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.

Short Circuit

So far this year has started off with some nice little adventures.

Yesterday my car battery died. And it was just when I was already a few minutes late to pick up my oldest at school. Ordinarily this would have sent me into a mad panic, calling numbers at the school and putting out an APB for help. But having been through this 2 other times already, in the exact same scenario, I just sort of laughed.

And my younger daughter just said "The car's not working again? So I can keep watching my show?" And back she went to the TV. And luckily I hadn't woken up my son yet from his nap. It's generally the last thing I do after everything and everyone is in the car ready to go.

A quick phone call to my carpooling friend, some bartering of pick up days, and the problem was solved. Then I sent a text to my husband telling him to FINALLY get a new battery for the car. He's been fighting me on this one but I just put my foot down this time and said I'd be taking the car in the next day if he didn't do it himself (which I knew he'd insist on, so I had him in a corner).

A short while later my husband arrives home with a battery that "could power the Titanic" he says. So now I think we have at least one problem solved.

The other problem has a bit more trickery involved. It seems that about a week ago, a wee little field mouse found his way into the wall of our kitchen and passed on to greener meadows. And while this happens all over the world every day, especially around our house which is surrounded by (and built on) marshland so nature's furry and feathered wonders are everywhere, for it to happen in this exact spot is a bit of a bummer.

How do we know he's passed on, you ask? Well there's a bit of a smell. A foul order that I mistakenly thought was just the garbage after we had shrimp for dinner one night last week. But after days of the smell lingering, and me cleaning every nook and cranny of our kitchen, we knew something was amiss. When my husband made the suggestion of perhaps there being a dead rodent nearby, I knew he was on to something.

So now we had to really start looking around. Or should I say, he had to start really looking around. I made myself scarce lest I throw up a little in my mouth at the thought of it all.

The result came in as it being inside the wall, or else under the cabinets, as there is no behind the cabinets.

Quick haste I made a call to our friendly neighborhood exterminator who we keep on retainer.

That statement is quite sad, really.

But the Orkin guy came out and in a very polite way he told us we were screwed. Just gotta live with it. Keep spraying the Lysol he says. Spray it into the wall if there are holes. Which there were, but they aren't in the area where the specimen might lie.

So my husband decides to cut out a little hole in the wall around the existing one, which is there for a plumbing pipe. And while cutting out that little hole, he also cuts said pipe.

Ooops.

Now we have to shut off the water and we can't use the sink. Or the dishwasher. It's the drain pipe, so luckily there was no leaking or flooding when this happened.

But it made the thought of making dinner a bit difficult. And unappetizing considering the smell we were trying to mask with our candles and Lysol.

"Let's go out to eat" I say. So we all pack up and head out to the car to get dinner out.

Oops.

The battery is still dead and the super duper turbo one is sitting on the ground awaiting it's new home. "I can do this in 5 minutes" my husband exclaims, and he starts digging around his tool box.

In the mean time I decide to put the extra carseats in his car and then call him off the project. Just in time as he's starting to get a bit (more than) frustrated at this point, as evidenced by flying objects in the garage.

But this works out well because then he can swing by Home Depot to pick up something to repair the pipe.

After a fine meal at Chipotle and a quick errand done, we decide to splurge on Jamba Juice for dessert. We arrive to see that it seems like they are trying to close early. We soon find out that their cash register is broken down, so they decide to just start doing everything the old fashioned way, adding it up with a calculator and counting back the change. They are very appreciative of our patience during this process.

Hey, we know what it feels like to have things not really go the way you thought, so we are plenty patient at this point.

After that we head home and my husband is ready to begin his evening of being a grease monkey.

I put all the kids to bed and by that time he declares that the good news is he fixed the pipe and all is well again in the kitchen. Except the stink of course.

But the bad news is he has the wrong kind of battery for the car.

So we keep the old battery in there and my husband charges it up and drives it around for a bit, running a quick errand to the grocery store to get more air freshener.

This morning I'm driving the car and I can't even remember what the numbers are to all the radio stations that I like (since the radio has been reset when taking out the battery). Talk about short circuiting.

Happy 2010.

May we always have a back up plan. And plenty of air freshener.

Chaos of Three

This weekend I spent two lovely, quiet and fun days spent with nothing but adult food and adult conversations.  And with my four favorite ladies, no less.  I miss them all already.

Over the weekend my sister and I were chatting about what it's like to have kids, and whether or not she was considering having a third child.  In giving her answer she said she was really very happy with her family as it is and right now she doesn't need to invite the "chaos of three" into her life.

The chaos of three?  I immediately thought to myself, does it show that much?  Is my life so crazy that everyone can see all that chaos all the time?  I know I feel it all the time, but are my seams bursting apart in front of the world?

Then I inquired about her brother-in-law and their family, who just added their third child in the past year or so as well.  Indeed, she could confirm that it's not just me and my family, it's them too. 

Phew.  It's nice to know you aren't alone.  

Perhaps I should start a support group for mothers of three or more.  

But if you have more than four children on purpose, you aren't invited because then it's very likely you'd be certifiable.  No offense, but really, five kids?  You have to be a bit off balance to really want that.  Of course a lot of people would say that about three kids. 

After coming home from my weekend I was talking to my very-giving-very-loving-most-wonderful-father husband of mine and he confirmed the theory.  And better yet, he figured out the reason why life seems so chaotic with 3 kids.

It's the age span.  Seems simple enough, but I never really thought about it.  

Basically, by the time you have your third kid, you already have a 4 or 5 year old.  So by the time your youngest is up and running around, you have a child in primary school and another one in preschool, and a toddler.  The key words here are "primary school" and "toddler" in the same sentence and under the same roof.

Of course you could have a smaller age span if you have twins.  But let's just assume that the word "twins" and the word "chaos" are very closely related.

As my family has learned over the last couple of years, elementary school comes with a kit and kaboodle of fringe activities and necessities.  There's the obvious activities, like Girl Scouts, soccer, softball, dance class and what not.  Those are more or less under your control.   Although they often send out pleads of help, asking for coaches or troop leaders and the like.  Right there you are inviting chaos into your life.  But it doesn't stop with that.

Those are nothing compared to the buffet of volunteer "opportunities" that are offered at a public school through a mist of guilt and a cloud of the sense of duty, responsibility and obligation.  As a parent of a child in public school, I think I feel a bit obligated to help out, seeing as my child is getting a "free" eduction and all.  You know.  It's the whole it-takes-a-village concept.  And I really do believe in it.

That's the problem.

If you are anything like me, and there's no saying you are, but if you are reading my blog, it's more likely than not.  So if you are, your life opens up to a realm of activities that you never really thought about.  And they are big and small, depending on what you want to commit to.  

There's the classroom volunteering opportunities: room parent, donations for parties, party planning, charity planning and education, art lesson assistance, field trip chaperoning and in-room volunteering to help the teacher, to name a few.

Then there is the school-wide opportunities, including but not limited to: assistance with the hot lunch delivery, helping at festivals, helping with teacher appreciation week, being on the PTA, leading or being on a committee for a fundraiser, donating for charity drives, participating in fundraising activities and drives, or being on the committee to plan all the committees.  And the list goes on.

None of these things existed before Kindergarten.  And yet here they are, laid out before you at the school registration, like a buffet of needy, starving children that need your help.  Sign up now and you can save the life of this child, for just a mere 5 hours a week of your time and a pint of your blood!

Now I know that it's perfectly fine to not volunteer for anything.  But I also know that that's not my style.  And I know that our PTA President is a full-time working mom, as are most of the other PTA officers.  And the room moms.  So I always feel like, if they are doing it, so should I.

I think when you work you feel obligated to get more involved because you can't be there as much during the day for your kids.  And when you stay at home with your kids, you feel obligated because you are home during the day and it's supposedly easier for you than for those mothers that work.

You can't win.

So here you are, stretched thin between all those things you signed up for when you were feeling like you should do something to help, and all those things you signed up for when you got pregnant with your third child.  And let's not forget all those things that come with the child in between, as we too often do.

And you have to get your husband to cover things when you have evening meetings, and a babysitter for your daytime obligations and on and on.

TA-DA.

The Chaos of Three.

Can someone pass me my glass of wine please?

The Magic is Gone

The other day I was driving home with all my kids in the car and my oldest asks, "How come none of the characters at Disneyland are real?".

Whhhhaaaaaat!? My brain did a screeching halt in the middle of our drive.

She's only six. Well, almost seven, but still, she's six! I'm not ready for all this non-magical thinking. Life is so easy when you get to pretend right along with your kids. It has such an innocence and endless possibility feel to it. I want to make her stay in Neverland and never grow up. After all, she is my first baby.

[Insert heavy sigh here.]

"What do you mean they weren't real?" I ask.

"Well they aren't real animals," she responds.

"What makes you say that?" I ask. Notice that I didn't say "how do you know that?" or anything that might insinuate she is correct. You have to be careful about these things when dealing with an astute grade school kid.

"When one of them turned around I saw the zipper on his back," she says.

"Yeah," says my younger daughter. Even though I'm not really sure she knew what her sister was saying, but by this time she really wants to get in on this discussion.

"Hmmmm," I say as I stall. Then I quickly follow it up with "hey, it's David Cook on the radio - listen!" and I turn up the volume to curb any further discussion.

Distraction to the rescue. My props go out to American Idol and it's good, clean fun for kids.

Now a couple days pass by and my husband and I are discussing the Republican Vice President nominee Sarah Palin.

Ugh.

That's as far as I'll go with a political discussion on my blog.

Just the night before we had mentioned something about her 17 year old daughter being pregnant, and my oldest picked up on it. She said "17!!??" and then followed it up with "that seems really young to be having a baby." Yes, little wise one, you are correct.

So here we are again the next morning discussing the latest news in front of her. Big mistake.

"So she's not married?" she asks.

"No, she's getting married soon," I say. Now I'm really hoping our discussion ends here.

But, alas, my wish is not fulfilled.

"So how do you get pregnant anyway?" she asks.

Oh the dread. The fear. The anxiety. Gulp.

My husband makes a loud coughing noise and proceeds to bury his nose back in the newspaper. Thanks for the support honey.

"We'll talk about that when you get older," I say. Then I quickly follow it up with "so what do you want in your lunch today?" and I rattle off a list of possibilities so long that the thought of pregnancy and its whereabouts can only be left behind in the crannies of her mind.

Distraction strikes again.

I don't know how long I can keep this up.

I'm sure the jolly old man in the red suit and the fairy that delivers money under your pillow are on the short list for upcoming inquisitions.

Time for a little parental preparation. There's only so long she'll buy this distraction crap.

All I Want For Memorial Day...

Over the past few months I have started to see a lot of gapped smiles among my daughters’ friends. They hit that 5 or 6 year old age and before you know it teeth are falling out like little pebbles. And they all love to show off their new look.

“Look! Look! I lost a toof!”

In fact, I have had quite a few conversations with other mothers based solely around their children losing their teeth.

Ummmm…..boooooring.

Now don’t get me wrong. Their children are adorable, but if I had to hear one more time about how someone’s darling kid lost their tooth I was going to start knocking some out myself.

Of course that’s how I felt until MY child lost her tooth this morning. Now here I am, blogging about it and telling all the world that MY DAUGHTER LOST HER FIRST TOOTH!

How grand!

How amazing!















Isn’t she adorable!?

Right there in the middle of eating her pancake it finally falls out. Whoda thunk it? A pancake.

At least she doesn’t look like Mater from the Cars movie anymore. That tooth was practically sticking straight out from all the tongue prodding and finger prying.

Okay, enough of that gag-inducing, isn't my child the greatest, she's a little tooth prodigy talk. On to the lesson learned.

Here's a word to the wise.

If your child has a loose tooth, you need to have a plan in place for getting that little something that the Tooth Fairy leaves behind. Decide what it will be with that first wiggle and then get on it. Because those suckers can fall out without much warning. And then you are up a creek without a paddle. Or a silver dollar. Or a toy. Or whatever.

So my advice is to start stockpiling those treasures now, because if one of those teeth falls out while your child is brushing before bedtime, you are in trouble buddy.

All those $20 bills in your wallet will make for an expensive year.