Six so soon?

Today is the 6th birthday of my middle child. Otherwise known as my younger daughter and the only child that gets to be both "big" and "little" sister in our family.

What a year this has been for her. I can't even begin to adequately describe the growth that she has embraced over the past 12 months.

A year ago she was still reluctant to let us go when saying good-bye. It was just about the time that she was finally not crying anymore, but she wasn't running off to be with her friends either. She was doing the silent good-bye without looking back for fear that she would see what she would be missing.

Nowadays, we can drop her at school and she'll give us a little smile good-bye as she waltzes right into class. She started Kindergarten this fall, and although I haven't written about it, the experience has been wonderful.

We were worried that she didn't know anyone and weren't sure how she would be socially adapting to a new school and a new group of friends. But she was fine. Absolutely great in fact. She soon learned to love school and reported playing with a couple of friends. Boys, of course. And those couple are still her friends to this day.

She also started going to an after-care program after school. After a rough first day, she adjusted and soon learned to love the extra arts and crafts time too. As well as seeing those same two buddies for a little longer. Now she stays the full day and has never once complained. She really does love exploring this new little world she lives in.

This past summer she went to her first camp. She never before wanted to go to a camp. But this year she did a basketball camp with one of her friends. And she had a great time. Not a single problem dropping her off, never a complaint. Then later in the summer she was at the same camp that I volunteered at for the Girl Scouts. Her older sister went off to her group, I went off to mine and she and her brother went off to theirs. And she loved it. She really loved it. I have to say I think she even ruled the roost a little bit in her group. She was the oldest (not by much) and it was right up her alley; tons of arts and crafts and playing in the dirt.

It's like she's really starting to have fun with her childhood. For so many years she seemed to have one of those worry clouds over her head. Not really so much at home, but definitely when she went out into the world. But slowly that cloud has disappeared over the past year. And I like to think it's being replaced by one of those big yellow happy faces.

A few weeks ago she had another first. She was invited to a friends party at a little kids gym place. Do you happen to remember my stories about her going to friends' parties in the past? The way she would cling to me? The time we actually had to leave the party because there were too many people and too much noise? Well this time she went right in. Joined the group and never looked back. In fact, my husband took her and he ended up leaving her there while he went out and "ran a few errands". Probably at Starbucks. And she was great! She had so much fun she has asked to go back there to play. And asked. And asked.

Over this past year she has really adjusted to the world around her. She used to be afraid to look around and see what was waiting for her. She was overwhelmed by large crowds and noisy places. Now she is opening her eyes and taking it all in. And after a sage assessment of what's in front of her, she is participating. At least most of the time. Almost all of the time really.

She's answering people's questions when they ask her her name or her age. She's socializing with friends every chance she gets. We even took her along to my son's preschool holiday party last week and she was perfectly content going from craft table to craft table making things. In a room - a large room - full of adults and kids. That was loud. And warm. And that would have caused her to completely shut down a year or so ago. But this year she didn't care. She wasn't worried at all.

She even sat on Santa's lap for the first time this year. Despite her trying to talk her sister into believing that there is no Santa. I think that's just her rational side that she let's take over a bit too often.

This girl always has two feet on the ground. She's patient, loving, and incredibly grounded. Sometimes she's so sensible I want to tell her to just let go and have some fun. But then the next thing you know I'll see her pretending she's Buzz Lightyear shooting the aliens, and I'll realize that she does have a fun and creative side to her. It's only just now starting to really come out from underneath her emotional security blanket.

Here are my wishes for you this year, my beautiful six year old girl.

May you always keep your eyes open to the world and all that it has to offer.

May you always see the light that you add to that world, and may it always shine brighter with every year.

May you always choose your friends carefully and know that where one friendship ends another can begin.

May you never loose your sure footing on this earth, keeping your balance and sound judgement.

May you never forget that sometimes the creativity within our own minds lights the path to our dreams.

Happy birthday my love.

Nine is Devine

Today is the 9th anniversary of when I became a mother. It also happens to coincide with my daughter's 9th birthday, for those of you keeping track.

I honestly can't believe that nine years have passed since my husband and I first took on parenthood. Sure, you could say that it was 9 years and 9 months ago, but really, let's all face it. You aren't a parent until there are tears that you have to dry and bottom that you have to wipe.

So now here we are. Deep into parenthood with all its joys and fears. And I have to say that it's a pleasure that we get to experience so many firsts with my oldest. This past year had a few of them.

For every trip we have taken on an airplane this year, we had the joy of hardly noticing our oldest was with us. This was the first year that she packed her own bag, rolled it through the airport, stowed it away, and then kept herself busy the entire trip. Every time. In fact, being that we have the odd number of people in our family, and that most of our trips were in smaller planes that only had 2 seats on either side, many times this past year our oldest sat in a row by herself, usually immediately in front or behind me. Like I said, we hardly noticed she was with us. Especially since she would charm her way into chatting or playing a game of hangman with her neighbor.

And speaking of charming her way into people's lives, this year is the year of the first crush. According to her chitter chatter with her friends there's a certain boy that "likes" her in school. This also happens to be the boy that she mentions quite a bit, so I figured maybe she had a crush on him as well. I was proven correct when I went in to her parent/teacher conference last month and the teacher raved all about her, and then said, "but". She followed it with a statement that everything was great until about 2 weeks prior when she started not listening well, giggling too much and seemingly getting into other peoples' business for no reason. When the teacher was telling me this a lightbulb went off in her eyes and she said she thought it must be the new seat assignments. At that very moment my lightbulb went off and I inquired who she was sitting next to. You guessed it. He who shall not be named was in the cluster of desks. It was official. And when I mentioned my inside information to the teacher she was quite relieved. As was I since I was starting to wonder what catastrophe she could have been processing during those past two weeks of poor behavior, or what lecture I gave her that sunk too deep in her heart. Thank goodness it's just those little kiddie hormones.

Another first this summer was that we have our first child that wants to ride the roller coasters - and every other ride at the parks - over and over. And over. By herself. Thank goodness, since nobody wants to see my husband or I hurl as we exit a ride for the 3rd time.

Most recently we had our first sleepover party. My daughter wanted to invite all her friends over for a pajama party and then asked if some of the could sleep over. After much discussion, we decided to just jump in with both feet and invited them all. 16 kids were invited. Thankfully only 8 could spend the night. So for the first time my husband took cover with our younger two at a friends house and my daughter and I had a good old fashioned sleepover party with the house to ourselves. We painted nails, made bracelets and pillows, hosted a pajama fashion show, sang karaoke, and then took in a double feature. The girls were great and I was incredibly proud of how well my daughter behaved herself the entire time. Even the next morning when they starting running amuck again. She was very generous the entire time, and was conscious of being fair to everyone at the party and not playing any favorites. She seemed to just be genuinely happy to have her posse over and exist in the midst of all that girly girl fun.

The firsts are only just beginning. For her and for us. I'm just glad we get to learn from it all before we do it again with our younger kids. It benefits them as well as us. So I'm thankful for my oldest being our host into the world of parenting.

This is my birthday wish for you this year, my hostess with the mostest.

May you always live independently and know that you are the keeper of your own happiness.

May you always love with an open heart and embrace all the joy that entails, while taking the aches in stride.

May you always enjoy a good roller coaster and the freedom of soaring through the air.

May you always cherish your girl friends, giving generously to their lives and appreciating all the happiness they bring you.

Happy 9th birthday my love.

Peek-a-boo!

Here I am. Over here. No. Here. Over this way. There you go. You found me.

Allow me to re-introduce myself. My name is Jessica. Still have 3 kids. And a wonderful husband. Everyone is still healthy. Life is moving on. Just sadly without the weekly (okay...semi-monthly) bits of wisdom being blogged into history.

My last post was in July, so let me catch you up.

August was an electrical storm in my life. Too much going on, swirling around our family of five, and it's no wonder to me that it set off the four month drought in my journaling. A tad bit of crazy. A dash of fun. Mix in a little mayhem.

Then September started and we've been able to fold in a little stability. I'm working more now so I have the kids doing some after-care. Read more about the working mom guilt later.

Seriously, I will write more about it. Later.

There is always later.

So for your reading pleasure, and for my nostalgia keeping purposes, here are some highlights from the past few months. They've been swirling around my mental blog so that I wouldn't forget them. Since that's really the whole point of this exercise. I don't want to forget all the little bits of fun that visit us every day, but that we never seem to remember when we are so exhausted at the end of the week...or month...or quarter. So here goes.

My son while riding a bus full of girl scouts ages 6 to 16, who are busting out songs as per the girl scout tradition: "When I grow up I want to sing just like dem. I want to be one of dem."

One of the girl scouts in my troop during my volunteer counselor stint, after her friend noted that I have pretty eyes: "Yeah. You do. You must have been really pretty when you were younger." Ah, thanks. That's so...sweet of you?

A 9 year old boy at the park who came up to us seemingly out of nowhere and inquired about my oldest daughter: "Does she come here a lot? Like every Tuesday? Do you guys live around here?" And then he just walked away after we gave him some confused looks. As was pointed out by my friend and completely missed by me, this would be my daughter's first experience of "do you come here often?". Thankfully this was completely missed by her as well. Still hanging on to the innocence.

My oldest on the first morning of school, after I suggested a hair clip for her that I thought was really cute: "I don't want to look cute mom, I want to look cool." My younger daughter's retort: "Do you want to look cool, or do you want to be cool?" Older daugther's response: "I already am cool." So much for the innocence.

My oldest - almost 9 year old - daughter commenting about the wonder of Santa Claus: "I can't believe how busy he is and how he can get presents all over the world." My younger - almost 6 year old - daughter's voice of reason: "Maybe that's because he's not real." My oldest: "Well I know that the ones at the mall aren't the real one. Everyone knows that little sister." My younger daughter: "Maybe there is no Santa big sister." Oldest: "Yes there is! I believe in him." I can't say enough how this depicts their personalities. My oldest is up in the clouds, forever creating and dreaming, and my younger daughter has her feet firmly planted on the ground with no funny stuff.

And by far some of my most favorite quotes lately have come from my son. He's been known to punctuate every day with frequent occurences of this scenario. Him: "Mom! Mooooommmy!?" Me after finding him: "Yes hon?" Him: "I love you" Me: " I love you too sweetie" Him: "I love you sooooo much!" and then he follows it up with a wet peck on the lips. Or occassionally we'll be walking somewhere and he'll just grab my hand and give it a kiss. No words. Just pure love.

He is definitely the lover in the group. He brings love into all of our lives and keeps it present.

So this year on Thanksgiving (that'd be today), I'm thankful for all those little moments in life. Because when we look at our lives as a whole I could say that not too much has happened in the past 4 months. And for that I'm also thankful.

Nothing dreaded. Nothing wounding. Just life.

Full of lots of fabulous little moments that I don't want to forget and for which I hope I am always grateful.

Is it September yet?

Ahhh, summer.

There are some things you can just count on out here in California. Blue skies. Shining sun. No rain whatsoever. Property taxes that make your bank account bleed.

One thing I've also been able to count on this summer is endless hours with my kids. Those sweet smiling faces and lively personalities that make me a mother. The giggles and laughter. Ah, the sweetness of it all.

And....end scene.

Cut to the tears, the seemingly non-stop tantrums, the unwillingness to separate from me. The constant cries for "moooooommmmmy!". The 3 meals a day that I make for four of us, half of which ends up in the kitchen sink. The constant tripping over toys and subsequent pleas to clean up. The endless requests for things that seem to leave my wallet constantly empty. The sense that I've somehow turned into a full-time maid, kitchen slave, and cruise ship director.

And when I say full-time, I mean more than just those piddly 40 hours a week that most people qualify as a job. I'm talking 12 to 14 hour days of non-stop children. And it goes without saying that even though my co-worker is around in the evenings during the week, and full-time on the weekends, I'm still at the damn office too. Doesn't this place ever close?

If only it were as beautiful as the giggles and laughter all the time. In reality, those are the shining moments that make me carry on through all the other crap.

It's just that I'm about done carrying on right now. Can't someone else take my kids for a while? Like, say, from around 8:30 in the morning until about 2 or 3 in the afternoon?

Oh yeah. It's called a school. And the cheapskates only operate 9 months a year.

Damn the schools.

Right about now I'm wishing I was one of those moms that signs her kids up for absolutely every activity. Every day. Every week. Every year since birth. And all through the summer shuttles them off to a different camp each week. Because I think it would make it much easier for my kids to be less dependent on me. Less tears at every good-bye. Less demanding me instead of daddy.

Less sucking the life out of me.

Ironically, the reason I haven't been a mom that signs her kids up for everything is because I want them to both experience some "down time" and how to keep themselves entertained, and also I want them to have the experience of a parent that's right there with them. Helping them learn. Guiding their decisions. Playing with them. Teaching them. Making sure they know they are loved and valued.

But I'm thinking that stuff can easily be done in, say, a few hours a day.

Max.

I really don't need all 12 for that kind of life guidance to hit home.

Don't get me wrong. I enjoy my kids. Tremendously. I love seeing through their eyes. Watching them wonder at the world and learn through things we take for granted. I adore all those precious face-to-face moments. And I'm a better woman for it all. No doubt.

I just think I've had enough wonder and amazement for this summer.

And to heck with sleeping in. It just makes we feel well rested while I rush through those mornings where I do actually have to be somewhere.

I need it to be fall.

Livin' La Vida Ocho

It's good to be eight. Just ask my daughter.

We recently started a new incentive program for my employees. As the manager of this well-oiled machine we call home, I was getting quite tired of delegating work to my minions only to find it lying on the floor later on. I'm really trying to foster independent workers, but no matter what I tried, I always seemed to revert back to nagging.

Apparently it was all about the comp plan. Now I know why sales people respond so well to the all-expenses paid trips. Or bonus checks.

Not long ago I read a little article about a woman that started giving out marbles for all the little things around the house that she wanted her kids to do. Read: chores. After a certain number of marbles were earned the kids got to choose if they want a cash payout or a sleepover or other comparable treat. She said this was finally the one thing that really worked for her kids, after years and years of sticker charts and other like programs. Amen sister. I'm so tired of sticker charts these days, as are my kids, apparently.

The first week that we tried this it was like hitting the motherhood lottery. My oldest was doing all the things I always nagged at her about, but without the nagging. Shoes were finding their way into the closet where they belong, plates were being cleared from the table, and clothes were magically appearing in the dirty laundry basket and not on the floor. Granted, most time I would ask once for something to be done. But that was it. Just once. And all I had to do was say "2 marbles" and point to something and it was done.

And not only that, my oldest was actually really nice and helpful to her little brother and sister. ALL of the time. Usually this happens in small doses around here, but now she was like a dream big sister. And a dream mother's helper.

Bingo!

My son also seemed to buy in to the program. We told him that he could get marbles for staying in his bed while going to sleep - and not popping out of his room as he can still do from time to time. And on top of that, I promised extra marbles if he stayed in bed in the morning until he heard mommy and daddy were up and awake.

And he actually did it.

For the next several days. And not only that, he thinks the marbles themselves are the prize. That's all he needed as incentive. Just a jar full of pretty marbles.

Double Bingo!

And so began our lazy summer of sleeping in until 7 or 8am. Well, at least for me. With the longer hours of daylight, the kids have been going to bed a little later, and sleeping in until about 8am. EVERY DAY. And with nowhere to be in the morning, I've been known to stay in bed past 8am. Of course my poor husband is still a slave to the economy, getting up long before any of us. And, as was the case today, out of the house at 7:30am before any of us were even awake.

What luxury. One of the small perks for management.

Okay, so back to la vida ocho. My oldest decided that instead of taking a pay out at 50 marbles ($5, a special play date with a friend, or an outing with mommy or daddy), she'd go for the 100 marble pay out ($10, a special sleep over with a friend, or an outing with mommy and another with daddy). After a month, she earned that big prize. And this past weekend we had a friend of hers over for a sleepover.

The deal was that I was to take them out to a movie and dinner as a special treat. And my daughter was in hog heaven.

On the way to the movie she and her friend critiqued each other's hair, giving each other many sweet compliments about different styles that looked good on each other. "Your hair looks really cute when it's down. Let me see. Yes! So cute!" and "Let me see yours up. Oh! That looks really pretty!". Then they proceeded to put on a little lip gloss while getting feedback from each other. "That looks really good! Is mine on right? What a pretty color on you!"

After that lovefest, they got out of the car, swapped sweaters ("that's so cute on you!") and then went to sit at their own little table at Chipotle. They giggled and nibbled their way through dinner. Then we went to the theatre and they got to share a big Icee and a veritable vat of popcorn. First they danced a little Dance Dance Revolution before settling in for the movie, complimenting each other on their moves and their scores. And then it was show time.

As we all donned our very attractive glasses, they sipped their Icee and munched their popcorn, and had a lot of 8 year old fun. For one of the first times - ever - my daughter and her friend got to have their own special time, without little brothers or sisters running around, and with the sole attention of moi. It also qualified as a special outing with the boss, if you will.

We got home at 9:30p, after both her younger brother and sister were in bed (albeit not asleep yet with our summer schedule in progress), she and her friend got ready for bed and then snuggled in for the night. When I checked on them at 10pm, they were reading to each other.

Seriously. They were reading. Out loud. For fun.

Then they were asleep by 11pm. And slept in until 8:30a.

Aahh. It's good to be eight. In the summer. With a jar full of marbles.

So carefree and innocent.

And now the marble jar is filling up once again, with her eye on the prize of a special outing with mommy.

The boss is flattered.

On The Right Track

This summer has been all about flexibility. And adaptability. This summer more than any other time in recent months I have seen my kids change their minds and attitudes about so many things that I've lost track. But I'll try to recount.

For my oldest, the new attitude has been about summer camps. Until just yesterday, I had completely forgotten that she really didn't enjoy summer camp last year. Good thing I have this handy blog to remember how many kids I have, because I think I might forget that too in a few years.

I went to sign up my daughter for a couple of camp days at a gym place with her brother and sister and the woman that runs the place very nicely reminded me of her failed attempt at one day of camp last summer. Only one day and she couldn't complete it. I had to pick her up early. Oops. Totally blacked that out of my memory. Then I return home from said gym and my mom tells me about how my daughter just finished telling her that she "hated" all her summer camps last year. Hmmm. Forgot about that too.

Then it all comes flooding back to me. The struggle to say good-bye. The need to send her off to camp with some transitional object of mine. Her desire to just stay home.

Alas, this year we have seen a change of heart. I signed her up for a choir camp (to which she said "choir!?!" with a roll of her eyes when I told her it was an option for this summer). It's actually just regular old singing, plus some percussion lessons. She needs both if she wishes to pursue her career as a professional musician and singer, which is her latest aspiration. And she's really enjoying it. She even wanted to go extra early this morning so she could have more time to spend with the kids at camp.

What a change. And when I approached the subject of a couple of camp days at that gym with her brother and sister she vowed to me that this year she'd really like it.

Enough said. She's back on track.

Perhaps I didn't need to volunteer my time, and enroll my younger two kids, at the girl scout camp for two weeks at the end of July. I did so a few months ago when I met resistance about her going to the camp. So, figuring that it would just be the latest in sacrificing my sanity in the name of hers, I threw my name in the hat as a volunteer counselor.

Perhaps I was a bit too hasty with that decision. But more on that later.

Now for my younger daughter, we are finally getting her on the track - for the first time - with summer camps. She's really come out of her shell lately and amazed me with her new found confidence. She completed a week of basketball camp and by the end of the week, she was ready to sign up for another week. With or without her friend, and with our without the same team coach. Look at her just going with the flow! Who knew?

She's also gone to the athletic club kid care place a couple of times this week and never once had an issue saying good-bye or breaking down. She took it all in stride, even if she said she wasn't happy about it. And in the end she even said it "wasn't so bad".

Chalk up another huge step for the shy girl.

Now for my son's summer update. He's been a huge freak for this little gym place. He always loved to go when I had to go in the gym with him, but he was actually much more shy than most people would expect of him, given his endless energy. At various times throughout the hour he would insist on being with me to participate, and if we were asked to just watch our kids, he would usually choose to not do the activity and just stay by my side. When the spring class ended and I signed him up for the class that was for his age and required him to participate by himself, I was a bit nervous about how he'd do.

The first day of class came and he couldn't wait to go. I kept telling him that he would have to do the class all by himself like his big sister, and for the most part he seemed okay with it. But I've seen this before with my younger daughter, and I got burned by thinking all would be well.

For the summer schedule he has to watch his sister's class first, and then it is time for his class. Perhaps it was that hour of anticipation that helped him along, but when the time came for his class, he ran right in and never looked back. He did (almost) everything that the teacher asked of him, and came running out, flushed in the cheeks and proud of his accomplishments.

Now we can check that one off the list too. Not only that, but after hitting a slight bump in the road with our good-byes at the club at the end of spring (even with the "pocket treat" at the ready), we are back on track with those drop-offs too. Runs right in and doesn't look back. With the pocket treats too, of course.

This summer is really marking a time of growth for us. At long last, after eight years of parenting, we are finally seeing some signs that our kids are ready to explore the world with open minds and willing attitudes.

And, at long last, after eight years of parenting, I am welcoming the independence that is headed our way.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not ready to move my oldest into the dorm yet, but I'm starting to see down the tracks a little bit, and not just what's immediately in front of us. And I'm embracing it.

Better yet, we are beginning to feel the payoff for all the hand holding, tear drying (for them and for me) and endless comforting from their fears. Not to mention the countless sticker charts and bribery techniques that I have employed, and am still doing to this day.

Now I can sense what it will be like when we aren't holding hands any longer, but I am comforted by the fact that we will still be holding hearts.

And it goes without saying that I'll keep holding hands for as long as they let me.

Olly Olly Oxen Free

I'm coming out of hiding.

How is it that the end of the school year feels like everyone is moving out of the country and that last day of school is the day they are catching their flight?

Hurry! Hurry! Get EVERYTHING done before school gets out and we fly off to Neverland!

If you have school-aged children you know what I'm talking about. If you don't, take my word for it. The clock starts ticking louder and louder after Memorial Day, until it's deafening during the second week of June.

Everyone wants to get in their kids' birthday parties before summer, so that they can be sure their child's friends can make it and won't be on vacation for their birthday in July or August. This affects my schedule for work and play.

And every after-school activity has a "show", which is at the end of the class schedule, which of course coincides with the school year. Not to mention the end-of-season parties for sports teams as well. And then there are all the school classroom parties, teacher gifts and the like that we are coordinating or contributing towards.

And if you are lucky enough to have a child in PreK, Kindergarten, 5th grade, 8th grade or 12th grade (not to mention 16th grade), you will be attending a graduation ceremony and obligatory party.

And in our house we also have daddy's birthday, and of course our upcoming Father's Day this weekend, which requires gift-buying.

Plus, in my infinite wisdom of needing more to do around this time of year, several years ago we started the tradition of celebrating our kids' half-birthdays. Which for the girls both fall into the first two weeks of June, and require a little baking (yes, we actually make 1/2 a cake) and a small gift as well.

Even if I'm bringing on some of this myself, suffice it to say, it makes for a very busy couple of weeks.

Now that I'm mostly on the other side of the madness, I've come to a new conclusion.

I think it's the parenting world's way of preparing us for summer. Of making us actually want our kids home all day with nothing to do.

Every mother I talk to says "I'm so ready for summer!". And of course I always say "I know what you mean!". And then we compare notes about how it'll be nice not to have to pack lunches, get out the door first thing in the morning, oversee homework or drive the activity shuttle bus around in the afternoons. Not to mention our breaks from the PTA and whatever other volunteerism we've become addicted to throughout the year.

But really, are we that ready? Am I that ready?

For the past 10 months I've had very quiet mornings. And while I am very ready to give up the mid-day pick-up madness, I have to say I'll miss my two mornings a week with the house to myself.

And I have loved the structure of our days and weeks, even if a lot of it is schlepping around town. In fact I started to panic a little with the lack of structure that is upon us. I even came up with a daily and weekly schedule, that included some work time for me, which I fear may be hard to come by this summer, and also some fun play time for all of us.

I have even invented some "brown bag activities" where each kid gets a chance to pick from a bag something for us all to do at certain times during the week. Most of it is trips to local parks or museums, but at least I know it'll get us out of the house and having fun.

Of course that assumes that I'll actually remember to do it, and not let the kids sit in front of the TV for the next 60 days.

As I write this, my kids are playing video games and keeping themselves blissfully busy. And there's that small twangy voice inside my head that's saying "shouldn't I be getting my kids out of the house for some fun?".

Then the other voice, milky smooth and enticing, talks over that little one and says"there's plenty of time for that in the next 2 months".

I can guarantee you that I will not be reporting our full amount of "screen time" at every one's next doctor's visit when she asks if we are keeping it to less than an hour a day. Which, by the way, is just plain silly. A few years ago it was 2 hours per day. Now this last time we checked in it was down to one hour. What happened to that other hour? Was there a new study that came out that said I'll be raising serial killers if my kids watch that extra 60 minutes of TV everyday? I must have missed the news that night.

So I'll just keep reminding myself of what summer felt like as a kid. Do you remember yours? That sense of freedom. The ability to keep your pajamas on until noon. All the times you went running around with the neighborhood kids and played outside until it got dark out. Or went to the local swimming pool to hang out. ALL DAY. On a Wednesday.

So what if that freedom also means the ability to sit and veg out a little more too?

I'll live with the repercussions. Because really, let's think about this.

I have 3 small children in my eyesight all day. Every day. For 12 hours every day.

For 10 weeks.

Maybe I'll go back into hiding now.

Trust Me

I've always known that trust is an essential part of any relationship. And I've always wanted my kids to trust me. Without hesitation.

And if you'd have asked me how I thought I could make that happen, I'd say by trusting them in return.

But lately I'm finding that there is a lot of grey area in that seemingly black and white equation.

My oldest has had her history of little white lies. Reading back over that entry I realized that a couple of years ago I wasn't exactly encouraging her to tell the truth, which is what I have been heavily emphasizing lately. If I punish her for lying there's no telling that she won't just try to get better at lying, rather than start telling the truth. And it goes without saying that if she isn't lying, or that if I don't absolutely know the truth of a situation, and I'm blaming her for it anyway, I'm destroying her trust in me.

So over the last couple years I've been trying to trust her more, so that she'll trust me. At least trust me enough to tell me the truth and not be so fearful of the consequences.

I say that I have been "trying" to trust her more because at times that's a difficult task. This past week has proven so. But it's also proven what will happen if I don't.

We had a couple of little lies this week. The first one was related to a shirt that I found in my daughter's drawer. I was pretty sure it wasn't hers, so I asked her. She just shrugged. So I asked her if the shirt belonged to one of her friends that she is always trading clothes with on play dates. She said she didn't think so. But this time she was suppressing a smile. It was the kind of smile that tells me she's lying.

I asked her one more time and she said "I dunno, maybe" as if this would pass for a decent answer. I very nicely explained that she the best thing to do is to tell the truth and if she was trying to lie to me I was not at all happy. At this point she just shut down a little and said "I guess so" in response to another question about whether or not this belonged to her friend.

I knew that she was lying about not knowing, and I figured it was because she liked the shirt and wanted to keep it. I explained that her friend probably liked it just as much and was missing it. But she still didn't come right out and tell me it belonged to her.

A couple days later when I asked her about the shirt, she readily admitted it was her friends. It was sort of as if she had forgotten she was originally trying to lie about it.

Then later that same day she tried to pull off another little lie. Once again I tried to explain that telling the truth would save her from more consequences than lying would. I still couldn't break through and sell "the truth will set you free" concept.

On Thursday she came home from school and immediately brought me a note that I needed to sign. It was a note her teacher made her write to me explaining that she had kicked a boy in her class because he was "being too loud and not listening to me ten times when I asked him to be quiet."

I asked her what was going on when all this happened, and she said she didn't want to tell me. I said something about it being frustrating when people don't listen to you, and then she just put it all out there. Apparently this boy was teasing her about liking another boy in the class, the aforementioned admirer, and he wouldn't stop saying it over and over to her. So she kicked him a good one.

Now part of me was happy to see her stick up for herself. Don't let the loud mouths of the world keep you down, sister!

But of course I didn't tell her that. I told her the right thing to do was to find the teacher, yada, yada, yada. And then I realized that I was really happy that she just came out and told me the story. No lies, no refusal to explain.

A step in the right direction!

Then later that night we all got in the car to go to our local Farmer's Market. My husband sat in the back with our younger daughter, which means it must have been a full moon on the fourth Thursday of a month starting with "m" because that almost never happens. While back there he found a little doodling on the car. In ink. On the interior of the car.

I was immediately not happy. He seemed to just shrug it off, but for whatever reason this made me really upset. I asked our oldest if it was her and she denied it. But she did get a little smirk.

Aha! I thought I had her cornered so I acted as such.

Not good. Before too long she was in tears vehemently denying it was her.

My husband put the kabash on my investigation, but I had a really hard time letting it go. I figured that it MUST have been her, since she's in that far back seat about 95% of the time when we are in the car, and it was in pen, which she often has in her hands in the car after school, writing notes or lists or what not.

All signs pointed to her. And I was determined to get to the bottom of this.

Yesterday, which was the following day, I went to try to clean off the pen doodle. As I was walking out there I said again that I was upset that she wasn't telling me the truth. My husband very wisely pointed out that we have to trust her if she's going to trust us. I agreed with that, but between me and you, I chalked that up to something I would do after this situation was cleared up. There was no way I was going to trust her with this one, because I knew, without doubt, that I was right about this one.

So I went to scrubbing this little inch or two of ink drawing, that I had thought was an ice cream cone, with an arrow pointing to the cup holder, as if my daughter was labeling what was there. At least that's what it looked like from the front of the car.

But up close I realized that the 'drawing' is much more rudimentary than it appeared from the driver's seat.

Instantly I start wondering if it was someone else in the family.

So while I'm sitting at the car wash with my younger daughter and my son, I casually ask my daughter if she wrote on the car.

Bingo! She says, sweetly and simply, "yes".

I immediately feel the yolk oozing down my face. Remorse starts setting up camp.

I don't react too much and simply say "I guess that explains why you were awfully quiet during that conversation I had with your sister last night in the car". I of course give her a dose of guilt, adding that I'm really not happy with her actions, that it wasn't fair for her to let me keep blaming her sister, and that I expect more from her now that she's five and a half. Which I now realize is a year younger than my oldest when we went through the "Pants on Fire" shenanigans that I wrote of in 2008.

She understands and I leave it at that.

I feel relieved to finally have an answer.

And I begin composing my apology to my oldest.

I tell my oldest later on that day that I'm very sorry for not believing her. I help her understand that I was very wrong and I fully know it. She's happy that I finally know the truth.

Now I have to ask, where are we?

There is just a lot of grey area here. I want to trust my kids, but that trust gets chipped away every time I catch one of them in a lie. I want them to trust me, but that too gets chipped away every time I don't trust them.

This whole 'raising kids' thing can be quite complicated.

Trust me.

The Fast, The Furious, and The Fun

Today is my son's 3rd birthday.

Over the past year he has proven true to his place in the family. The only boy. The youngest of three. Our little prince.

His nature is to be fast, furious and fun.

Everything he does, he does fast. Either he has no patience or he's really in a hurry to move to the next thing. Or both. Whatever the reason, he's remarkably fast. And by that I mean that many people - outside our family - have made remarks about it. From the time he first walked, he started running. And when he ran, he did so at a speed that made people ask me how old he was. His speed often works to his advantage. He can edge out his big sisters in a foot race. And if he's not winning he'll just push them out of the way so that he will win. Did I mention that he's competetive too? What I've come to realize is that we really need a huge room that's completely padded with things to jump off of and into in our house. He really digs that. Too bad for his forehead we don't have that to offer.

Like most two year olds, he has shown his furious side. He can tantrum better than his two sisters by far. He turns on the waterworks, stomps a foot or two, and demands that he gets his way. But I do like to think, when he throws his whole body on the floor and screams, that he is cuter than most two year olds. So at least he's got that going for him. And he's be a bit smarter too, if I do say so myself. He knows exactly when things aren't going to go his way, because he'll often throw in a "pllllleeeeeeeeaase?" and throw himself at my legs just before the eruption. But the plus side of turning three is that he's getting much better at his time-outs. He's learning to face the consequences like a man.

Of course, if you've ever met him, it goes without saying that he is fun. But I'll say it anyway. His imagination has hints of five and eight year olds running through it as he tries to keep up with the big kids. He'll tell jokes that make no sense, he'll dance a little hip hop when the mood moves him, and he always cracks himself up with the word "poop" or any variation thereof. He can get a smile so big that sometimes I feel like I could lose myself inside it. And his laugh is so amazing I truly wish I could bottle it. It brings tears to my eyes knowing that I might not hear it so much one day. At least not with so much gusto and lack of self-consciousness.

Our little guy has one big personality. There's no mistaking it, he's here to live life to the fullest.

So here's my birthday wish to you this year, my son.

May you always use your speed to your advantage, but never forget to slow down and appreciate all that surrounds you, including those that you might be passing by.

May you never stop expecting the most, demanding the best, and wanting it all.

May you never forget that life is fun, and should always be so. Keep your sense of humor and your love for life and you will always be able to laugh with abandon.

Happy Birthday buddy.

Simple Folks

This year for Mother's Day we kept it pretty simple. Well by "we" I mean my husband. And let me just say that simple does suit me just fine.

I know, I know. I dropped the subtle hints here and there that I easily could have slipped out for a massage appointment had he booked one for me. But really, in the end, that spa appointment is not what makes a great day.

And neither is a day free of chores, for that matter. I admit that I spent too much time yesterday checking things off my list. But that's one of the things that makes me happy. Getting things done that have been bugging me or haunting me every time I walk past a certain closet or part of the house. So while I may complain about having to do so much around the house, in the end, a choreless day is not necessarily what makes a great day either.

What does make a great day is spending some time with my family.

About halfway through the morning I decided that I would bring my mother the flowers I had for her and stop over for a little chat. I treated myself to a latte and had a very nice time just shooting the breeze with my mom. Who, after all, also deserves a lovely mother's day visit from her daughter.

Then in the afternoon we all went bowling. Our first family trip to the local alley, and let me tell you, we will become regulars there before you know it. What fun! There just aren't too many activities you can do with three kids, ages 3, 5 and 8, that you all participate in and you all have so much fun doing. And that doesn't involve a TV screen.

We all had a great time, and my oldest daughter was such a great sport. She had the lowest score the whole time because she was the youngest child actually bowling. My other two kids were using the little ramp so they had a bit of an advantage. And I explained this phenomenon to her when she complained about her score.

Of course, it doesn't really need to be stated that we had the gutter guards up the whole time, and let's just say they came in a little handy for all of us at one time or another.

And even though she fretted that she had such a low score, she really had a great attitude. No whining or worrying. She just uttered her complaints here and there, but always had a smile on her face. I explained to her that she was only going to keep getting better now that she was actually bowling on her own.

Then we all went out for burgers and milkshakes afterward.

It was just like an episode of The Simpsons.

Although I have to say the best moment of the day was when I put my son to bed for his nap. I rocked him until he was asleep, and then I just cuddled with him. I knew that I wasn't going to be able to do that much longer. Holding him in my arms and rocking with him was just absolute bliss. I watched his sweet little sleeping face and listened to his precious breathing. I didn't want to let go.

And that moment was further trumped by him today. After his nap he is quite snuggly and wants to be held for a little bit. So we were cuddled up on the coach with a little Dora on for company, and he started lying down. He was splayed across my lap in sort of an awkward position, so I asked him if wanted to sit back up. He proceeded to pull himself up and snuggle right up into my arms and chest.

I hugged him hard, kissed his head, and said "you're the best!".

He then looked up at me with his sweet baby blues and a delicious smile and said "no, you are!"

Now that is when I really feel like a mother.

It's the simple things in life that make me happiest.

Three beautiful, healthy, and happy children and a life full of love and fun.

It doesn't get any better than that.

Sweetening the Deal

Time flies, blogosphere friends.

I think I've finally found something lower on the totem pole than my husband.

Wink, wink, hubby.

For the past couple of weeks I have been struggling with drop-offs for my son. Two mornings a week he goes to a very informal preschool that is run out of our athletic club daycare. And one additional morning we go to the child care center at the club so I can exercise. So three times a week I was being ripped apart as I literally scraped my child off of me and handed him, in all his tear-stricken and snotty glory, over to some very sweet ladies.

One day at the preschool drop off I walked in and another child there was already in tears. So the teacher sort of had her hands full. Plus, let's just say that this teacher is not well-trained in the art of smooth transitions for toddlers. She has a hard time taking control of the situation and often just let's it all play out while she sort of watches. And at times sips her coffee.

Okay, I said it was "very informal", remember? It's just a temporary solution for us until the fall. And she's very sweet and otherwise does a great job.

But that morning I finally got fed up with feeling like I was just dumping my kid on to this teacher and not getting much support with the transition process. I felt like she was starting to dread it when she saw us walk in. So I went down to the day care center office and told them to send someone down there to help her. And I mentioned that she could use someone to show her the ropes when it comes to this stuff.

The next time we were due at school I was driving there thinking that I was going to pull him out of their program. He had a bit of an easier time just going to the day care center, albeit that was starting to get a bit worse too if I had to admit it. But they were much better at moving him through it and using the art of distraction. Plus they offered some more TLC too.

We walk into the school room and he starts to protest me leaving as we open the door. And then the teacher comes over and says "I brought you a surprise! Remember what I said I would bring? Some new books!". Books had often been something we brought with us to help him transition and they were a great tool for the teacher to get him to move on after I left. But this time she sprung them on him right away. And they were "new". That means new to him. And they were about trucks no less. Score one for the teacher.

He went right over to her and got in her lap to read.

I can't express how great this was for me. Of course it was better for him too. But really, I was about out of patience with this whole thing and was worried I'd be in for another long haul with this child, after having finally conquered this whole process with our younger daughter.

But after that nice surprise I decided we'd stick this out a bit longer and see what happened. Now this was on a Wednesday, and his next day back to school wasn't until Monday. That's quite a few days to forget about the new books waiting for him at school.

Come Monday, to help ease the transition even more, I decided to sweeten the deal. Literally. I put two little pieces of candy in his pocket when I sent him in to school. We put them in there as we got out of the car, and he was really excited to see what they were. He even felt the outside of his pocket in anticipation. But he was good and waited until he went into the room before he reached in for the goods. By that time of course he had been greeted with a couple more new books, plus some that we brought, and he was good to go.

He didn't cry. Didn't whine. Didn't ask me not to go.

This is about as close as we get to him saying "don't let the door hit ya' on the way out mom."

The next day I did the same candy trick when I brought him to the child care center. And he went waltzing right in there, not a single protest.

The staff looked at me and commented that he did really well with that send off. Then I let them in on my sweet little secret. They all laughed and said "hey, whatever it takes".

Now we have repeated this process 6 times between both places and had great success every single time. The only exception was yesterday, when I sent him in to the classroom in pants without pockets.

Oops.

I didn't realize it until we got to the club and I was getting him out the car. So I handed the candies to him and he kept them in his hand. But apparently this just isn't good enough. He whined and asked me not to leave, all the while still clutching the candies that he'd apparently forgot about.

I had to hand him over to the teacher in a few tears. And the teacher, by the way, was resting on her laurels and didn't have any new books. But thankfully we brought a couple, and I told him, as I was walking out the door, to show his teacher what color of candy he had that day. This seemed good enough, as he was discussing strawberry and orange flavors and was rather content by the time I left.

Apparently, like most men, he likes a bit of a challenge. He must hunt and conquer. If it's just handed to him it doesn't taste nearly as sweet.

Whatever it takes.

What a Difference

What a difference a year makes.

Last year around this time I wrote a post about our younger daughter having a tough timegoing to her friend's birthday party. That party was at a jump house place and the second we walked in my daughter wanted to turn around and go home. Mostly because she's not crazy about big crowds or loud noises, and this place has both when you fill it with 20 little four year old kids and their parents.

Now flash forward to this year and this same friend has her party at the same place. Yes, the same place, much to her mother's chagrin. I told the mom that I'd do my best to talk it up and see if I could get my daughter to agree to go.

Apparently that worked because the week of the party she said she would give it a shot.

And then the day of the party came and she said she wouldn't give it a shot.

Nonetheless, since we were committed to it by that time, I said we were going. I made it clear that if she wasn't happy we always had the option to leave. Or to just wait it out for cake.

So we showed up and you'll never beleive what she said to me when we walked in to the place.

"I want to go home."

What?

You thought it was going to be that easy?

Not a chance.

In fact, it took much of my energy and creativity and positive thinking for about 20 minutes before we finally got to a place where she would go into a jumpy with me. And let me tell you that these days I don't have a lot of spare energy just sitting on a shelf ready to go when I want it. But for this occasion, it was worth it.

When I saw that there was no one in the jump house with the basketball hoop I almost had her in that one with me, until some girls came up and got in it right before us. So she renegged. And she LOVES basketball, so I knew it was going to take a little special effort on my part to make this happen.

Next I eyed the obstacle course and saw that at that moment no one was in it. So quick like a bunny I got her over there and in it before she could complain. I feined needing help, acting like a big goof ball that was stuck to the inflatable. I told her to hurry or else someone else would come. I tried a number of tricks but she wasn't budging much past the entry point.

Then I started acting like we were on a pirate ship and told her we had to climb up the hill before the sharks came. This made her laugh a little, but she still wasn't all in. Finally we got on top of the little hill and waited it out for a bit. From there we could sort of feel more like we were in charge. Or at least above all the chaos.

At that point we were caught on film actually enjoying ourselves. The shame of it all.

Before long a little boy came through that I recognized, who happened to be named Jack, so I started calling him Jack Sparrow in my best pirate's voice. Then he bought into our game and before long he was saying that the sharks were coming our way. This then turned into us running out the course and back around again chasing after him - or perhaps he was chasing us - and having a bit more fun than either of us had thought would happen.

Then it was time to enter the next room for more inflatable craziness. Although I think we entered a parallel world really, because at this point my daughter was up and running, exploring everything in the room.

We threw some balls, climbed a wall and went down a very steep slide many many times, and then ended up in the basketball inflatable. She was happy as a clam shooting hoops and jumping around. She would play with friends that came and joined us. And if too many came along I'd see her start to shut down a bit, so we'd move over to the other side where there was another hoop to play with.

All in all, a very successful outing. Things are definitely starting to look up for her.

Another remarkable difference recently was during our trip to Disneyland. Last time we were there, which was actually two years ago, the sound of all the fireworks made her cry and she really didn't enjoy the show, watching it the whole time with her ears covered by her hands which were then covered by my hands.

This year she was perfectly happy to take it all in.

It's worth saying again; what a difference a year makes.

Happy Happy Joy Joy

Last week my husband and I decided to surprise our kids with a trip to Disneyland during the Spring Break week.

And surprised they were.

"Oh my God!" our oldest kept saying. Even with our insisting she say "goodness", she was just too beside herself to adhere to the rules of etiquette. "I can't believe we are going to Disneyland tomorrow!" she exclaimed. And our younger daughter stated "that's the best surprise EVER."

Perhaps we should have just stayed in that blissful state and not actually gone on the trip.

Nah.

So we packed ourselves in the car and made the 8 hour trip down South. Of course not before some last minute panicking to move the trip departure up one day due to some expected rains in Anaheim. But we did make it out of the house at 8am and we were in the Disneyland park before 4pm.

Not bad for our brood.

That first afternoon was a little bit hellish. We were overwhelmed by it all and didn't know where to start. But after lots of sugar snacks and finally getting our oldest on a ride we were all off and running.

We hit as many rides and attractions as we could squeeze into 17 hours in that park. Our 2nd day was by far the most productive as we took on the "divide and conquer" approach and got our oldest on plenty of rides and roller coasters, while keeping the younger ones happy with repeat visits to Buzz Lightyear's ride.

So long as you don't mind eating fried, greasy, sugary or fatty foods and standing in line for about half of your allotted park time (with and without the kids, for your own sanity) then I think you could really spend more time at that park then we allowed. We didn't get to a lot of the rides that would have been fun to visit, but then again, there's always next time.

A couple of the wildest rides for our family took place after we left the park and went back to our hotel. Remember how I mentioned our last minute change to leave a day early? Well that led to us only being able to book a smoking room at our hotel, lest we stay at a different hotel or lose one night's deposit.

Mental note if that ever happens again: we'll just stay at a different hotel and/or lose the money.

Upon walking up to our room our oldest found the right number and said "There it is! But why does it say "smoking" under the number?" I then try to set realistic expectations and say "well it's a room where they allow people to smoke so it will probably smell a little bit..." and then my husband pipes in and says "now we don't know that it'll be bad so don't put that in their heads..." and then we open the door.

"Jesus Christ! That's disgusting!" my husband exclaims. Way to go daddy. Nice management of the expectations.

Immediately I plug in the air freshener that I brought and start burning candles. While we are all adjusting to the overpowering smell and trying to keep in mind that the room really is clean, even if it doesn't smell like it, our daughters start fighting about who gets the sofa bed. Even with a queen size hide-a-bed, the girls don't want to share. Our benevolent middle child volunteers to sleep on cushions on the floor. Meanwhile our son is doing the same thing in the bedroom where we will sleep.

After a brief episode of tears from our younger daughter, while she says over and over "I want to go home", we finally get them all to sleep.

Overtired is understated.

In the morning we all shower and get out of that stinky room as fast as possible. We pack up, leave our stuff at the front desk in anticipation of our non-smoking room for that night, and head to breakfast. As we are leaving the hotel I try to pump everyone into a good mood by saying "Okay guys, today is all about fun. Today is happy happy joy joy! Right!?" and a guy walking past us just smirks as he sees our small army make our way to the land of Mickey.

After a long day of crazy fun, our next wild ride was still ahead of us as we got back to the hotel that night. Again, it was a long, exhausting and overstimulating day, so we were really happy to enter our clean room, that even smelled clean this time.

We start to settle in and I decide to partake in the chocolate chip cookies that the hotel gave us when we checked in. My oldest grabs one and takes a bite, but then says "Yuck! It has nuts!" and puts it down. But my younger two and I decide that the nuts are okay and we munch away.

Almost immediately my son says his upper lip hurts. I figure he must have bit it and I pretty much blow it off, trying to offer him some juice to get his mind off it.

He then says "That doesn't help....see? {insert long sip here} It still hurts!"

Then he starts to really cry. I'm not real sure what's up with him, but I figure he must just be overtired.

Then I see that his upper lip is starting to swell. And the tears won't stop. Then the drool starts running down his chin. When I say "where does it hurt?" he just points to his throat.

Uh-oh.

I now alert the husband and we bring him into the bathroom where I can get a good look at him.

Since my son has so much saliva that's building up in his mouth because he's avoiding swallowing, he can't help but inhale some while he's crying. Which then brings on the gagging. And his upper lip is only getting bigger.

Now panic sets in. I tell my husband that I think he's having a reaction to something. He goes and gets the cookie wrapper and says there are walnuts in the cookies.

Now you should know that my son eats nuts all the time. His favorite drug snack mix has peanuts in it. He's addicted to the stuff.

But then I realize that I don't think he's ever had walnuts. We have a nut mix at home that he eats too, but he sticks to the cashews mostly. And that mix, to the best of my recollection, doesn't have walnuts.

My husband then says "I'm not messing around with this" and he picks up the phone and calls 9-1-1. He explains to the dispatch operator what's going on, making it clear that our son can breathe fine, as evidenced by the persistent crying. But since his lips are getting bigger and the gagging is also persisting, they send out the Calvary.

Then the manager of the hotel meanders up to our room, apparently alerted that we called 911. I tell him the scenario and together we walk down to the lobby with my son to meet the ambulance.

But much to my delight, we are greeted in the lobby by a full size fire truck. Lights spinning, sirens blaring.

By this time my son has calmed down and is in awe of the big fire truck. And I'm feeling a little silly for all of this fuss when he seems to now be getting better, not worse.

Three fire men and a medic come in and take a look at my son.

So you see, it's just another ordinary day for me, hanging out in the lobby of a hotel with a bunch of young fire men.

In the end, he was fine. Lungs were clear and no hives. Just seriously fat lips and a light rash on his face. And of course the throat thing, which seemed to subside pretty fast after he calmed down.

And while all this was going on I couldn't help but think that I always knew our first call to 911 would be because of our son. I just figured it would be because of something he did, not because of something we had any hand in.

The medic offered a shot of benedryll, but I remembered that we had some antihistamine in the room, so we just went back up and gave him some drugs.

It did take about 12 hours for his lips to go back to normal. But the next day, including the car ride home, was relatively uneventful.

And returning to our smoke-free, walnut-free, line-free, low-sugar, high-comfort home after all that craziness was what I would definitely call happy happy joy joy.

Slow Down You Move Too Fast

This week we had another reminder of how fast life moves. Or rather, I should say, how fast our children grow up.

One afternoon as we were having some relative quiet time while my son napped, and a bit out of the blue the doorbell rang.

My oldest daughter and I went to the door to see who it was and we were greeted with empty space. Instead of a person at the door, we found a note under a rock on our door mat.

The first thing I noticed was pink writing, so I figured it was a note from one of her friends. Upon closer look I saw the word "love" written over and over on one side. And then a part of me had a flashback to childhood days, recognizing that there may be something related to puppy love involved with the scene. We have had some ding-dong-ditching here and there, courtesy of a neighborhood boy in my daughter's class, and I smelled a connection.

Sure enough, as my daughter picked it up and read it she seemed to get a little embarrassed. I had already walked back into the kitchen, and when I saw her enter, cheeks a little blushed, she was ripping the note up into pieces with a little smirk on her face.

The little girl in me got a little giddy and said "what are you doing?" while giggling and trying to get her to give me the pieces so I could read it. Then my motherly senses kicked in and I backed off and asked her about it.

She just said it was a note from a boy (the one in our neighborhood) but that it said it was from another boy in their class. However she knows that this other boy doesn't live close by and that our little neighborhood boy doesn't really like this other boy. So she surmised that our neighbor must have written the note to play a joke on his "frenemy". That's my term, not hers.

I asked what it said and she told me it said this other boy liked her.

And that was it. Off she went to throw the paper shreds away. I stopped her part way to the garbage can and had her put the pieces in the recycling, since it seems I'm always thinking green. And truth be told, I was thinking that I might want to get those pieces back later.

Later on that night I couldn't take it anymore. I went to get the pieces out of the paper recycling bin in the kitchen. But my husband had emptied it into the larger bin in the garage.

So off I went to the garage, my mother bear senses kicking into high gear while my desire to find out what this note said turned into an outright need.

I finally fished out as many pieces as I could find and brought them into the family room and put them on the coffee table.

"What's that?" my husband asks.

"A love note that was anonymously dropped off for our daughter," I tell him.

"Seriously?" he inquires.

"Yup."

Together we put together as much as we could to decipher the note, even though a couple pieces were missing. Truth be told, my hubby didn't help much. I was the one that cared the most, at least until we read what the note said.

I was finally able to read most of the note, much of which said "love" over and over. But the first line said "Dear {oldest daughter}, I love you so much I want to kiss you with tongue twist. Love {other boy}"

Whaaaaat?!?

Since when do 8 year olds talk about kissing? And kissing with tongue? I mean, that shouldn't come on the scene for another few years at least.

"I'm gonna go kick his ass," my husband said. And he had a bit of a chuckle in his voice, but let me tell you, there was no chuckle in his eyes or on his face.

I try to offer a little defense for this boy, telling my husband that I think he's had a crush on our daughter all year. I mean he ordered 2 boxes of girl scout cookies from my daughter even though his mother was standing there telling him that they already had enough. He insisted on getting them and paying for them himself. And when those said cookies were delivered, about a week later he had an urge for more, and asked my daughter during class to come by later and deliver more.

I also reasoned with him that this boy has an older brother and sister, one of whom I was pretty sure was in high school.

And then I said "But really, that's just so in appropriate."

But what do 8 year olds know from appropriate? My husband asked if we should go talk to his mother.

I thought it over and just said we should let things lie for now. It was just kids being kids. Even if they are more mature for their age than they should be.

But really, our oldest daughter is perfectly happy with headphones on, plugged into an iPod, listening to Taylor Swift and trying to learn all the words to songs that sing about feelings she won't have for many, many years.

It is what it is. Life moving too fast.

I decided I'd go up and tuck our daughter in and just put it out there that I'm available to talk if she has any questions. I asked her again about the note and asked how she felt about it all. She shrugged and said she was fine and just figured it was the neighbor being a goof.

Apparently any concerns she had went into the recycling with the shreds of pink inked paper.

And while I hope she takes a bit of flattery from it, I'm not sure if she even knows what that is yet. But I certainly know that it didn't go to her head too much, as she wasn't prancing around or tucking the note under her pillow.

And the next day she was outside playing with the neighborhood kids again, as if nothing had happened. Not sure what this boy was thinking at the time. Probably that he got away with a good joke.

I think perhaps I'll leave a note at his doorstep next week that reads "slow down you move too fast".

Sweet Dreams

As you may remember, we have had some difficulties and challenges in getting our youngest child to comply with our bedtime routines.

After we finally resorted to locking him in his room at bedtime last summer we had several months of good sleep. No, it's not inhumane. It helps him learn how to exercise self control. And it helps us not get furious.

Then just before the holidays last year he starting 'popping' again. Not at bedtime, since we were still keeping his door closed when he was putting himself to sleep. But this was now happening in the middle of the night. When we check on him before we go to bed we unlock his door and leave it cracked open. Which apparently became an invitation to come visit us at 2am. Or 3am. Or 5am. Or all of them.

Somehow we put up with this behavior for way too long. The holidays were busy...we didn't want to deal with middle of the night battles...we figured he'd outgrow it eventually. We had a lot of excuses.

Finally my husband took a trip out of town in February and I saw an opening. Since he was the one always getting up in the middle of the night to put our son back to bed, I decided this was an opportunity ripe for change.

And bribery.

So I busted out my party treasure chest full of two cent toys and told my child that he could pick a toy in the morning if he stayed in bed all night. And it worked. Well by the third night it was working.

And then we went back to square one after my husband got back. Not that it was his fault. But I had really been talking up the treasure chest when I was putting him down at night, and when my husband got back and put him to bed, which he often does, he wasn't building up the expectations quite so much. We were back to our nighttime visitor for a couple nights.

So I upped the ante. I wrapped up a bunch of little toys, some of them matchbox cars and others just junk toys, and I put them in a gift bag. I showed it to my son and told him he gets to pick a present out in the morning if he stays in bed all night. And I also set an alarm in his room and told him that he had to stay in bed until the music was playing. This last part didn't stick quite as well as the all night part. But not being woken up - at all - until 6:20am has it's benefits.

Voila. We were back to our peaceful nights.

Ah, what bliss. A full night of sleep.

And a pat on the back.

Although truth be told it took me another week before I could sleep past 5:30am which had become one of his more popular visiting hours.

The funny thing was that he didn't even like the presents after he picked them out in the morning. He'd open one up and whine about it. So then I let him pick one that was a car and he was a little happier. For a few mornings he picked out two toys, one a car and the other a trinket. And he'd complain every time. Even about the car. But we'd stick to the one he got and bring it with us downstairs. After his morning chocolate milk fix he'd warm up to it.

We only had to do this for about 4 or 5 days until he started forgetting about it. We brought the grab bag downstairs because I thought perhaps it was too dark in our room to see what he got and that's why he was complaining.

I was clearly giving him too much credit.

But moving things downstairs was the first step down in the process. Eventually we'd forget to pick one out and he wouldn't remind us.

Another pat on the back for us.

We were so proud of ourselves that we started to take on another challenge. I started leaving the door open a bit at bedtime. We did this when he was sharing a room with his cousin in Colorado and he did really well. So I transferred it home and it continued to go well.

Until this past week. He started his repetitive 'popping' again so we went to the 3 strikes rule. After 3 pop outs we would close the door and lock it. Most nights the threat was enough to keep him to only 2 tries.

Of course when I told this to our new 15 year old babysitter on her first night putting him to bed a week ago, she seemed okay with the process. But when push comes to shove she wasn't ready to be the bad guy. We came home at 10pm to find him still up, having challenged her for 2 hours of popping out of bed. And when we found him, he had a special surprise in store as he had each hand full of gumballs, as well as one in his mouth, and a blue smudged face. And no diaper. Which is still required for night time.

No, we didn't fire the babysitter. But we did offer a lot of education. The next babysitter bedtime went much more smoothly.

And then we hit daylight savings and we even have him sleeping past 7am in the morning.

Woo hoo!!!

And another pat on our backs.

Except just when we think we have all of our bases covered, our son has decided to level the playing field.

What's the one thing he can control when we've taken away all his other options?

That damned diaper.

Even though my husband and I have decided we aren't ready to take on the challenge of bedtime without diapers yet, our son doesn't feel the same way.

I thought it was strange that the sitter didn't put a diaper on him that night last week. When actually he had taken it off himself during all of his little shenanigans. And for the past few nights, he's decided that he's going to get up at some point and let us know that he wants it off. Last night he just took it off himself at 3am and then came in to tell us that he took it off.

You might think this is a great step forward toward getting rid of it all together. But we don't.

At 3am we really don't want to hear about the diaper. We just want it to be on his ass and we want said ass to be in his bed.

And we certainly do not want to be up at night taking him to the potty or changing sheets.

Now tonight I was back to offering him a present - to which he requested a car - if he slept in bed all night, and didn't take off his diaper.

I'm off to go find all those cars he's collected and strewn about the house. I need to wrap a few of them up for a morning "surprise".

What? He's just going to complain about them anyway.

If he's going to find a work-around, then I will too.

Rocky Mountain High

It's time for a much overdo post about our trip out to Colorado a couple weeks ago. Too bad you can't read minds, because this has actually been written for about that length of time, I just never got it to my fingertips.

Around this time last year, all of our friends and kids of friends seemed to go on a trip for what this area calls their "ski week". The week of President's Day has become a sort of holiday week for the bay area. I guess they figured so many kids were out of school because they were up in the mountains skiing that they'd just build it into our district schedule. Officially it's called "Mid Winter Break" but word on the street is "ski week". So, since last year everyone had up and left for snow, or sun, I decided we wouldn't be left behind this year. And alas, the time came and we up and went to Denver to visit my sister and her husband and kids.

It was well worth the advance planning.

First and foremost, it needs to be noted that my little family of five is now plane-worthy. Our last airplane trip together was last summer, and it was notably a bit easier at that time. This time was like a little slice of heaven. My husband and I found ourselves looking at each other and shrugging quite a bit. The now-what-do-we-do-to-keep-ourselves-entertained shrug. You see, neither of us had planned on having "free time" on the plane. Which, for any adults travelling without young kids, is all you have when you fly. But for us, family flying has always been filled with how-do-we-keep-the-little-one-entertained moments.

I'm proud to say we've passed a bit of a threshold in our family. It held true on both flights. All the kids were entertained and my husband and I were digging through the seat back pockets and reading the airline magazine and catalogue. We obviously weren't prepared for this phenomenon. The details are such that we barely even noticed our 8 year old was along for the ride, she was so self sufficient with her own bag of goodies. I think her favorite part was plugging in her headphones to the airplane stereo and watching Cake Boss on the airplane TV. Now you know you've passed some sort of barrier when your oldest likes to watch the same shows as you. And our younger daughter was happy with her puzzle books or the DVD player.

And then there was our son. The one we banked on to take up all our time.

Not so. He was fabulous. In fact, on the way home he was perfectly happy to sit and watch Dora on my phone for almost an hour stretch at one point. He occasionally wanted to get up and walk around a bit, so we happily obliged him. And other than that, he was content playing with his cars or watching a show in his seat.

Hence the magazine time for mom and dad. It was a thing of beauty.

Now, on to the real beauty. The Rocky Mountains. We didn't know it at the time, but we hit perfect weather. It snowed the whole time we were there.

Some people might think perfect weather is clear and sunny skies. But we Californians get that quite a bit. What my kids wanted to see, and me too for that matter, was the white stuff. The 'stuff' that always amazes me how much room it can take up and how beautiful it can make things look. And all it is is frozen water.

After our meet and greet in Denver with my sister and family, we all packed up the cars and went to the mountains for 3 nights. We had a great place to stay, thanks to my husband's friend, with a sledding hill behind the house and the ski mountain a 20 minute drive away. And the shopping outlets only 5 minutes away, which truth be told, my sister and I hit on our last morning there.

My girls went through a roller coaster of emotions with regards to the actual skiing. Want to, don't want to, hot, cold, had a blast, too tired. You name it, they spewed forth it all. But in the end, we all had an incredible time.

My husband and I got the girls out there for two days of skiing. We decided this year that we'd go with them ourselves and see if their skills could further along a bit faster than a group lesson, where they spend a lot of time waiting in line. We had a lot of fun spending real quality time with each of them.

We heard the squeal with excitement as they started to go faster. We listened and attended to their concerns. We got them over some humps of anxiety.

And our legs will never be the same.

Their reward during the day was frequent stops in the lodge for candy. And our reward at night was a hot tub with a cold beer.

We also frequently explored the hill behind the house with tubing and sledding, chasing each other down the hill. And we built a little snow man. And to boot, I didn't have to coordinate dinner. I was just the helper. Thank you sis.

It's fun to just be a kid for a while.

After our exhausted broods went to sleep, the four of us adults hung out chatting and playing cards. Truth be told, if the TV wasn't in the room that two kids were sleeping in, we would have been vegging out in front of the Olympics. But instead, we had the pleasure of enjoying each other's company. Another unexpected surprise.

The trip had a lot of favorite moments.

Watching my kids catch snowflakes on their tongues.

Hearing "that was awesome!" after getting off a chairlift with my daughter.

Watching my kids have a blast playing with their cousins.

Enjoying the scenic beauty of the Rockies right out our window.

Getting 22 points in one hand of cribbage. If you have to ask, assume it's good.

Hearing "that was awesome!" after my younger daughter went down the hill on her own tube.

Getting in a little shopping with my sister.

Watching the beauty of snow falling. Something I haven't seen a lot in the last 7 years.

All in all, I'd have to agree with my daughters' sentiments.

That was awesome.

Toddlerisms

You know your 2 year old has two older sisters, and a command of the English language, when you hear him say...

..."whatever" when he gets frustrated and wants to walk away. Perhaps while doing a puzzle and not finding the right piece..."whatever"...

..."cool!" when you point out a little red sports car on the road.

..."I'm just wewaxing" when you ask him how he is doing while sitting on the potty.

..."what now?" whenever you finish a stated task. For example, "Let's go get your milk," and after finding the cup and taking a long gulp, "what now?". "Let's go outside," and after arriving outside, "what now?".

..."I got one!" whenever he's trying to think up a new joke. For example, when saying "see you later alligator" he will often be prompted to come up with a 'new one'. So we say "bye bye french fry" and he will continue with "I got one! Bye bye hamburger! I got one! See you later streetlight! I got one!....I got one!" over and over and over again, naming the many things he sees around his immediate area, or even making up things that sound funny.

..."I buy dat!" whenever he sees something he wants. While looking in a book, while driving in the car, while watching tv...which is wear this sentiment was born with help from his sisters. Most times the items are not 'buyable', but that doesn't stop him from yearning.

..."no way!" whenever he doesn't want to do something that you ask of him. And of course he says it in response to our retort of "way" or "yes way".

No one has ever said he isn't clever.

Now I'm off to wewax.

Yes way.

See you later doo dah.