We can still hold hands

At nine years old, I know my days of snuggles, hugs and kisses, and holding hands with my son are numbered. That is to say, I hold no illusion that he'll be letting me give him a kiss goodbye in high school. At least not in public. For now, though, I relish these times when I can hold him and reassure him, kiss him goodbye before school, and have him reach for my hand when we walk together.

This morning on the way to before school care, we were walking in like any other morning. This morning, though, his hand felt different in mine. It felt stronger, fuller, bigger.

Me:
"Look that that, your hand is almost as big as mine. Some day it will be bigger than mine."
Fred:
"We can still hold hands when it's that big, right?"
Me:
"Yes, we can, baby."
Fred:
Smile, look of relief on his face.

And he kissed and hugged me goodbye when I left.

This moment was brought to you by love.

Because it's Friday

What a difference a year makes. At this time last year, my daughter was on the auction block, I was ready to run away from home, and what little homework my kids brought home was more confusing than iTunes. Today, my daughter brushed her hair without me asking, I'm home sick, and the children have not run away. I'm calling this a win.

At 11, Ethel was less than thrilled about going to summer camp this year until she found out that some of the kids from the last couple summers would be going again this year. Fred is rather indifferent about these things, but will sometimes admit that he'd like to stay home once in a while instead. This summer we totally lucked out in the game of childcare, in that my mom agreed to take the kids for a spell over the summer. Yes, that's right, we were CHILDLESS for THREE WHOLE WEEKS!!!!

What do parents do when their children are gone for such a time? That's a really good question, and we spent the whole three weeks trying to figure that out.

Loaded and ready to head to sunny skies.

Ethel doing her best, "I'm not going to cry".

For the kids, there was plenty of fun, sun, swimming, junk food, sleeping, and time with their Nani. Nani has reunited with a friend from high school who is also navigating his golden years on his own, and they have joined forces to navigate those years together. In talking to the kids about how to address him, Fred offered the sweet name of Professor Poopy Pants, after a succession of other names which can't be blogged at this time. The kids took to him like butter to toast, especially Fred, and they had such a great time in Florida, as pictured here:

Hi, Mom! It's so SUNNY!

So what did Mommy and Daddy do for three weeks? Well, I'll summarize it by telling you that the house is clean, the kids' rooms are cleaned and purged, and we kept the three fish and two cats alive. Another big win. Prior to departure, Ethel's greatest fear was that we would let the cats and fish die, as parents are apparently inept when it comes to feeding and caring for animals. The argument makes total sense to an 11 year old, so we agreed to do our best with the pets, but made no promises. We won the bet. We did get to see the kids on Skype on occasion, which was reassurance that they were not running away with the circus. Well, sort of.

We did get out a little and have some time with friends, Daddy tried to learn how to take a selfie, we went away for a few days, and, best of all, I had a break from the never ending cycle of trying to plan and execute meals that all of us would eat. The grocery bill was lower than it's been in 12 years! Sadly, my life is exciting enough that this made me super happy. As in, I haven't been that happy about groceries in a long, long time.

Daddy trying to learn the art of the selfie.

I admit that the last week of the trip, I was pretty anxious about the kids' return. I was both excited and bummed about planning meals, the start of the school year, and early morning alarm clocks. You don't realize what takes up your time until your kids are gone. A friend of mine was right when she said, "It makes you wonder what you'd be doing with your time if you didn't have kids". Yes, this. Nobody needs anything. Nobody interrupts you with demands or fights. The house was so.very.quiet. And clean.

Little humans make such messes. Little humans usually don't clean up those messes. Lucky for our little humans, we got a brand new vacuum cleaner while they were gone! In all honesty, this excited me more than the grocery thing. It's wonderful. We have now taught the kids how to use it, and using it is on their list of weekend jobs. This does not excite the little humans. At all.

We're off to a good start to the school year, too. Ethel started 6th grade and takes the bus for the first time. She joined cross country, and came in 12th overall for 6th grade girls in her first meet. She's got a strategy for placing higher in the next meet. Fred is in his first inline hockey league. Skill-wise, he's in the middle of the pack on his 10-kid team, and is getting better each day. Scouts is back in swing, and we're about to become popcorn pushers. Oh how I love that popcorn.

Where do we go next? Well, Ethel has declared that she is going to make her Halloween costume this year. She wants to be a unicorn. When asked about this costume, I was advised, quite gruffly, "You'll SEE!". Will she trick or treat? "Of course, why wouldn't I {complete with eye roll}?". Stay tuned. Fred is still undecided on his costume.

Until next time.....

Skipping ahead a little

Junior high open house was tonight. Now, I do get that the students are trying their hardest to make their parents look stupid, but, wow. They are also somewhat embarrassed, I'm sure, but, holy hell.

We arrived to school and the doors were locked. We were told to be there 30 minutes prior to the start of the open house for a chorus meeting. Locked doors was not good. My hot flashes were in high gear, and I was getting annoyed as each door we tried was locked. School doors being locked drives me BONKERS, especially on nights when parents have been invited. I don't care about what prep they have, don't lock the freaking doors.

So, we get in, and Ethel basically just stands there, then tells us to guess where chorus is. We had to be there at 5. It's now 5:10. No, we're not looking for it, you take us to it. This conversation took about 3 minutes. In the hallway. We get to chorus, and the teacher's doing a presentation. A presentation. About chorus. Dude. Now Fred has to go to the bathroom so Hot Dad takes him. I was a singer, I can't say enough about how much I support music (we need more music in schools!!), but, a presentation about chorus? There's a handout covering required rehearsals, fundraising, and materials. Fundraising. For chorus. A class, not an extra curricular. I was horrified. As a tax payer and a parent, I'm offended to be asked to help at a car wash and volunteer time or give money for that and a choral thing in the spring. Seriously, this is shit the schools should be taking care of. I know, I know, that's not how it is these days, but that's crap. People piss and moan about their taxes, but, they stick me with doing shit to make money for a piano accompanist for chorus, which is a school class. Wonder if we'll get a fundraising request from science, art, or language arts. I digress.

Leggings are not allowed for choral performances. That should be fun. Maybe I can ask her to raise some money to hire someone to take my daughter shopping for a skirt or pants and some black flats.

Moving on. Open house begins and Ethel has no idea what to do. And Fred has to go to the bathroom again. Are we supposed to follow your schedule? I don't know. Ok, do we need to go to the front of the building first? I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. !!!!!!! So I make some suggestions, to which Hot Dad tells me I need to chill out or back off and he rolls his eyes at me. Meanwhile, we're just standing in the hallway and Ethel has no idea what we should do. And I am a towering inferno about to melt the floor in the midst of these hot flashes. My clothes are sticking to me. And Ethel is clueless as to what to do. I suggest we go to her locker.

At her locker, she dicks around and tells us to try to open it. She uses every stall tactic in the book, and we have yet to see any classes besides the fundraiser. I mean chorus. And.I.am.burning.up.

After more jerk faced "OK, now you find the room", she finally conceded to take us to classes in order of her schedule. This can only be accomplished by an 11 year old via comments about how we don't know where we're going, feigning confusion over which hallway to go down, and walking in front of your mother because it's apparently cool to appear out of control of your body and unable to identify when you're walking in someone's space. Then grin and giggle about it while your father rolls his eyes at your mother and shoots her evil eyes because you keep walking in front of her and she asks you to stop. While your mother continues to melt floor tiles.

We get to language arts and meet her teacher. Her teacher suggests that Ethel show us a particular project they've done that deals with the summer reading book. "Oh, you guys started talking about it, that's good", I said. The teacher was like, ah, ya, of course we have (I super paraphrased that, she was super professional about it, but, did reveal a little surprise at my statement) - because I would know that when my kid came home telling me about her day and all the things she did, including the project about the summer reading book. If I lived on Mars.

So next is math. Ethel walks us through the halls to an area where there are three doors, one is closed. The other two appear semi-welcoming with open doors, but she tells us she doesn't have class in those rooms. Her math class is the closed door room, but, the teacher whose name is on the door isn't her math teacher.
----we stand there----I ask what she does at math, if perhaps she has math in the hallway - Hot Dad shoots me an EVIL EYE. Apparently that question was out of line.

After a minute or two standing before the closed door, it's finally revealed by Ethel that her math teacher is also the gym teacher, so she's in the gym and we're not going to go see her. We didn't ever enter the closed door. It remains a mystery to the parents.

I believe this is where I melted the brick on the walls of the next hallway as we debated (a kinder word than what really went down) what to do next, finally settling on the "ice cream social". I figured this was a PTO thing, so I was looking forward to meeting some other parents or something.

We enter the cafeteria to find one of the assistant principals standing over a cooler handing out Klondike bars and other assorted frozen treats. Very ice cream, not too social. It was a needed break, though.



This was where the principal was super surprised when I told him, "We can't be the only ones who just got this picture day flyer today after school. After picture day happened. Today." He was genuinely, 100% surprised by the idea that a 6th grader did not bring home the picture day flyer that they received less than 24 hours before picture day. I want to live in this man's world, that's all I can say about that.

At some point, we got to visit science and that was cool. The teacher did not ask us for money or time, but, did ask us to tinker with some of the small experiments she had set up on the tables. Fred about blew a gasket trying to figure out how the metal ball transformed into a ping pong ball after being dropped into a bowl of popcorn kernels. I seriously thought we'd have a clean up in aisle 'science' when I saw the look on his face. So, that was a win. Ethel didn't really show us anything in there. We left.

Eventually we were led back to the closed door room. Again, we stood there before the three doors, one of which led to a room filled with parents and students learning about what goes on in there during the day. I asked, again, if Ethel has a class in the hallway where we stood, and there it came again - EVIL EYE. Seriously? I guess it's not a good idea to press the tween for actual facts and not just a view of a hallway. Whatevs.

Lucky for us, the teacher in front of the other open door with an empty classroom told us that Ethel has study in empty room (they call it study these days, in an ironic twist, they dropped the 'hall'). Oh, nice to meet you. Ethel apparently sits in front of this teacher, usually reading or doing her homework. Good news!

We finally left the three doorways in our dust (because I burned it all down after a hot flash). I think Ethel saved the best for last, and led us to the art room. This, only after challenging us, again, to find it on our own. I think she really did want to get left there for the night, but, I hear they frown upon that, so we gently convinced her to take us to the art room.

In the art room we got to do a project. All four of us got to color pieces of what will eventually become a collaborative art piece. I assume that's a loose term for it, collaborative, since we really didn't collaborate with anyone. Oh, right, this isn't language arts, that was the first class.

Upon leaving the art room, I ask what is next, and Ethel tells me that's it, we saw all her classes. I was so happy that it was finally time to go home! Until Fred said he had to go to the bathroom. And when I repeated this, "OK, so you need to go potty", he quickly corrected me. "No, poop". Ethel proceeds to mock him for his frequent bathroom usage and for having to poop. About now I'm hoping there might be booze at this ice cream social because I'm about to lose my shit.

Fred drops his deuce, we go to Ethel's locker to make sure there's nothing she's forgotten, and suddenly it hits her that we HAVE to go to the library. Oh holy mother of pearl. Fine. After being ambushed by the local library lady, who was genuinely nice but we don't live in that town thank you, we enter the library. We see a parent I know and we exchange greetings and groans about the joys of he evening, and I turn to Ethel and ask what she wanted us to see. "I don't know, I haven't really spent any time in here".

Good.ness.gra.cious. Keeping my hot, steamy, flashing calm, we agree to head back to the car. We have now been here for two solid hours and I am sure that people can see flames coming off my skin. The weather is tropical, too, which makes this even more fun.

By some Heavenly miracle, she finished her homework when we got home and both kids got to their bedtime routines without yelling, crying, or falling apart. They're both upstairs quiet (this can't be good, or can it?) and I'm about to head up to tell Fred it's lights out.

All I can say is that if I don't start running again soon, there is little doubt you'll see us on the news.

The proverbial last day of school entry

First day. Happy.

First day. Do.not.touch.me.

Notice that there are no fancy fonted dates, words, or images superimposed on these pictures. This is real life first day of school stuff. There's one kid who is mortified by the very existence of her mother and more mortified that her mother is taking pictures. There's one kid who obliges to make his Mommy happy, is excited to see his friends at school again, and wants desperately for his sister to smile with him, and capitalizes on how mortified she is. There's a mother who just wants to capture the moment before her children head off to school. And it's not even 8:30AM.

Fast forward to the last day, and the last nine months seem a bit of a blur. If I had to summarize things, I'd say that Ethel's moods somewhat evened out, she tells us even less than before about what she's working on in school, and she is adored by the second graders in her charge as a patrol. Fred was pegged as a leader by his teacher, gained a love of cooking in an after school club, and his creative side flourished in art and music.

Yesterday was Ethel's last day in elementary school. Yesterday was Fred's last day as a third grader. They are both very unhappy because yesterday was their first day of summer day camp. Buzz kill.

That said, the changes in both kids were gradual, but, pronounced. Fred came out of his shell quite a bit and started to sort of come into his own. He joined Cub Scouts in the fall for the first time, and he picked up on it all quite quickly. He truly enjoyed his first year of Scouting, and so did we. He is looking forward to next year as a Webelo I. He also started inline hockey classes, starting with a skills and drills class. Let me tell you, this kid is amazing. He's roller skated once or twice, but never inline. At the first class, he spent more time on the floor than he did skating. Within two hours of coming home from that first class, he wanted to get on his skates and practice. He put in lots of time after school to get better at skating, and it's paid off tenfold. He is having a blast and learning a lot. He wants to go on and play in a league!

Ethel continued to read and read and read this year. She became a patrol, keeping watch over the second graders during their lunch and recess. Her biggest complaint was that they little ones liked to steal her snacks from her lunch. When we attended the 2nd and 3rd grade concert for Fred, Ethel watched the 2nd graders with a big smile on her face, and some of the little ones called out to her with real excitement. She also joined chorus this year, which she has chosen to keep going with in junior high next year. The band geek in me was thrilled when she chose to try orchestra! My tiny little peanut picked the cello, of all instruments. Thank goodness for half sizes. She did so well, we are so proud of her. The grand finale was Girls on the Run. The staff site coordinator sucked some major lemons and there was a bully in the group, but, Ethel enjoyed it nonetheless. I was fired as her running buddy for the 5K this year in favour of Daddy. She not only did well, she killed her times from the previous two years and it was awesome.

We uncovered some new challenges with Fred, while some of the issues with Ethel seemed to calm. Overall, I think we ended the year with a win. I could complain, but it's not going to get me any free wine, so to heck with it!

When it comes down to it, we have two healthy kids who have a healthy resentment of parental authority, sharp senses of humour, and who aren't on the radar of the authorities. We are blessed by these little beings who teach us, challenge us, and remind us that the word fart is really pretty funny.

Last day. Happier.

Last day. Cool.

I tried really hard to upload some more pictures but they're all sideways and upside down and I don't have the patience. Argh.

Not a Pintrest mom

Sure, I have a blog. That's about as fancy as this mom gets. I also have ADD, which is a big contributor to my absence from blogging the last couple years. I get easily overwhelmed when life is happening, so trying to capture the flurry of activity in my brain for someone outside that brain to digest is often impossible for me. When you're responsible for two smaller-than-you humans and everything that has to do with their everything, something has to give. Unfortunately, as much as I love being here, blogging is expendable in my daily life. Add that the laptop at home died, and there you have it, folks.

That said, my brain almost literally explodes at the thought of more digital influence in my life. We have cable TV, I have a cell phone, a Facebook account, and I have this little blog. Oh, and a husband, kids, and a full time job outside the home, too. My little brain is pretty full trying to remember my kids' names, where I work, and all the millions of passwords for different web sites, all of which are "unique" and "smart" (most are smarter than I). Every so often I get to read a book (made out of paper) for my book club and try to retain what I've read so I can talk about it when we gather.

I derail somewhat easily when I'm not "in the zone". OK, so I just derail easily. It can take me just a few minutes to pound out a blog entry, or even a lengthy e-mail, when I am inspired. When I'm not inspired or "in the zone" it can take days. I've started blog entries countless times over the last two years, even ones which have a specific topic or purpose. Suddenly, the wind blows, I see dishes in the sink, I have to eat, I have to pee, wait - shiny rock! I rethink sentences, rewrite paragraphs, delete, rewrite, then I decide to try again later. Later becomes next week, next month, you get the idea.

If I had to try to keep track of pins, boards, swipes, taps, whatever - I'd lose my sanity and most likely my job. I have enough time suckers as it is. They're 11 and 9 years old. It's bad enough to try to set Candy Crush aside for 9 hours while I'm at work, but, if I knew that there were cute crafts and life hacks that could help me bond with my kids or save me money and time, I would go insane! Seeing how inept I am when it's tossed at me on Facebook is one thing, but for entire websites to tease and taunt me, my self-esteem would take a huge nose dive. It's hard enough to make sure I am tucking the right kids into bed at night, I can't keep track of the millions of cute ways to use clothes pins.

I have recommitted myself to my health, my fitness, controlling ADD symptoms and improving my focus. Much of this is thanks to putting healthy eating back to the forefront. I find that when I'm focused on eating well, back to my Paleo ways, my mind does much better. When I'm running more, my sanity is much better. My hope is that I can keep eating right, blog when I think of it, and get my body running more miles.

That's all for now. It's time to get more coffee and brace myself for the last day of school. Until the next entry...

Time passes quickly

I was driving to the grocery store on Saturday in the rain. I really don't like grocery shopping, and I like it less in the rain. I didn't have the kids with me, so I guess it could have been worse.

I came to a stop light and noticed something in the car ahead of me. I hadn't noticed that the rain had stopped. From the rear window of the car in front of me, a tiny little hand reached out toward the sky. Curious little fingers reaching out, probably trying to see if they could touch the clouds in the sky, the car in the next lane, or maybe even just to feel the breeze. The little hand had sweet, chubby little fingers with dimpled knuckles. I caught myself with a huge smile on my face.

After the smile, I began to find tears on my cheeks. Where did that shit come from? It's a Saturday afternoon. My son is at a party for three hours, my daughter is at home with my husband, and I AM ALONE TO GROCERY SHOP. What is wrong with me? I waited YEARS to have this kind of implied freedom!

What's wrong with me? Exactly what I said. My son is old enough to be at a party without his parents. My daughter is old enough to be home doing something that doesn't require constant supervision by her parents aside from making sure she doesn't escape or light something on fire. Escape? Maybe....no. I digress.

The small child in the car in front of me is a reminder that those days are long gone for me. My kids' hands are almost as big as mine. They're creeping up to nearly as tall as I am. They are finishing fifth and third grades in less than 48 hours. It wasn't that long ago that I was a blubbering mess trying to grasp sending Ethel to kindergarten. Now I'm a blubbering mess watching those cute little matchstick fingers wave in the air from the window of that car. I flashed back to the days of long distance commercials that would reduce me to a small puddle on the floor in a mere 28 seconds.

I finally gathered my blubbering mess together and got my shopping done and drove home. You'd think the whole thing was over at this point, wouldn't you? Think again. As I opened the door and entered our family room, my daughter turned and looked in my direction. There stood this beautiful, gawky, long-limbed tween that has inhabited the being of my first born. She's more praying mantis than child these days with growth spurts forcing her arms and legs to unnatural looking lengths. There is a confidence in her face that I'm envious of. She is so sure of herself as she looks to see what she hears, then rolls her eyes as she realizes it's just me. She is caught between the toothless little girl without a care, and the tall drink of water who thinks she's OK to call her parents by their first names and sling insults at them like it's sport. She is teetering on that fine line between sitting in Daddy's lap and slamming her bedroom door for privacy. She is a skilled eye roller, "NO" yeller, and foot stomper. She is fighting for independence while trying desperately to hang on to the last threads of early childhood.

The hits keep coming. It's now time to collect Fred from the birthday party I deposited him at earlier. Gone are the days when my kids would run to me and cry, "Mommy" and jump into my arms. Today they'd knock me down and I'd be in traction if they did that, so I guess I'm OK with that part being over. Clearly, the hosts were pretty done with the room full of eight and nine year olds, as I heard, "Fred, your mom's here!" before I even got to the door. The collective groan from the kids was not exactly silent, and then I got "the stare". You know, the "why are you here already?" look that's tossed at you from behind innocent little eyes. He just looked at me with such disgust that I would dare come to pick him up and take him home when he was having a perfectly good time with his friends. Sorry, Kid, you're coming home with me. Seeing him in a room of his peers was all I needed to see to know that this boy is no longer my little guy (the size of his shoes should have told me that, duh). He looked older, grown up, more, well, grown up.

All in one day, I had this gross realization that my kids are getting older. Recently, Ethel reminded me that I am, too, by telling me she looks nothing like me because...wait for it...."you have wrinkles". Thanks, girlie.

In a couple days, Ethel will leave the halls of elementary school and enter the big bad world of junior high school. Fred will become a fourth grader and be near the top of the food chain of the grade school. Holy hell, how did that happen?

I am so glad that I had a little money in the budget for a bottle of wine to enjoy that night. I'm more glad that we had the evening free and could nestle ourselves on the couches to try to watch a movie together...until the kids picked something I just couldn't stomach, even with wine, so I left them to watch their movie. Just the two of them. Enjoying a summer night together at home. And I know these nights won't last forever.

June 5, 2013

June 5, 2016

Cheers.

I've met my match, but I will win

The miracle of life....a few years into it...

I have always loved children. From a very early age, I knew that I was going to grow up and be a mom. I was drawn to children, even while I was still a child (in hindsight) myself. After years and years of babysitting and caring for other peoples' children, I kind of had a vision of how I wanted to raise my own kids eventually. Mine was not the romantic vision of perfectly swaddled, sleeping babies and fancy clothes and cute little voices saying, 'I love you' {but, let's admit, who doesn't long for the day when they first hear that, right?}. No, my vision was well seeded in the reality of baby bottles, puke, poop, late nights, and food smeared everywhere but in their mouths.

As a caregiver, it's easy to have all the answers. Even when I worked in the child care industry, it was easy to judge from my $6.75/hour administrative pedestal and wonder how some parents got out of bed every day, let alone how they kept a small human alive from day to day. The truth is, just like pregnancy and child birth, there are secrets that other parents know that they aren't going to tell you. It's the only way the human race can continue, because if you knew what you were in for before you 'took the job', the end of humankind would be upon us faster than Taylor Swift can write another breakup song. When you're single and the only thing that depends on you shits in a box and only looks at you when they want to, it's hard to understand the gravity of what having a child really does to you.

Looking back, that spinal block and morphene drip in the delivery room were a cake walk compared to having to guide a child through the murky waters of childhood. And what I wouldn't give for that drip almost every other day.The warning nobody issues to future or even new parents - that thing is going to learn to talk someday.

Once you become a parent, you kind of get this false sense of having your act together. Heck, you might have your own place, a job, a car, and you and your partner figure you want to do your part to show parents everywhere how it's done and become parents yourselves. You get cocky. Good for you. Little do we know, when we reach that point, that we are soon to become the dumbest people on the planet. At least according to the little creatures we bring into the world.

I have a hot temper. Over the years, I've developed coping mechanisms to deal with it, and overall, I think the fact that I haven't murdered anyone is pretty good testament to my anger management skills. I don't support cannibalism, nor do I much like the mere thought of anything raw, but one thing that parenting has taught me - I fully understand why in some species, mothers eat their young. Fully. 100%. I get it.

After going through it twice, I can handle the trials and tribulations that come with the toddler stage. It's a stage, it passes, and if you're lucky, the kid still wants a hug and a kiss at bed time. If you're even luckier, they will eat their vegetables.

I enjoy watching the human baby grow and develop. From learning to breathe air outside the womb, to holding their head up, to recognizing their name, to self feeding, to walking and talking, I am all about those early years. For me, there's something so cool about being there to be part of this awesome thing called human development. Things start to go south for me, though, once autonomy begins to play a larger role. Don't get me wrong, I'm equally mystified by the human child expanding their world and learning about letters, numbers, shapes, and animals. That first recitation of the alphabet is like magic. The first time. By the 3,289th recitation, you start to count the minutes until bed time.

Being the adult, you also figure you've got the upper hand and you know more than the human child that sits next to you at the dinner table. Of course you do. With decades of life experience and years of education behind you, you've got it covered and you can't wait to share what you know with your little dumpling. Suddenly, though, you start to make simple mistakes. You're calling things by the wrong name. You're forgetting promises you made minutes before. You start to think that perhaps you haven't actually caught up on all that lost sleep from those first few colicky months, or that you shouldn't have had that last beer the night before because it's fogging your ability to recall or think clearly.

Then it dawns on you.

I'm arguing over snack choices with a seven year old. And I'm losing.

You can remember all 7,329 passwords you have at work, and the other 2,437 you have at home, but you somehow forgot that you told that little girl she could have a chocolate chip cookie when she came home from school, and you mistakenly offered her crackers. You are a horrible human being. You are hurting people.

The next thing you know, you're referring to a piece of paper that is NOT A WORKSHEEET, IT'S HOMEWORK! And before you know it, you slip off the edge and you're asking about today's gym class and WE' DIDN'T HAVE GYM TODAY!!!! What the hell is wrong with you????

Faced with tears, angry scowls, and accusations that you are mean and "don't love me", you grovel and beg for forgiveness, apologize and make more promises that you'll surely forget, and do anything you can to make this better - and stop the tears. Oh stop the tears. They get me every time.

Do you need to go back to your therapist and get tips for sharpening the mind? More ginko biloba in your diet? Leave yourself notes? Switch to decaf? Maybe more caff?

Children have a knack for beating parents into submission, and parents have an uncanny ability to submit to this treatment. Looking back at my days working in day care, I wish I'd understood why parents were all but kicking their kids out in the parking lot in the morning, or why they were barely saying to good bye to me after leaving pizza money on the counter when I babysat on Friday nights. They needed relief. They needed the reassurance of other adults that they were not, indeed, losing their minds. Well, they may have been, but, they needed to know they weren't alone. All parents are losing their minds.

I am lucky to be surrounded by a wonderful community of mothers, and we all share our stories and advice and successes and failures. It's the only thing that's kept me off the heavy meds, out of the ward, and out of the social service system. Honestly, I never imagined that having a second grader would drive me to truly question my own sanity.

I am about as stubborn as they come. Deep down, I'm open and honest and as I've gotten older, I've learned to keep an open mind and to keep my cool when I want most to rip someone's head off. Still, I will be the first to flip to devil's advocate without warning, and heaven forbid you try to tell me what I like, want, or "have to" do.

My daughter, as my mother always wished, is so much like me. She's emotional, warm, caring, and sweeter than honey, but if you ever call that paper in her backpack a 'worksheet', you'd better hope your life insurance is paid in full.

This is not to say that I haven't passed this important life skill on to my son. Fred is passionate, funny, and determined, and he's a boy who knows what he wants, and knows what he hears. I'm still trying to determine if there are other voices he's hearing, or if perhaps I frequently speak in tongues, because he tends to hear things that I am fairly certain aren't being spoken. Who am I to say, though, I'm just a parent, and am learning that I am not the smartest one in the home.

Every generation looks back and thinks, "If I ever spoke to my parents the way children speak today...", and "We couldn't even use a calculator in school", and the most famous of all, "I had to walk to and from school every day....". But who ever imagines that they're going to be the parent in that successive generation where their kids do talk that way, or do use a calculator in school, or {insert shudder} get a ride to school when it snows?

In recent years I've picked up running. I've never before seen this competitive side of myself which comes out through my running. It has spilled over into my parenting in many ways. I'm the competi-mom, and I see that pouring out of my kids. Ethel took AR tests in kindergarten like it was a paying job, trying to beat her BFF and her brother. Fred tries to keep up with his sister, and then surpass her in everything from how quickly to scarf down a bowl of cereal to getting to the top of the stairs first (and usually at any cost).

Now, I am finding myself going head-to-head with my children. They think they are smarter than I, they think they can break me. They think I will submit. Oh, how sadly wrong they are. I will call that piece of paper a worksheet. I will offer whatever the hell I want to for a snack. I'm stubborn like that.

In the last few months I have come to realize that I've become the putty my children are trying to mold me into. Rather than standing my ground and demanding certain things, I have fallen victim to years of sleep deprivation, nonsense words, big brown and blue eyes, and sweet hugs and kisses, and I'm losing ground. I am coming back, though, I recognize my enemy(ies), and I see the light at the end of the tunnel. I am the mom. I am stubborn.

I have decided to fight the good fight and take my children along the path that I so carefully laid out in the years before they came into my life. Well, it's more of the frontage road to the path, there are some u-turns, it's kind of bumpy, and the lines need to be repainted, but I'm taking them on it.

Some days are better than others. Some days require more wine than others. Then more coffee. And in the end, a good run always helps me clear my mind and regain the knowledge that I lose when losing the battle of wills over worksheets, gym class, and what I will serve for a snack.

A nice evening with a book and some wine...

Kiss the last child good night.  
Go downstairs and find your book.  
Pour a nice glass of wine, grab a blanket, and spent two minutes situating yourself on the couch with said book and glass of wine.

Open your book, enter the story and feel the words pouring from the page, feel luxurious as you enjoy time with a book for the first time in recent memory.

{pitter patter of little feet entering the room}
"Mommy, I'm scared".

Emerge from the comfort of the couch, put down the wine and book, return child to bed.  Rub her back, kiss her forehead, leave her room.

Go back to the couch, sit, sip, cover, open, read...

{step, step, step...}
"Mommy, the cats are bothering me".

Return child to bed.  Tuck her in, stroke her hair, kiss her forehead, leave the room.

Sit, sip, cover, open, read....


{thud, thud, thud....}
"Mommy, I need another hug, I can't sleep...".


Silently return child to bed.  Tuck in, kiss forehead, warn of negative impact of leaving the room one more time.  Leave the room.


Sit, sip, cover, open......


Cat jumps onto coffee table.  Cat leaves a nice 'gift' on the table and your magazines.  


Get up, clean up the 'gift', clean the table.


Return to couch.  Yawn.  Look at the clock.  Open the book.  Read...


Wake up one hour later on the couch, go upstairs to your own bed, try again tomorrow.

Opening doors

I spent the lunch hour with my new friend today.  I have to get these thoughts out before they disappear, and they're flowing too quickly for me to hand write. :)

First, she reassured me that I'm in a discovery mode since we diagnosed the ADD.  I'm connecting dots between my present and my past.  The dots have always been there, I'm just adding the connections now, so things I've always known are taking on new meaning for me.  This is, apparently, normal and is a positive step.  Whew!  I mentioned how much of what I remember from my past makes quite a bit of sense to me now.  My Sunday me time was a bit of a challenge because I'd been out later the night before, so I was pretty tired.  It's normal for people to not be at the top of their game when they're tired, and for me it's a little more challenging as I deal with the symptoms of ADD.  Never was that more painful for me than when I was a child.  I don't function well on little sleep, and now that whole thing has come together in my mind.  I wasn't a bad kid, and things I did and said weren't just part of my personality.  There's the key.  I can now recategorize things about myself!  It's not "just how I am" or "part of my personality".  It's a result of the ADD (in many cases), and my personality has been shaped as a result of the way I do things or the way I handle things.  Very intersting perspective.

I went on to talk about my Fancy Nancy day with Ethel this weekend.  Somehow this snowballed and morphed into a discussion about my parents, their parents, and it just flowed from my mind.  I talked about my father quite a bit, which is the first time I'd brought him up to my new friend.  It was interesting how my father from my childhood could have as much to do with my expectations of my husband's role in my life as it does.  I think another door has opened which I should enter and explore what's inside.

I feel less blame on myself as Mother today.  I feel actually that I'm doing a decent job, and I'm doing right by my kids.  I don't always feel that way, but, after my lunch hour with my new friend, I do feel a bit better.  I look forward to another lunch with my new friend, and exploring what's behind more doors.