Let the dishes wait a minute

My husband went out of town last week and I’m not totally sure when he’ll be back. Three minutes after he left, I missed his face. Three minutes after I missed his face, I missed the extra set of hands to help with all the household tasks that pile up and sap my will to live. Three minutes after that, I got sick. Naturally. Because if life is going to pile on the stress, it will definitely pile it on all at once. Because, well, that’s life.

I spent two days laying in bed. I didn’t even really sleep. My only symptoms were my entire body ached and my head felt completely fuzzy. Oh, and I felt incapable of remaining upright. So I mostly channel surfed, read, and wished I felt better. Friday I probably could have gotten up and accomplished something productive at 2:00 in the afternoon. But since I knew I was flying solo for Halloween shenanigans, I opted to save my strength for that night. Good call.

I then used the saved up strength to deliver crap to a neighborhood party. My husband had volunteered a table and an appetizer. I had stupidly volunteered an ice chest of water simultaneously. You can’t very well back out at the last minute when you are the one producing the table everyone’s crap is going to go on. But all of it required effort to produce. And by “produce” I mean I ordered wings from Papa Johns and heated them up in time for the party. Don’t judge. They were having pizza at the party. This was an acceptable item to bring. 

This was an acceptable kid to bring.  Iron Patriot.  Someone had to explain to me who he was.  I have been assured he did not make this character up.

The harder part was the folding table and cooler. Both required me to be upright while putting forth effort. The table had to be cleared off and wiped down. The cooler required locating and filling.

Does it make me a bad person if I momentarily just wanted to sweep everything off the table onto the floor?

Then they had to be drug down the street. Not sure why I felt the need to carry the table by hand rather than using a dolly. Also not clear why my daughter danced along next to me the whole way instead of helping me carry it. Such are the mysteries of motherhood.


No dogs were harmed in the staging of this photo of Katniss Everdeen and her bow and arrow. 

 And we hadn’t even trick or treated yet. Or gotten anyone dressed and out the door. Sheesh.

Iron Patriot and Katniss flexing their muscles for no apparent reason.

My daughter had friends coming over to trick or treat with us. My son was ready to leave an hour early. I successfully made small talk with other parents and stayed upright for a two full hours. I’m counting it as a win. Especially because my evening wasn’t over. Next up, drag all the crap back down the block to our house. Drop daughter at sleepover. Eat candy and cuddle the only baby left in the house for the night.

By 9:30 I raised the white flag and laid my head down on my pillow. I told my 8 year old son to turn off the television and go to bed at 10:00. I don’t know that he’s particularly trustworthy to accomplish that, but the cooties convinced me I didn’t care and his sugar high appeared to be wearing off. He took “turn off the television and go to bed” as turn out the television and go to sleep right there in bed next to me. I know this because his cold feet were pressed up on my thighs right around 3 am. Around 5 am he flopped over and began breathing on my right eye.

That morning, we got up and had breakfast together. Nothing special. Just the usual. I had two sinks overflowing with dishes, the kitchen floor was a mess, the trash needed to be taken out, the fridge needed to be cleaned out, grocery shopping needed to be done and we had volleyball, soccer and dance looming ahead on the schedule for the day. But my eight year old had had a fun night the night before, eaten his fill of candy, slept in Daddy’s spot in our bed and he was loving life as the only baby in the house. Plus he got to love life as the only baby in the house while sorting and counting Halloween candy. He radiated happiness and contentment. He rambled on uninterrupted telling me his every thought. 

And all my troubles fell away in that moment. And life was bright and shiny and sweet. It’s November and a good time to be thankful. So it was nice to have a moment that brought me back to feeling thankful. Because I am. For him and each day with him and her and their father. Even if their father is far away and can’t wash dishes for me right now.
So I sat myself down next to him and let the dishes wait a little while.

And the universe repaid me by giving me a great day followed by another great day. We watched Galaxy Quest and laughed. We went grocery shopping and they actually retrieved items we needed from aisles on the other side of the store. Yes, a case of Propel appeared in my cart. Yes, so did a roll of Gum Tape. But no one freaked the hell out or thought about killing anyone. And at one point my sweet babies even tried to convince me I look like I’m in my 20s.

Love notes from my babies.   They either love me or plan to hit me up for an X Box tonight.

My glass is officially half full.

Pull up a seat

Dinner out with my kids looks a lot like this: 

Lack of personal space pretty much sums it up.  Your eyes silently calling for someone to save you is also worth mentioning though.

I remember when they were small and dinner would be like roping cats just attempting to keep them in their seat and not screaming or crying. If you had a one to one ratio of parents to cats, you stood a good chance of succeeding. But there would be little to no adult conversation. You’d mostly just be happy someone else did the cooking and you wouldn’t have to wash any dishes at the end.  

I predict someone is about to get licked.

If the parents were outnumbered by the kids back when they were really small, oh, hell. Any other grown adult at that table is going to have to come off the bench and sub in. That’s the price of doing business when you dine with someone with small kids. Nothing is more amusing than the face of someone with no children trying to reason with your unreasonable child.

We quickly learned the tricks of the trade. How to slowly dispense Cheerios to keep a toddler busy. How handing over your car keys is a last resort toy. How to color with a kid while chatting with another grown adult. And never underestimate the benefit of going to restaurants that serve bread before the meal. My kids are good for a whole loaf of brown bread at Outback.

Even better, we’ve recently discovered that carefully slicing the bread and buttering it for everyone keeps the 8 year old occupied. If you’re willing to put up with slightly mauled bread that’s heavy on the butter, you just bought yourselves 7 minutes of quiet, sir. Genius.

Places that let kids refill their own drink are also useful. Pretty sure the other grown adults don’t enjoy watching my son making a suicide concoction out of every flavor. But I don’t care, other grown adults. That kid is endlessly entertained. Both by the making as well as the showing and discussing when he returns to the table. But places with refills are typically places with drive thru windows. That’s barely a step above my own cooking. Sometimes a girl wants to eat somewhere with a waiter that fills your glass for you. Don’t make you fancy schmancy. Could just mean you had a long week.

Bad lighting but proof that I was there.  Also proof that the cheep twisty crap toy things they give you can make entertaining fake glasses for all ages.

Sometimes if we’re in the market to not have to hear our kids’ voices, we’ll hand over our cell phones and enjoy the peace and quiet until they discover the WiFi isn’t working. Periodically, my husband and I can actually talk about our day.

We’ve also gone through periods where our daughter would take a book to the restaurant. Many was the Rainbow Magic fairy book that got read while tuning the rest of us out. Not going to lie. Wasn’t entirely unpleasant being tuned out.

But truthfully, hearing their voices ain’t always so bad at the end of the day. Especially as they’ve gotten older and can have an actual conversation. Not necessarily a stimulating conversation, mind you. But a conversation. So mostly we just yammer and shovel food in our face when we go out.

There are painfully bad jokes. Stories with no point. I try to convince the kids I’m secretly Hannah Montana and put on concerts in the backyard after they go to bed. My husband tries to trick my daughter into thinking we’re taking her to get the cell phone she's been asking for after dinner. There’s bickering. There’s teasing. And there’s question after question after question after question after question.

And next thing you know everyone wants to cram on the same side of the booth. The prized spot being right between my husband and I. That’s assuming he and I were allowed to sit on the same side to begin with. But if our side seems cramped, I’ll be darned if people don’t just start trying to shove themselves into the end of the seat and hanging off your neck.

And then people are touching your face or licking your nose. Slightly gross but sweet and funny. If your salad has croutons, you can count on my son’s grubby hand reaching in and taking them. If you are having a baked potato, you may as well cut off part to give to her.

 Your water glass may end up on the other side of the table. Your wine glass becomes a prop for a horrible French accent impression. The paper your straw comes wrapped in shot across the table at someone that’s not looking.

I’ll miss it when they’re big enough to realize it’s just dinner.

Time and attention

My son was born a couple days before Christmas. I call him my Christmas baby. That is a nice way of saying we screwed him over with a rough birthday.

There will never be a class party on his birthday marching around the classroom handing out cupcakes. Because school is out by his birthday. One year he lucked into his birthday being the very last day of school. Except the class Christmas party was going on and there was enough Christmas candy handed out to choke a horse. It was like herding cats and his cupcakes would have just piled more sugar on top of the sugar.

One year when he was in daycare we tried doing it on the actual birthday and only maybe 2 of his buddies were still there and the rest were kids from other classes he didn’t know as well and that we didn’t know as well and it just felt forced.

There’s also no giant shin dig on his birthday with all his buddies. Because half the free world is either traveling or has guests or is off gallivanting to family and events. So any party with his friends has to be moved to a different day.

To make up for the lame date on the calendar, we make an effort to pick something fun for him to do just the 4 of us on his actual birthday. We did a Lego type place one year. Last year we did Medieval Times. This year we had big secret plans cooked up to go to an amusement park. I bought him a giant thing of Star Wars Legos. I planned to take him to pick out his own cake. So I’m thinking I’m gold.

Excited that the guy with the blue arm and cracked up face  is in this set.  Not gonna lie.  Totally noticed that when I picked it out and knew he had his eye on that guy.  Well played, Momma. Well played.

Except then a typhoon swept into town. Um. Yeah. Cold and wet and windy is code for no amusement park. Plan B was going to be a big arcade thing we thought they had in the mall. I’m feeling back on track.

He picked breakfast. He was delighted. Then we had to wait for his sister to get back from a dance party so we hit a craft store and let him pick out something messy and frivolous. He had too many choices and looked like a deer in the headlights but we talked him down from the ledge.

Then we took a group outing to the world’s most crowded REI. That kid is a chip off the old block and hates shopping as much as his father. The only thing he hates more than shopping is shopping at a store that doesn’t sell Legos or Star Wars crap. We finally headed out to sit in 40 minutes of mall traffic. And then we got to the mall and the arcade place had closed last year. Um. Yeah. Failure to plan is planning to fail. Everyone on Pinterest knows that so why don’t I? 

See.  And if it's on Pinterest, you know it's true.

Lest our trip to the mall be a waste, the newest 8 year old picked out a cookie cake. I’d hate to think brushing shoulders with that many of the great unwashed masses would be for nothing. Because I felt very unwashed by the time we left that mall.

I’d also like to know how anyone accomplishes any actual shopping when the mall is that shoulder to shoulder crowded. It’s a few step down from Bourbon Street during Mardi Gras but barely. And at least Bourbon Street during Mardi Gras doesn’t have all the baby strollers cutting you off. I was about to freak the hell out if one more female decided to stop the flow of traffic so she could lean into a baby carrier and wipe a kid’s face. Seriously. If you wouldn’t come to a complete stop in the middle of a highway to do that, I don’t know why you think your fellow mall patrons are going to appreciate your double wide stroller doing it in front of Gymboree. Pull to the side, woman.

But my patience also might have been shot by then from dragging the newest 8 year old clear across the mall to the store that was supposed to have funny shirts my husband likes only to discover the store had nothing remotely worth my time. And the only thing more fun than dragging him there was dragging the newest 8 year old back across the mall empty handed to where we parked. Pretty sure that kid thought I was trying to torture his soul. 

The clue was he changes in a phone booth and puts on his cape.  My father guessed Darth Vader.  Smartest guy I know.  Zero knowledge of pop culture or entertainment.  Too funny.

We piled back in the car and headed home. Then we did what we do best. We let that kid pick somewhere for dinner and had takeout. Then we had some cake, some presents and played Head’s Up, the new game based on the game from the Ellen show. You put cards on your head and everyone tries to get you to say what’s on the card. While it was the birthday kid's turn with the cards on his head, he cluelessly tried to figure out the answers and looked beyond delighted to have an entire table full of people staring at him.

That’s when it dawned on me. That’s this kid’s idea of a great day. Any group activity that’s fun and has him right in the center. Our time and attention are his favorite things. Easy to please and I had forgotten. I wished I’d just spent the whole day doing more of that and to hell with the rest.

 I felt bad for being grouchy to my husband when the day wasn’t going the way I’d hoped. When the newest 8 year old had trouble picking in the craft store. When the mall was a nightmare. When traffic sucked. When we had to run errands instead of putting on a dog and pony show for the kid. I felt bad for thinking I ruined his birthday by not making it special enough. I felt bad for being mad at myself. I felt bad way more than I should have.

It’s the little things in life.  Appreciate them all and enjoy the ride and whereever it takes you errands and all. The days are long but the years are short. Being at that table with us won’t always make him that over the moon happy. Someday, he may not even want to be at that table with us. But while he does, be at the table with him. Fully.  

A kid and his cake.  I die.

Put down the phone. Turn off the computer. Ignore the dishes in the sink. Ignore your mental to do list. And enjoy. Try really, really hard not to focus on planning and trying to make it everything. Being there and participating and enjoying is the important stuff.

And that ain’t just for my Christmas baby’s birthday. It’s true for holidays, too. Not to mention every other day of the week and twice on Sundays!

Hug your loved ones tight and hold them just a little bit longer than usual. Listen more closely when you talk to them on the phone instead of multitasking. It ain’t the crap wrapped up and and tied with a bow that makes people's day.

Happy Holidays from me and my cluttered chaos to you. Peace, health and happiness to all.

The Clampetts went camping

I fell back into the Breaking Bad well last week. I blame this on mistakenly thinking season 5 only had 8 episodes which seemed like a breeze to get through.  I blame that mistake on Netflix for not making it clear that there were 2 parts to Season 5.  And I blame that madness on the crazy Breaking Bad people because what the hell is 2 parts of 1 season.  That's 2 seasons, bro.  Part 1 even ended with an exciting cliffhanger. Seriously. That’s called a season finale. The next episode is a new season not part 2. Whatev.

I managed to tear myself away from Breaking Bad long enough to agree to go on a family camp out with my 7 year old’s new Cub Scout pack.

2 nights. Tent. Cold. And I wore a headlamp to dinner. I got tired of taking it off and on so at one point I just kind of pushed it back like a headband and wore it while chatting with other grown adults. What has become of me. 

The 7 year old was in heaven the entire time. This is a kid that wanted to be in Cub Scouts last year and his mother somehow dodged it while her husband was traveling extensively last year. This year there was no dodging. Not for lack of trying. But because that kid was hell bent on Cub Scouts. He brought me the flyer. He chatted me up repeatedly. He willingly offered to give up every other activity he holds near and dear in exchange for joining Cub Scouts. But the icing on the cake was that the kid that never knows the date and time of anything and would forget his head if it wasn’t screwed on committed the first meeting to memory and reminded me every day for the week leading up to it. Only a scum bag would blow him off. So we didn’t.

One person in this photo is excited heading off on a camping adventure.  One person in this photo can't believe she's stuck sitting next to her brother for 2 hours. 

So far it mostly resembles herding cats. And so far I’m mostly just thankful I’m not in charge of the herding. But my son loves it. Like big puffy heart loves it. This proves useful when he wants to behave like a jerk during piano lessons. A couple threats about returning his brand new Cub Scout uniform to the store and all was right in the world again.

Camping was new territory for us though. Our kids have only ever camped in a tent in the living room. Taking our tent outside was a big step. Taking our tent outside 2 hours from our house was an even bigger step.

Plus I’m not much of an outdoorsy girl. I enjoy sleeping on a mattress that doesn’t blow up, changing clothes regularly and central heat and air. For that matter, I like being able to get up to go to the bathroom at 3 am without it being a whole event. I drink a lot of water. I’m going to have to go. It shouldn’t require a headlamp, a coat, flip flops and wandering half asleep through the night hoping no other grown adults see me like that. I would also like it noted that there is no quiet way to get out of a tent with 4 people in it. Just sayin. Also sayin car alarms going off at 6 am are a complete party foul.

 

But the trip was fun. It’s mostly fun now that I reflect back on it 3 days later. Mid camping trip I was mostly sleep deprived and hoping to make it through dinner without going full crab cake on anyone. But my son was in heaven and that makes it exponentially more fun to reflect back on.

He was looking at animal tracks. He was picking out a walking stick and helping to smooth it down. And he wore the same clothes for two days. He tried wearing them for three days but managed to submerge the lower half of his body in water while walking by the lake. My husband tried to tell me he could just wear them wet despite the fact that the sun was going down soon. I tried to tell him I wasn’t ready to go full Clampett and that we packed extra pants for a reason. Deploy the new pants and be done with it.

Too bad someone let the world’s spaciest 2nd grader pack for himself. I’m not saying you can’t let a 2nd grader pack. I’m just saying you should maybe spot check his choices. Because if you don’t he may choose capris with a hole in the knee when the temperatures are going to be in the 40s. My husband suggested rolling the hem of the capris up a little so they looked less high water. I guess he was thinking someone would confuse our kid with Huck Finn. He mostly looked insane and they unrolled eventually anyway. I suggested we just embrace the crazy. Can’t be any worse than his mother wearing the head lamp to dinner anyway.

I'd subject the interwebs to photos of the camping shenanigans except my trusty iPhone battery died 3 minutes after I got out of the car.  So for everyone keeping score at home, I was wearing a head lamp, sleeping on the ground, sleep deprived and cut of from civilization.   On the downside, I had a lot of photos to scroll through on Instagram.  On the upside, it's not half bad unplugging for 3 days and reminding yourself of the important things in life.

I die.

Someday when that little 2nd grader is a grown adult and tries to tell me I never did anything for him, I will tote out this camping trip as an example of just how wrong he is. This female ain’t sleeping with her face shoved into the side of a tent for her health. I got sucked into the vortex of cute that is an excited little Cub Scout in his new uniform. Sigh.

Crowd Pleasers

The traveling circus that is my household hit up a local carnival recently. I’d pretend it was hell except it was actually a lot of fun. 

My daughter hung out with a friend instead of us. That’s cool. We didn’t want to be seen with her anyway.

She probably would have been more inclined to hang out with us if I hadn’t given her $20. My husband seemed to think that was a complete Daddy Warbucks move.  Inside his head, it’s 1972 and she shouldn’t have been given more than $2. He seemed confused when I pointed out that one carnival ride costs $3.

The Italian Stallion videotaping his ride with his phone.  Just asking for that phone to fly out of his hands, too, I might add. 

Our son did not have the good fortune of ditching us for a friend. He was stuck sandwiched between us on several rides. We were stuck having our necks thrown out of whack by the crappy shocks on the carnival rides.

But it was fun. I Tilt-A-Whirl’d the hell out of two small children and even the carnie ride operator complimented me on the way out. Either that or he was mackin’ on my fineness. I was wearing my fugly visor though so odds are it was my above average tilting skills. But I’ll take the compliment.

A photo of a pole, my son's hands but no face and some random kid that rode with us.  I gave my husband my phone to take a picture. .  Guess I should have specified that I'd like to be able to see my face in the photo. 

We were well on our way to being done at the carnival and ready for a heavy dose of hand sanitizer but  then my husband spotted our daughter and her friend with a fresh funnel cake in hand. He offered to hold it while they used their last tickets on another ride. And then we got to wait in line to buy another funnel cake to replace theirs.  It mysteriously ended up getting inhaled by two clowns. 

One second the Italian Stallion and his little mini me are conducting a quality control taste test to be sure the funnel cake's not poisoned.  That's standard operating procedure in our house.  But I look away for a second to watch my daughter laughing away on the swinging chairs and next thing I know there's a powered sugar explosion on the front of my husband's shirt and he's asking how much the funnel cakes cost. 

As soon as I got my cell phone out to photograph the sugar explosion, my husband had his little minion brush the sugar off his chest while he brushed off his face.   Too bad grease doesn't brush off as easily.

The most amusing part of the carnival was getting home. My daughter came with her friend but left with us. Except we rode our bikes there. So there were 4 people and 3 bikes. Being the geniuses that we are, we sent the strongest bike rider off into the sunset for reinforcement. Two bikes and one adult stayed with the kids and we started walking towards home.

We didn’t really discuss the plan when the strongest bike rider left but I guess I thought him getting reinforcement was going to mean an SUV we could toss the bikes in. He thought it meant our family sedan. My son hopped right in and left me and his sister for dead with two bikes. One of which was his bike I might add. Chivalry is clearly dead.  I know because my husband and son drove over it leaving two ladies behind to huff it home.

Attempting to win a giant stuffed animal.  I don't even remember what kind of stuffed animal but I don't have any problem remembering we dropped $5 on the attempt.

Two weeks later we hit another little carnival my dad's work was putting on.  We inhaled more high fructose corn syrup and employed plenty of hand sanitizer.  The highlight of that one was the dunk tank. My kids didn’t even know the people inside the dunk tank but that didn't seem to matter. 

It was free and it never lost its humor when the guy fell in.  The line was consistently 10 kids deep.   My trainwreck of a 7 year old was on a role repeatedly going 3 for 3 dunking people. He hit a dry spell later and couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn. So naturally, he walked up and just pushed the button. Didn’t even run or try to pretend he wasn’t headed that way. Just sort of strolled up and pushed the button.

That kid’s a crowd pleaser.

Feeling the Rain

It rained recently where we live. Lots and lots of rain coming down. Lovely to curl up in bed and hear it pattering gently on the window. And lovely, apparently, to let your children play in without a care in the world.

That's straight out of Chapter 12 in the Clampett's for Life book of parenting. We live by it. So naturally those were our children in the alley behind our house splashing in the river.

 

We also discovered there was a lake at the end of the alley so we checked that out too. Exploring. That's another chapter in the book.

Although I went a little paranoid helicopter mom and decided we should explore with our flip flops on because this is random water in the street and it was starting to creep me out a little.  Rain is clean and rejuvenating.  Pooling water on your street is distinctly brown and more gag inducing if you think about it too much.  Flip flops it is.

But it's fun. A special kind of fun as they realize the whole activity is to just play in the rain.

This is a nut that knows how to embrace life.  Dirt, rain, tears, whatever.  Arms wide ready for it.  He will be a regular at the local emergency room but, man, is that kid going to have stories to tell.

Kids get so used to hustling to get out of the rain. They're so used to trying to stay dry. Watching them quietly settle into getting wet and embracing the rain as part of the fun is the stuff childhood is made off.  When I was a kid, I loved going out in the rain. Twirling, walking, running. Umbrella. No umbrella.

The world is such a quiet simple place when it's raining.  Less cars on the street.  Less neighbors out walking their dogs. I like that my kids had the benefit of each other out there in the rain with them. Life is more fun when there's someone to splash. Just ask my husband.

He gave the water a few splashes strictly for quality control purposes.  To be sure the splash quality was up to to snuff.   Naturally.

A good 30 minutes later and 2 dripping kids and we called it a day.   Not before a quick canonball contest in the pool on the way in though.  Because you're already wet and so what if the pool is freezing cold?  If you jump in, you won't even have time to worry about it.

It's funny how you can head home after a long day at the office with one idea of what your evening has in store for you.  And then life just steps in and takes your evening in a different direction.  A good kind of different direction.  Sweet and simple and laughing together.

Posing like pirates.  In the rain.  Don't the two go hand in hand?

Theses are the good days.    We'll pretend no one wept and pouted because the fun should never ever have to end regardless of what time it is and whether or not anyone has eaten dinner.  We'll also pretend that no one bickered with their brother over the toothpaste, her spot on the bed and the pee on the toilet seat. 

Good days aren't good because no one bickers.  Not to me anyway.  To me, good days are good because the joy and fun make the bickering just part of the noisy nonsense.  Good days make it easy to ignore the noisy nonsense and not let it ramp your stress level sky high.  I like to think of it as flying over the tree tops with the noise below me.  Because my house is hella noisy and chaotic.  Even on good days.   It's just about the good outweighing the noise and chaos.  It's fun when it does.  And this time it did.

A tiny little tributary of tears

I cried a river when my daughter started Kindergarten five years ago.  I've been fine every year since.  That includes my son starting Kindergarten two years ago. Him starting school left me semi sappy.  But it felt like the ball had already been rolling downhill since his sister started.

First day of 2nd grade.  Tried to convince me to let him wear a favorite shirt two days in a row.  We negotiated down to something clean and not hideous.  Winning. 

It also doesn't hurt that my son is the epitome of his father charging ahead to meet life and embrace it.  I've felt like I'm on borrowed time with that kid since the day he was born.  I just hope he remembers to call me when he heads off into the sunset for big adventures.  I will have his father hurt him if he forgets.   I will also track him down like a dog.   Specifically, a pit bull.  But I digress.

My husband's annual photo bomb. It's not the first day of school if that man's not intentionally lingering in the background making a funky face.

So  it surprised me a lot a when I cried a teeny tiny tributary the night before my daughter started fifth grade.  Nothing like the great Kindergarten Flood of 2008.  But still.  Because where did that come from?  This kid has been getting increasingly independent, bright as a bulb and confident to try new things and go places without us.  She's not a baby.  And I know this.  I’ve known this for awhile now. 

First day of fifth grade. 9 years old. Carefully styled ensemble.

It’s the letting go that’s hard.   I didn’t cry the night before she started fifth grade because I loved her so much.  Although I do.  And I didn’t cry the night before she started fifth grade because she looked like such a young lady.  Although she did.  

Curled hair.  Little foam rollers for the win.  On the bright side, she can put her own earrings in now.  On the downside, I get to put in hair curlers now instead.  

I cried instead because that ball rolling down the hill is picking up speed.  And that speed is taking her further and further away from the little baby.  

First day of Kindergarten.  So excited.  Hold me.

I have a million memories of that little baby. Sleepless nights.  The shoebox apartment.  Laying on the floor with her as a baby.  Traipsing through Walmart and handing her the same stupid baby toy to play with every time we went and then dumping it by the cash register right before we check out.   House hunting at night driving around when she had trouble falling asleep.  Taking her on long walks to wear her out before bedtime once she could walk.  The days when it was just the three of us.  Her father, her and I. 

I miss that baby.  I couldn’t possibly part with the young lady she is.  I'd be lost.  She's amazing and like sunshine lighting up every day.   But I realized that that baby I remember so fondly is gone for good and that I miss her.  And that I’ll miss her every day of my whole entire life and I’ll never have her back.  And that’s hard.  

Loving them isn’t hard. It’s the letting go that is.  I suck at it.  

Their cute little faces help though.  At least I still have that. Hold me.

 

 

The Summer of Significantly Less than 500

On the last day of school as the summer loomed long ahead of us, I had big plans for things to do with my kids. Places to go. Things to do. People to see. It’s funny to be halfway through the summer and realize we haven’t really done much. It’s also funny to feel kinda sorta great about it.

It’s been sort of slow and easy. Our days are filled with quieter less photo op worthy moments but still fun time spent together. And I guess, after all my husband’s traveling for 7 months, there isn’t much more I want out of life than time together. 

Is there anything cuter in this life than your little kid walking hand in hand with his father?  

We got new bikes back in May and have been riding, riding and riding some more. We rode so much we dreamed up a big scheme we called “The Summer of 500” and started counting our miles hoping to get to 500 by the end of the summer. I’m here to tell you 500 miles is a really, really long way with 2 relatively small kids. We’ve managed to make it 40 miles. By mid July. I’m not even sure “The Year of 500” could happen.

Exhibit A that I bring up the rear a lot.

By the end of the 2nd mile, we typically have people wanting to know how much farther. We also have to field heat and thirst related complaints. The cure to almost any ailment while riding is hitting the Sonic. Amazing what a soft serve cone can do for your 7 year old’s disposition.

Sometimes we get crazy and order some tater tots and a slushee, too. I know. We get crazy up in here.

We mostly ride in the park by our house. We are fortunate enough to live near a lovely park with lovely trails and lovely ponds to look at and we feel lovely every time we take advantage of it being right here in the lovely neighborhood we spent years pining for while living in the hood in an old house with carpeted bathrooms.  I have nothing but warm fuzzy memories of my family’s time in that house in the hood with the carpeted bathrooms but believe me when I say we appreciate every lovely thing about where we live now.

Exhibit B.  Still in the rear. 

I typically bring up the rear on our bike rides in the hopes of wrangling the dawdlers. My husband typically takes the point position to head off certain insane 7 year old boys with a death wish that want to fling themselves out into traffic without looking.

Trying out riding to the grocery store.  My husband got to carry the backpack full of fruit home.  He drew the line at watermelon.

My husband also likes to try to set the pace for our ride. One time he started telling my daughter and I to hurry up. So I reminded him that the current activity was "riding together and having fun" not "finishing a certain distance and getting it over with." Dork.

We’ve also been trying out frisbees and boomerangs. I laughed hysterically when my husband took the kids in the front yard the first night to test the boomerangs and immediately lost one over a neighbor’s fence. The neighbors weren’t home and the fence was too high to scale. That’s called funny. 

Aiming with his free arm.  That's where the magic happens. 

We burn some daylight trying to throw them. Periodically we get one to come back into our general vicinity. Mostly we end up walking to retrieve it and laughing at each other.  And an extra reason to laugh at each other is always a good thing.

The ninja showing us how it's done.

We also located some frisbees to try out frisbee golf.  Two years after we moved here, we noticed our lovely aforementioned park has a course. My husband went to the ninja school of throwing and gets Tiger Woods like distances. The rest of us mere mortals require a several throws to get somewhere near the hole (which isn’t actually a hole but I’m too stupid to know what it’s called in Frisbee golf.).

The kids like that they each have their own frisbee and everyone is getting to throw instead of it being one at a time and boring. And I suck just as much as the kids do so even though their father crushes them, the rest of us are pretty even. It’s cheap entertainment and involves some walking. Thumbs up.

The frisbee golf course designers put a couple holes near the edge of the lovely pond in the lovely aforementioned park. I guess that would be cute and challenging if you're into frisbee golf and competitive.  But if you're the Clampetts out goofing off with your kids and one of them is a trainwreck and therefore likely to send his Frisbee to the bottom of the pond, holes near the water is annoying.

Exhibit C.  Yep.  Rear.  Still here. 

Because that pond is only lovely if I’m riding past it. That pond is not lovely if I have to wade into it or feel around on the bottom with my hand. Because when I think about having to do either of those things, it’s the nastiest pond I’ve ever seen in my life and I kinda sorta think I threw up in my mouth just thinking about the brown water.

I keep convincing my kids to practice on other holes instead. Odds are they'll eventually want to broaden their horizons though.  I’m not against broad horizons.  I just think we should find ways to do it that don’t set off my gag reflex.

Doesn’t make me a bad mother. Plenty of other things might. But that one doesn’t.