at the sight of yellow stripes… But it also means that he may not be phased by the experience and will go back to his bee keeper ways tomorrow.

My money is on the bee petting. Time to chat with the pharmacist about remedies…and buy Eleanor some ear plugs.

An Audacious Start to the Summer

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School ended for Oliver yesterday, making today our first official day of summer vacation. Typically, this would find me scratching my head over what I can do with them ALL DAY.

We have the pool and the YMCA – but that really only covers two or three hours at a time. And playing outside can’t be an all-day event in Washington, DC heat…

So it goes without saying that television time is inevitable. They enjoy a snack and some AC while watching a cartoon or two. And I’m able to clean up and MAYBE even get in some computer time.

Until this summer.

This summer, I decided that we would try something absolutely insane (for us…for me). An idea that in previous years would make me laugh, roll my eyes or simply say, “good luck with that.” Or all three.

I unplugged the TV and told the kids that it’s broken.

This has nothing to do with any negative opinions about television. I’ve always had a fondness for the idiot box. I watched an ungodly amount of TV growing up and think back with nostalgia on the days when you would settle for whatever you could find on the six or so available channels. How else would I have seen every episode of The Facts of Life and Laverne and Shirley?

Yes – I watched a lot of TV…but I also read more than any of my friends and still managed to spend hours of each day playing outside. My brain didn’t rot and my imagination didn’t suffer. I am not anti-TV.

And I’ve never felt like the constant stream of DVDs, Netflix on demand or PBS Kids programming has ever negatively affected my own children. They don’t sit drooling in front of the television – they play. And given the option, they would pick playing outside over any favored cartoon. If anything, TV has given them all kinds of new information via Sid the Science Kid or Dora-Dora-Dora Can’t IGNORE YA! As annoying as children’s programming can be – most of the current preschool genre shows are pretty educational.

But here is my current problem: For a while now, Oliver has been picking up the dialogue and gestures presented by the characters in the shows he watches.

It started with Thomas and Friends. Can I tell you how many times a day he says something in a British accent? And while it’s super cute – it’s not exactly normal. Especially when he’s saying things like, “Nonsense! I am very cross, indeed.” I’d say that on any playground in America, that’s just asking for an thorough ass kicking. Indeed.

And it’s gotten worse since we put Netflix streaming on our Wii and they now have access to all kinds of cartoons like the Pink Panther, Tom and Jerry and the more recent, Pingu. At least he was using actual words when he was emulating the locomotive inhabitants of Sodor. NOW he’s starting to use cartoon postures and gestures (and worse – weird noises) to communicate.

I am not raising a mime. If this is what the TV is doing for his language development right now? Then we need a break.

And I also think George could do with a little less time on the Wii. It makes him aggressive and obnoxious. I’m not going into detail – but take my word for it – George needs a break too.

So…no TV for a while. It’s been three days, and surprisingly, not all that painful. No one has died of boredom or driven me to drink (well, no more than usual). I think we may all actually survive my outrageous act of hubris. Only time will tell.

Another rather bold (for me) move I’ve made in the the past few days is to nominate a few of my posts for BlogHer’s Voices of the Year. Like everyone else, I’ve had friends offer to nominate posts for me, but I liked the idea of doing it myself. They can say, “just send me the links and I’ll nominate you,” but if I’m the one actually selecting the posts…then I say just do it. Claim it. Own it.

Where’s the shame in that? Even if no one else thought my writing was worth anything – I did. And that’s certainly worth something.

I actually submitted three of my posts. One in the category of Life (which is vast) and two in Niche (one of which probably wasn’t best categorized by “niche” – but too late now). Ironically enough – I couldn’t come up with something for Humor. From this blog which I had originally started as a humor blog… I guess I’ve raised my standards for funny. 

Besides, the idea of standing on a stage reading a humor piece to the sound of deafening silence? I may be feeling bold…but I’m not feeling suicidal! I thought it was best to stick with a few un-funny submissions.

So there it is – I’m starting the summer with some bravado. I’m I’m triple dog daring it to just try to get the best of me. I’m seeing its heat and torpor and raising it a water balloon fight.

And all on a low carb diet. I’m out of control!

I may be chasing kids around the pool for hours on end and running endless laps at the YMCA to buy them some time in the kids’ gym – but hey, I’ll be super thin.

Or just too tired to notice that I’m losing my mind…

It’s going to be a long ten weeks.

The Lock Up and The Opium Den

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Last summer, I started to write a post that was titled “The Lock Up.” I never finished it due to Blogger eating the first five paragraphs and my subsequent need to step away from the computer before I did anything foolish. Like smash it with the heaviest item at hand… Then I never did get back to it.

I had planned to tell stories about how we used to lock up 75% of the rooms in our house so that children couldn’t ruin things. We would lock their bedroom doors so they couldn’t get in during the day. We’d lock the bathroom doors so that they wouldn’t stuff the toilet full of paper or worse, play in the water.

We would even hide everyday objects like bedroom lamps. As far as the lamps go, we worried about them getting broken at night and the switch knobs disappearing during the day. Seriously! There was a time that we had only one knob for all the lamps in our house because someone twisted them all off and hid them godknowswhere. It was madness – walking around with a single switch knob, having to screw it onto any lamp that we wanted to turn on…

But it seemed like everything was like that back then. Having three children born within 18 months – and naughty ones at that – made for some high level security requirements in my house. And all of that locking them out meant that we were locking ourselves out as well. We had to keep “keys” in high places so that we could enter those rooms at will.

Over a year ago, I asked Eleanor to pose with our two pick locks of choice.

The first type we came up with was a thin wooden skewer – typically used for shish kabobs:

Very easy to hide on top of a door sill.

But more often than not, I found myself fashioning keys out of wire hangers (something I discovered when I accidentally locked myself in then three year old Oliver’s room one night with him crying outside the door):

These had to be kept high on a shelf since the kids were definitely working out how to use them. But as Oliver, George and Eleanor grew taller and wilier, I could see the golden age of locked doors coming to a close. Milestones are so bittersweet…

Here is an example of why door locking was so necessary back then.

One day, I went into the twins’ old bedroom/storage room/place we kept the kids’ dressers room and noticed that someone had pee peed a little on one of the nice upholstered chairs I had stowed in there until I could figure out what to do with them.

I locked the door and then called my mother for cleaning advice. She told me to use a little Spray & Wash and then to add some water – all within the pattern of the fabric to avoid unsightly water staining. Having completed this task, I walked out of the room (forgetting to lock the door AND leaving the spray bottle behind) and continued our chat.

When I went back to check on how it was drying, I found that someone had squirted Spray & Wash all over the chair – with no regard for staying within the pattern to avoid water stains! I was livid, but had only myself to blame for not putting the bottle away and locking the door.

After cleaning up the mess (again) I descended the stairs and at the landing, noticed a very strong stink of parmesan cheese. This didn’t come as a complete surprise since they were all addicts and would eat it straight out of the can if I let them. But the strange thing was that I couldn’t find evidence of the cheese anywhere.

I went back upstairs to inquire about the cheese fumes and found Oliver unrolling all of the toilet paper into one huge pile. He was thrilled and asked me what I thought of his mountain. I have no recollection of my reply, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t the praise he was hoping for.

Once that mess was cleaned up, I was able to locate the twins and get them to explain the cheese smell. They played dumb for a while – but finally told me to look in the sink where I found a “mountain” of parmesan.

There is a reason why I never find time to dust.

I dragged everyone out to do errands before they could do any further damage and kept a better eye on them for the rest of the afternoon. It’s not easy – but if you just keep tabs on your children, they’re much less likely to destroy anything.

Feeling very pleased with myself, I decided to really make an afternoon of it and apply a little makeup. So I grabbed a mascara and lip gloss and opened the powder room door to find…a mountain of unrolled toilet paper.

And Oliver wins by an empty cardboard tube!

I should probably explain why I had to lock up the bedroom where they slept as well. Even though I had pulled every stick of furniture out of that room – they still found ways to torture me. They would prop their toddler bed mattresses against the wall to make “caves.” which would be kind of cute if it didn’t usually degenerate into their other favorite game of “make the stairs one big slide.”

Do you know what fits perfectly on our stairs? Three toddler bed mattresses.

I finally had to throw them out. No one was sleeping on them anyway. They preferred to burrow together in a big puppy pile at night on the quilts I would lay out for them. And even before I got rid of the mattresses, it was a very sad looking bedroom. No furniture other than three little pallets strewn around the perimeter…

I called it The Opium Den.

But as our toddlers and young preschooler have matured into older preschoolers and an elementary school student, we’ve slowly started unlocking doors. And just last weekend  we bought them all real beds so they wouldn’t have to sleep like animals anymore. There was even decorating involved! A huge development in our tiny townhouse.

I wrote all about the project on Style Key West today – so drop by and check it out!

And now I need to fall into my own bed. We’ve been passing around a fever all week, my bad knee is aching and I’m on day #5 of a new low carb diet that’s making me crave dessert like you wouldn’t believe.

It’s the hard knock life INDEED.

Wishing you all a great weekend and Fathers Day!

Activity Fail, My Gout and Little Sisters

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I’m not sure if I’ve gone into it here…but I’ve probably mentioned in the past that my kids have of yet to be enrolled in any kind of activity like soccer or ballet or even Gymboree when they were babies (though we did attempt “blast ball” with Oliver last year and decided he wasn’t ready).

Initially, the fact that I worked full time made the weekday activities for babies and toddlers impossible. And of course, there has always been the issue of expense.

While my days are now devoted to the care and feeding of my kids, the concern for money flying out the window never goes away. And to be honest – the idea that we should be spending hundreds of dollars each month (or week!) so that our preschoolers could twirl in tutus or practice their off balance somersaults with a professional instructor seemed a bit ridiculous. They can do that here! We have a carpeted basement and a dress up box. AND there are three of them – which is kind of like a class…

But now that they’re getting older and watching their friends arriving home in leotards and white pjs, it’s started to seem a bit cruel.

So as you know we’re trying out Tae Kwon Do for the boys (and Eleanor by default) and dance for Eleanor.

We’ve been lucky with the ballet class – no reasons to skip it. But Tae Kwon Do… The last class they attended was last Monday. We were told that the Friday and Saturday classes would be cancelled due to tournaments (or whatever they’re called in martial arts).

So instead of Saturday, I planned to take them to the following Wednesday class. But then Wednesday was SO HOT. Like high 90s, sweltering, jumping into cold water without wincing hot. And I couldn’t imagine forcing them all into those synthetic white pjs, marching them into an oven-like car and then making them actually exercise. We went to the pool instead.

I thought, okay – well miss a week. Not a big deal. But then the following Monday, Oliver had a fever and I took Eleanor to the doctor today… Now we’re shooting for Friday or Saturday. I think I’m experiencing the frustrating “activity fail” experience that I’ve been hearing about for the past year at our bus stop. Now I get it.

And that may be the most boring 5+ paragraphs I’ve ever written… DON’T say anything – let me have this one…

Moving on, I also got a call today about my gouty knee. It is in fact NOT gout. Blood work was clean and the x-ray didn’t indicate any issues with my bones. But here’s the thing: it still hurts. And it looks a little bit puffier than the other one. I’ve been popping ibuprofen like tic tacs – which I’m pretty sure isn’t good for you long term – so I kind of need another assessment.

So next week, I will have an MRI. My second MRI in the past six months. The first one was for something completely unrelated. Can we say domino effect. Once my hip breaks, it’s all over right?

I’ll keep you posted on my health developments. It’s all so glamorous and exciting – I just have to share.

But I did have something kind of amazing happen this week – yesterday to be exact. I heard from two little girls (now young women) I used to babysit when I was a teenager. And what makes it relevant to this blog is that I once wrote about them! About they were like little sisters to me. [Never Underestimate the Power of a Girl if you’re interested.]

We haven’t been in touch since I was in college, but they both just friended me on FaceBook. All of my FaceBook friends know that I’m kind of a lame FaceBook friend…I’ve never gotten that into it. But this is one of the reasons that I keep my profile. Best thing that happened to me all week (which as you know – isn’t saying much…but still!).

I know I was supposed to post about the big boy/girl bedroom overhaul we did over the weekend. And I will – but I have to download some pictures I took first. Add that to the list of many things I didn’t do today.

So I will fall back on something else that thrills me/bores others to no end. I will charm you with my photography! The new camera is my new boyfriend. When was the last time Chris gave some thought to his auto settings, I ask you? It was inevitable…

No – he’s not ours [pouty face].
Neither is she [ditto].

Tomorrow – pictures of bedrooms. Which have now been talked up far too much. I apologize in advance for the anticlimactic viewing.

P.S. You’re welcome for all the back-links. I’m nothing if I’m not thorough.

I finally have a child who likes to sit and color!

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Or sit and do anything really.

I was a quiet little girl. I’d sit and read books. I’d entertain myself. I’m not saying that I was perfect – but I don’t think I was all that demanding of attention.

Oliver is probably the most like me, and that may be an oldest child thing. But he won’t sit and color or read books. He doesn’t require as much attention as the twins, but he will get into trouble (usually involving dirt) if I don’t keep my eye on him.

But just recently, the most amazing thing happened: Eleanor learned how to color in the lines. Why this would suddenly make her a marathon colorer (ist?)…no idea. But I guess the pride she takes in her new found skill offers some kind of incentive.

I addition to coloring, she is also now drawing people, and gives most of them really mod color blocked outfits. Here are some of my favorites:

This is a perfect representation of Eleanor’s “girls.”
She’s in a signature color blocked tunic and is smiling from eyebrow to eyebrow.
She also looks mildly deranged.
That’s not a hat. It’s a ponytail. And yes – I’m aware that it’s green.
But she’s HAPPY!
Awww…this one is sad.
Because she doesn’t have a green ponytail.
Or arms and legs.
She on the other hand, is REALLY happy.
Because she has arms and legs AND hands and feet.
And apparently really good drugs.

This one is a pig.
In a color blocked tunic.
I love this one because our names are in a circle around her. Eleanor likes it because Plum Pudding is making a guest appearance in the lower left corner.
But she doesn’t always draw girls. Every once in a while she draws a boy. How do I know this?

Yes – that is exactly what you’re seeing down there. The first anatomically correct drawing in the Hood family! I’m so proud… But I did ask how this view was possible when he was so obviously wearing a color blocked tunic.

She didn’t have any answers and didn’t seem to think it made a difference. Then she pointed out that she also gave him a belly button (directly above). I guess it’s her cubist period.

Bonus information!

Eleanor just had her very first dance class.

George wanted me to take his picture too.

I think that’s supposed to be The Robot.

Have a great weekend!

Just [Tae Kwon] Do It

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I’m skipping Monday Links this week since I really need to write something other than a list of great stuff other people posted.

I had a few of my own stories to tell last week and never got around to them. This has been happening far too often lately because I feel like I need more than 15 minutes to write (which is generally all I have – and yes, that includes the evening since my children don’t believe in bedtime anymore). So I may be going back to a summer “vacation” of short daily posts. What do you think?

Okay – on to the stuff from last week that I actually remember.

First there was this.

I never really pictured putting my children in a martial arts class before (Tae Kwon Do), but then I also never imagined myself relating to various characters in the 80s television show, Thirtysomething. So I guess these things happen.

Basically, I won a month of free lessons for George at the twins’ preschool silent auction. And then when I brought him in for a skill assessment and uniform fitting, the free month was also offered to my other two children. One of whom (Oliver) spent most of the half hour under a desk asking when we could go get ice cream. Obviously, I assumed that he would LOVE Tae Kwon Do!

Actually, it had been recommended for him by his audio processing therapist last summer, and I was thinking that it was time for him to have an activity outside of our usual two hours of free childcare in the kids’ gym at the YMCA and then a trip to Target summer program. Seriously though – I do take them to the pool and try to keep them busy outside…but we’ve never done anything very organized before. And the teachers in Oliver’s IEP meeting in May strongly suggested he be enrolled in activities with other kids over the vacation months.

We’re trying Tae Kwon Do.

And the first class was a smashing success!

For George and Eleanor.

Oliver wasn’t that into it and was very distracted by the mirrors. Why do studios always have to have mirrors anyway? From what I understand, it has something to do with being able to see yourself so you can correct your form… Whatever, narcissists.

Either way, it’s very inconvenient since Oliver has difficulty maintaining an appropriate level of attention for the instructor. Who was not only loud – but also had an accent that was hard to understand. Neither work well for kids with audio processing disorder. Or autism. Or lots of things that cause them to wander around a studio oblivious to everything around them except the awesome mirror which is PERFECT for practicing bizarre facial expressions and gestures that I’m pretty sure came directly out of a Pink Panther cartoon.

Thank god the dress I was wearing exempted me from participating in the “let’s get all of the new parents out on the mat for some kicks and leg lifts” segment of the class. I had visions of being required to spar with five year olds alongside Oliver to help him stay with the group. But before I blacked out from Blast Ball practice flash backs, I realized that I could just plead “too fancy” and escape back to the chairs.

It was a 45 minute class – and it was hard to watch. But ultimately, I was really proud of Oliver for not storming off the mat or crying. I mean, that’s what I would have felt like doing. He, on the other hand was pretty zen about the whole thing. And the unintelligible instructor was actually really great with Oliver and 100% responsible for the few times he was somewhat engaged. He also entertained my kids a little after the class while I talked to the director and we all left with smiles and a promise to be back on Saturday.

Don’t get me wrong – my feelings of anxiety didn’t evaporate, but they did take on a faint glimmer of hope for Saturday. I even tried to make Tae Kwon Do seem EXTRA fun by walking everyone over the the pizza place and putting in a to-go order. AND THEN skipping over to the grocery store to pick up a few items (wine) while we waited.

Of course we ran into people we know… Because when I’m wheeling around Safeway with a cart full of children eating doughnuts it’s a given that I’ll run into someone I know. (Side note: I always run into someone I know).

But I was too harried to care about the chocolate stains on the uniforms or the sticky fingers or the fact that I parked a mile away on the other side of the parking lot and had to carry heavy grocery bags and two pizza boxes while trying to keep my demented children from running into traffic or diving into the lake.

Don’t be jealous. My life really isn’t always this glamorous.

So fast forward to Saturday’s class.

The twins had a fantastic time and I could hear their screams of HIYA! above all the others. And while he was still a weird little ninja (more mime than martial artist), Oliver actually semi-participated. He more or less stayed with the group and needed far less cajoling to step away from the mirror. He didn’t sit while everyone was standing – or even worse, lie down. If you had never seen the first class, you may have thought he was all over the place – but having been there for both, I was astounded at how much better the second one went.

This evening we had our third class and he did EVEN BETTER. Still very goofy – and very confused about which foot/fist he was supposed to be using. But if it was appropriate, I would have been jumping up and down and clapping. If I really let myself go, there might have been tears.

So as of today…

The twins LOVE TAE KWON DO!

And Oliver doesn’t hate it!

This makes me very, very happy. And also gives me confidence in my ability to be a good parent. At least in some areas – remember I’m the mother who stuffs a six year old and two four year olds in a shopping cart at the grocery store and shuts them up with doughnuts… But here is something I’ve learned about my own children – especially Oliver: you have to just MAKE them do things.

It’s obvious when they’re not ready for an activity (HELLO – Blast Ball) – but more often than not, they just need a firm push and an encouraging smile. When they say NOIDON’TWANTTO-IWANTTOSTATHOME I just kindly hustle them along with a no-nonsense, “okay – we’ll see – let’s just go and give it a try.”

As much as I would rather just bag the whole thing and take them to Dairy Queen, I know that I’m not doing them any favors in the long run. They need me to be kind, but they also need me to be firm. To teach them that sometimes you have to just suck it up and do something, regardless of whether or not you feel like it.

Sometimes you can say “this isn’t for me“…but first you have to give it a chance. You have to just DO IT.

It’s a hard lesson that I’ve had to learn later in life. I’m still not very good at it, and fall short far too often. For myself and for them. But I want to change that. And I am. One Tae Kwon Do class at a time.

Tune in on Wednesday for the second story from last week – in which my knee swells up and my doctor actually uses the word “gout.” I tell ya’ – it just doesn’t get any sexier than that…

[Pre]School is Out for the Summer!

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Friday was the last day of preschool for the twins. Well – until September. They still have another year before they start Kindergarten. But this was their first year of real school and I have to thank them for making the entire process SO EASY.

Oliver wasn’t nearly as keen on the idea of school since he started (special  needs preschool) when he was two. He didn’t have older siblings to envy. He didn’t appreciate the glamor and privilege of owning his very own backpack. 

So the excitement and anticipation, and PRIDE that George and Eleanor felt about going to school was a completely different experience.

They never cried at drop off or begged to stay home with me. And on the weeks that I worked at the school (it’s a co-op), they were just happy to have me there. No clinging or acting out. Okay – maybe a little acting out – but that had less to do with me being present than their four-year-old-ness.

They’ve gone on field trips – both with and without me, had play dates with new friends, claimed and fought over “best” friends… They’ve been independent.

September 2010

May 2011

And now I’m the own who is proud. I also shed a tear or two thinking about my babies growing up so fast. But that’s all part of the package. It’s in the fine print you don’t read while signing on the dotted line. I guess, there’s always a price….

But it’s totally worth it.