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.

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.

Shut Up Already

By the title of this post you might think I'm being rather insensitive to my children. But that's not so. I'm talking to myself.

I just got back from watching my first soccer game for my daughter's team. And that sentiment is what I was telling myself the entire time. Just shut up already Jessica. But I couldn't. From the second that whistle blew, there was a force that swept over my brain and wrapped around my vocal chords. It took complete control over my thoughts until I was screaming things I never thought I even cared about.

It has finally come.

I'm a soccer mom.

Now you might be looking at the calendar and thinking to yourself "isn't soccer season almost over?". And you'd be correct. Because of my new career venture, my weekends have been pretty busy and I've managed to miss every other game up until this point, with the exception of the first half of one game a few weeks ago. So here we are three games from the end of the season and I'm finally getting to watch. It's really been heart-breaking to get the text message updates throughout the games as my husband keeps me up to date while he has watched the entire season up to this point. Especially last week when my daughter scored her first goal. Man did I wish I was there when I got that text. Tears even came to my eyes. In fact I'm getting a bit choked up just writing about it.

Now I was so excited that I finally get to go to the last 3 games of the season, and I couldn't wait to watch her play. Except that last night when she went to bed she wasn't feeling well. I think she had a very slight fever, which was probably from a long day of Halloween festivities and being run down, but nonetheless, I had a feeling she might not be playing today. Sure enough, she woke up with a big headache, although no fever, and a bit of a tummy ache. She ate her breakfast, but she just wasn't herself.

Of course this would also be the one day that we were in charge of snacks for the team. So I was up this morning baking Halloween cookies and cutting up watermelon. Before you know it I had to leave, and she was a trooper and put on her team shirt with her sweats and said she wanted to come with me.

So there we are on a wet field, watching the girls run up and down playing their game. I'm keeping my daughter warm and feeling a bit guilty that she's there. Either way you think about it I wasn't on the right side of the equation. I was either dragging my sick child out to a soccer game in the wet and cold morning (who makes those schedules and thinks that 9am is a good time for a Saturday morning soccer game, anyway?) or I was bringing out my somewhat healthy almost perfectly fine child to her team game without any equipment and letting her just sit and watch her teammates work hard for a win. But that's neither here nor there I guess.

As we watched her team fight hard on the defense through most of the first half, I was overcome from the first kick. "Get up there in front of the goal girls!" "Forwards get open!" "Kick it out of there!" "Pass it to the middle!!"

You name it, I was yelling about it. I seriously didn't know I had it in me. Since I've never been to a game and I am part of a carpool for practice, I don't know all the girls on the team. So I'm asking my daughter "who's the one with the ribbon in her hair?" and "what's the name of the girl with the pink shirt on underneath?". Then I'm yelling their names telling them where to go to get the ball and what to do with it.

Seriously. I started laughing at myself. At one point I told myself to just shut up for a while. I'd be quiet for about a minute and then it would just start coming out again.

As I was being possessed, I realized why it might be happening. I'm so used to knowing what to do myself, and watching games where players know what they are doing, that I couldn't help but feel a bit frustrated watching half the team just stand there and wait for the ball to come right to them before they even moved. And even then they sometimes didn't move. To the credit of all the girls, they all did the best they could. It's just that some of them get it and some of them don't. Or they don't care.

Which is totally fine. And I wasn't at all mad about it. I just wanted them all to do better and work hard for their team. So I couldn't help myself from yelling at them. For the record, mostly I just screamed out the obvious and I never pointed anyone out specifically unless they did something great and I told them so.

At the half time, the coach said he would try something new and he told everyone to just go play whatever they wanted and he wasn't going to assign any positions. My inner voice said "WHAT!?" and I panicked and started to tell the girls "someone needs to be on defense!" and shouting other instructions. Seriously, who did I think I was, the coach? I had to shut myself up again.

My daughter toughed it out through the whole game (we had a couple moments where we thought we'd leave) and by the end she was feeling better. And she was right there with me on the sideline yelling for her teammates to get a goal.

It was really rather fun. A bit of an adrenaline rush. Or perhaps that was just the coffee that I was sipping throughout the game.

Before today I had told myself that I would work with my daughter to see if she could play at least 2 or 3 years of soccer so she can get the feel of what it means to be on a team. Between that and softball, she should get some great life lessons. There's responsibility, teamwork, discipline, just to name a few. All wonderful qualities that most athletes possess, and ones that I'm glad she will be exposed to during these few years.

Just over the past week or two I was wondering if I should stick to that philosophy. I certainly don't want to force her to play something she doesn't like. I think I just really want her to like it.

And now after today, I want her to like it even more. I want to be her biggest fan on the sideline screaming like crazy when she gets a goal.

I want to be her soccer mom.

Little Wonders

Today, for whatever reason, I was at my wit's end.

Wait a minute. Hummmm....let me think about that. Oh, I got it. I was at my wit's end because my three kids had eaten all the way through my wits until there was only a little crumb left. Yup, that's the reason why.

Although truth be told we were having a perfectly fine day. And in fact we've had quite a few good days lately. I think we may be turning a bit of a corner in our family now that our youngest is just over 2 years old. Although today a bit of my sleeve got caught in the door and pulled me back around that proverbial corner again, showing me that I shouldn't count my preschoolers before they've hatched.

Today's wit-eating all revolved around a crying 2 year old after he woke up early from his nap, which he sorely needed since he was up this morning at 5:45am. As far as the morning routine goes, he's been pretty consistent with getting up at 6:20am. He teased us a couple days and went until 7:30, but then he was right back at the 6am times just when we were starting to catch up on our sleep.

The 6:20's are still earlier than any of us need to be up, and way earlier than I want to be up. And then the occasional 5:30's are just down right rude. But to his defense they are driven by bad dreams that he can't seem to get over, and always seem to happen at that time. Then the morning starts even earlier than usual. In fact, my loving, charming, handsome and incredibly virile husband has been the morning volunteer, getting up with the little lad while I catch some more shut-eye. He's a saint. I'm hoping, more for their sake than mine, that our son goes into a later morning routine once the daylight time shifts and the sun isn't rising at 5:30am anymore. We'll see.

So, back to today. Here I was with a crying 2 year old, and I was just moments away from starting a scavenger hunt with my oldest. I had suggested it and gotten everyone excited about the idea, and then someone came along and rubbed his snotty tears all over the plan. And I mean that literally, since all the little scraps of paper that my oldest had prepared where lost somewhere in the juggle of my balancing act with the 30+ pound boy-wonder (plus his two favorite stuffed animals) and a sippy cup and a snack, all bobbling around as I tried to find something, anything, that he would eat so his mood would cheer up.

I endured about 45 minutes of this crying, with him occasionally pointing to something that he wanted to eat or do, only to change his mind when I went and got it and put it in front of him. All the while still juggling his dense little body and those of his two stuffed friends. No matter what I offered or tried, they were all short-lived remedies.

And of course during this time my sweet oldest child is getting her little sister's clues ready for the scavenger hunt. I really wanted to help get hers ready, since I was put in charge of doing them for my oldest and she was in charge of doing one for her little sister, but I had absolutely no patience left. Every time she would ask me something I'd just bark at her "not now!". But she was a trooper and stuck to her task at hand.

Then my younger daughter decided to start some coloring with the book I was trying to show my son to calm him down. Which was fine, but she didn't want to share and let her brother color, or rather scribble, on it, so we got yet another showering of tears.

At this point all three kids were in separate places, all asking me for things, or else just slobbering and snotting all over me. No one was especially upset besides my son, but I was just wearing out and wanting to run away screaming.

I felt pulled in too many directions. And frustrated from all the crying. A headache was starting. And I had a momentary flash of going to our bathroom and closing the door behind me. I knew he would just be blubbering on the other side of it, but I thought for a second there that I might find some kind of reprieve. Alas, I knew I was fooling myself. Plus I knew my sitter was only a few minutes away from showing up. Which in itself was enough to hold on for, as well as enough to keep me from locking myself in any room, lest she show up to such a lovely scene.

So I grabbed my son, still with his 2 stuffed friends, and took him out to the garage. I pulled out a chair and sat in the driveway. And then I tried the old distraction thing and said "do you see an airplane? a bird? a helicopter?". We don't get too many helicopters around our house, but he's really into them lately, so I thought I'd give it a try. What the hell.

But I got nada. Still the crying.

And just then, out of nowhere, flies a monarch butterfly. It makes a few circles right in front of us, and then pulls one of its friends out of hiding and they do a little fluttery dance right before our eyes. We were both mesmerized, watching them flit around with effortless beauty.

Then the tears stopped. And the smiles started. And we enjoyed the show.

Then I thought to myself, isn't that just so typical of parenthood? Just when you are all worn out and you think you have nothing left, something beautiful happens and you are reminded of life's smallest wonders.

You get an amazing smile and some cheerful giggles, a little snuggle, and the world is right again. You are restored to your normal level of sanity.

Then you go on with your scavenger hunt, looking forward to a little treat at the end.

My kids got some Oreos after their scavenger hunt.

I got the ability to leave three happy children with the babysitter and get some quality "me" time.

God bless the butterflies and babysitters of the world.

In The Zone

What's this? Two posts in two days!? Unheard of!

But today was worthy. Very worthy.

Today I was IN THE ZONE.

Now yesterday, not so much. I think yesterday I hit a bit of a rock bottom, as they say. It was your basic day, but I just realized, after a few conversations with friends and acquaintences, that I was not putting my best foot forward with my kids. Namely with my son.

As I have said before, he has a tendency to be "that kid". A screamer. A thrower. A hair puller. Et cetera. Yesterday I realized that a lot of this was my fault. Yes, he has plenty of testosterone. But I can't blame it all on that. I just haven't had the patience and tolerance to educate him the way I taught my other two kids at the same age. With my girls I was still in prime mothering form. But now I'm like an old quarterback out there on the field that can't throw a pass to save their career but still never gives up. Because they think they are playing great. But really, they are old and tired and worn out, and can't give the game nearly the pep that they used to.

Not sure where that football analogy came from, but you get the idea.

Of course , like any good mother, I blame my other two kids for wearing me down to this point in the first place. Or it could have something to do with being almost 8 years older than when this whole motherhood thing began. And spending almost every single day of the last 7 years drying tears, wiping snotty noses, filling sippy cups, cleaning up messes and carrying around small people that never leave me alone. See, I'm back to blaming the kids again.

Regardless, I had hit a low point. And I realized why. And I vented about it. And then a miracle happened.

I woke up to my screaming son this morning. Okay, that wasn't the miracle. The miracle was that I woke up and thought "oh my God, I can't do this another day." And then I went downstairs and tried my best to put on a good face.

And after a while I wasn't trying anymore. I was just in a really good mood. And so was my son. I've never been more sure that his mood is a reflection of my own. I have known this for a while but I just didn't have the energy to pretend to be happy most days. For whatever reason, today I did. And it was truly a blessing of a day.

It went a little something like this:

He was happy through the grocery store; not a single scream or tear.

We were early to the athletic club so we went to the gymnasium and played with some basketballs. And he was happy to put them back and go to the child care center. Again, not a single scream or tantrum.

Then I played tennis. And man, did I play some tennis. I could do no wrong! Every single ball I hit, with the exception of a few, went exactly where I wanted it to go. After an hour of this, I thought I really need to go by some lottery tickets because something is definitely going my way today.

Then I went to pick up my son and the woman at the child care center said he had a really good day today. Go figure. Lately I've been hearing a lot of "he had a time-out today" or "he tried to push someone today." But not today, my friends.

He had a couple of attempts at screaming in the car, but I was able to thwart it every time today with my 'trick of the day': I counted to three slowly, holding up the right number of fingers every time, and then said "sshhh, sshhh, sshhh". And it worked. He seemed fascinated by the number two all day; he would try to do it with his fingers and it just made him giggle every time.

Whatever works.

Then he had a nap, and woke up without screaming or crying. Now that is unheard of.

Then we went to the library and the first person I saw was my neighbor. She didn't know it until after I approached her, but she was the topic of a few conversations yesterday as I realized that I should ask her if her 12 year old daughter could be a 'mother's helper' during some afternoons so she can play with the kids while I cook dinner or get things done around the house. All afternoon and evening yesterday I was trying to figure out how I could get a hold of her short of stalking her driveway. And we walk into the library and - bam - there she is.

In the zone, baby. Needless to say her answer was "yes, she'd love to!" and she's going to send her over to our house to figure out a schedule this weekend.

Nice!

And it's probably no surprise at this point that the longer my day went on, no matter where we went or what we did, the better my mood got. I was starting to think to myself that I should look in a mirror because I might have grown a second head. Where did this great attitude come from?

Perhaps it just came from finally seeing some light. Seeing some hope in the future for getting a little more help with my kids. And knowing that it's okay to ask for that help. It doesn't make me a bad mom, or an ungrateful person for living in this blessed life and still wanting "more." It makes me smart because I realize that I'm not taking care of myself or putting myself first. And if I don't do that, then I'm not the only one that suffers. My kids suffer too. Not to mention my poor husband who has to pick up the slack every night when he gets home.

My family has had to suffer through my bad mood for the past 6 months, or so it seems. But no more. I've turned a corner and I'm not going back.

Now someone just remind me of this the next time I call you up to bitch and moan.

The Good, The Bad, and The Crazy

THE GOOD:

My younger daughter seems to be progressing even more in overcoming her shyness. At school drop-offs she is actually going off to find a friend to play with instead of needing teacher interference. She still doesn't give an official "good-bye" when she wanders away, but I'll take her content enough to separate without crying or whining anyday.

She is also now fully participating in her gymnastics class. She has been going to the same place for 2 years now, and to date she had never really actively joined in the warm up time. Since this part of the class begins with circle time and talking, you can see why it never appealed to her. And even when they would get up and run around, she'd just sit and watch all by herself until it was time to start the gymnastics portion of the class. Then she was full tilt, showing her athleticism with pride. But as of the last two sessions, she is now rocking and rolling from the get-go, participating in circle time and warm up activities.

Then, just to prove that miracles really do happen, she started playing with a little girl she had never met before. This is absolutely unheard of in her four year old life to date. We were at her big sister's gymnastics class and this other little sister was lurking around, looking for a playmate to pass the time. While my daughter did not step right up and introduce herself (I had to do that part for her) she did participate as soon as this other outgoing little girl initiated some play time. I sat there and watched in amazement as the two of them played, giggled, and even talked with each other.

THE BAD:

This same daughter of mine had a bad spell with nighttime potty accidents during the holidays. After four nights in a row (you'd think we might have learned our lesson after two or three) we went back to taking her to the bathroom after she's gone to sleep, around 10pm. My theory was that she was just so tired from all the family in town and craziness of the holidays that she was sleeping deep enough not to wake up when the urge struck. We thought we had the problem kicked and stopped taking her at night about a week ago. Then she fell off the wagon again last night. To share the blame, we did not remember to take her to the bathroom when she went to bed, so that could have helped. And we should have because she had a lot to drink with dinner. Nonetheless, it made for another tiring episode sheet changing and pajama swapping during the night.

The kicker is she wasn't the one to wake me up in the first place. The other bad going on in our family right now is that my other two kids are sick. They have horrible coughs and my oldest has had a fever (just once a day) every day for the past several days. Her coughing was making such a hacking sound that I got up to check on her last night, and before I could reach her I ran into my little wet one.

Then I spent the next hour and a half thinking all kinds of thoughts instead of sleeping. Like, should I take them to the doctor? What will the doctor say? Is our doctor back from her leave yet? Wasn't I supposed to take the girls for their wellness checks soon? Why haven't they called me for a reminder appointment? I can't forget to call and tell the school that she is staying home again tomorrow. And call our carpool friend too. Why did (the other) she have another accident? Has she not been sleeping enough? Why has she been sooooooo whiny lately?

You can see how much fun that was. Almost as much fun as listening to my younger daughter re-exercise her inner whiny self lately. I thought we kicked that habit too, but it is rearing it's ugly head again. Whine, whine, whine. Cry, cry, cry. Fuss, fuss, fuss. That's how her day goes. Throw in a good jab or two at her sister, some wrestling with her brother, and a few bumps and bruises and you've about covered it.

Which brings me to the last topic.

THE CRAZY

That'd be me. Home for two days on my own with my kids, barely even seeing the beautiful sunshine we are having these days, let alone feeling it. Listening to the baby cry (he now has fevers) and my other two whine. With the occasional bout of calm throughout the house, since the one side benefit is that my son naps a lot when he's sick. And our unwritten rule is that if anyone stays home from school they get to watch about as much television as they can stand.

So now it's my turn.

Whine, whine, whine. Cry, cry, cry. Tears dropping right into my wine glass.

Time Warp

Normally, as most of you regular readers know, I try to keep my blog centered around my life with my children. The lessons they teach me every day have become valuable tools to my survival as a mother of three. I enjoy working through the process as I write, and also sharing the knowledge with and garnering support from my readers.

This post also provides me an opportunity to work through an experience, but it's not about my kids. This post is about grappling with the past while having fun in the present. It's the philosophical discovery that the memories I have been harboring for the past couple of decades tend to favor the fun and positive and let go of the negative. As they should.

Yes, this post is about my 20th high school reunion.

Just like childbirth, my memories have shifted and faded over time. Over the years I have let go of the anguish and insecurities in high school and my mind has chosen to remember the fun and friends, the parties and dances, living large and proud. I really did have a great time in the 80's. I conveniently forgot that those years were also peppered with some insecurities anchored deep in teenage angst.

The second I walked into our reunion on this past Saturday night, I was walking right back into the quad, the heartbeat of our high school, and those old prickly self-doubts resurfaced. One by one they poked little holes in my inflated memories of those years.

I remembered that I always worried about what the guys thought of me. I knew in those years that I looked good and acted nice, but was it good enough and nice enough? I remembered the waiting around for a guy to ask me to a school dance during those first couple of years without a boyfriend, wondering if I would even have a date, as the days ticked away getting closer to those impending Friday nights. I remembered that I always had insecurities about my twin sister being the pretty one, and me being...the...what? What was I? The funny one, perhaps. The nice one. Not that she isn't funny and nice, but I had to focus on something to get through those years and that angst.

So now here I am, a happy and confident adult, walking into a room full of very nice people. We were all there just to say hi and see how everyone is doing. In the end we all wanted the same thing: a night of fun and reminiscing.

But by the end of the night I found myself haunted by those same old questions. Did I say "hi" to enough people? Should I have been friendlier to people, even those that I may never see again in my lifetime? Did I look good enough?

I suppose we are all still our teenage selves inside. It's a part of who we are.

In the end we can't pick and choose what we get to have back from the past. It all comes together as a package, so we have to open it up and dig through it all. Some of the pieces that were broken back then have mended over the years, but it doesn't mean there aren't any cracks. Slight glimpses of what used to be, still lurking among it all.

The inner teenagers did seem to come out in many of us that night. For some it meant that the sense of humor that was so famous back in the day came back out in full force. And for others it meant rallying some of us to the dance floor to have some fun, like the good old days at a prep rally. And others stayed by the sidelines a bit, just watching the scene, not sure of where they fit in.

For me it meant staying close to my posse of friends, and never far from my husband, a trooper of a man left for quite a while to entertain himself with the other reunion widows.

Overall I enjoyed the night. I spent time with my closest friends, whom I still love and treasure to this day. I tried my best to branch out and talk to others, but in the end I wasn't sure it was enough. I looked and felt great. But was it enough?

As much as I wish I had let go of that insecure little girl inside, tossed her out with the bad hair and shoulder pads, she was still in there.

And just like in the glory days, I managed to have a really fun time, living large and proud, yet still plagued with a few doubts.

Thus the process begins again, letting go of the negative, holding on to the fun.

Birthday Girl

Today I am 38 years old. And it's been a lovely day.

I had a luxurious breakfast in bed, followed by a little playtime with my kids.

Then I got a little exercise and went out to lunch with friends.

I came home and had some quiet time reading my book.

I followed that up by getting my hair and nails done.

Then I went on a lovely walk at sunset.

Upon returning home I was served a home-cooked meal followed by birthday cake and presents.

All in all, a perfect day.

Fine Print Translation:
My kids and I had breakfast in bed, served by my already exhausted husband (mental note: change the sheets before bedtime). Then my daughters and I tried to find a game we could play without my son stepping on, chewing on, or throwing any pieces; no luck. After that it was time for a birthday party, but not mine. We went to my dear friends' daughter's birthday party at a place I affectionately refer to as Playland on steroids. My younger daughter was a little too intimidated to play with the kids she didn't know, and since her big sister wasn't waiting up for her, I became her playmate. I talked her into what turned out to be a terrifying slide that felt like a runaway train. Another round of saltworks began, to be consoled only by a tickle-fest this time. We then had pizza and birthday cake for lunch before playing a few video games, and returning home rather spent. At that point I tried to sneak away for some quiet time in my bedroom to read my book. I made it through about 7 pages when my younger daughter found me and decided it was time to give me a manicure. She had a very wet spongey paintbrush which she used to "paint" my toenails and finger nails. Then she decided to do my hair with it as well, and even got out the spray-on conditioner, a FULL cup of water, and a comb. It was just like being at the salon. Then I motivated a rather unwilling crowd for a walk around the neighborhood with three-generations and two canines. We came home and I helped my mom get dinner on the table while my husband guided the kids in frosting a cake. After dinner I made a wish and we blew out the candles on my cake. But the Au Pair never showed up.


Happy birthday to me.


More Fine Print: A special shout out to my twin sister. Best birthday wishes to her as well, which goes without saying in our family. Love you tons, sis.

He Just Wants To Be Loved, Is That So Wrong?

About 99.9% of the mornings in our house my husband gets up first with the kids. He's definitely a hands-on dad, getting the coffee made and breakfast ready for each of the kids. This is just one of the many reasons that I love him so. But I digress.

Usually our son begins the morning parade between 6:30 and 7am, shortly followed by our younger daughter.

It's a small blessing that these days our oldest is discovering the joys of sleeping in. Albeit only 30 minutes or so on most days, but she'll dive in deeper if she needs it; up to an hour and a half on a weekend morning sometimes. Which is a major treat if you are used to the young ones getting up when the rooster crows.

It's always a little painful if I have to wake her up at 7:30am on a weekday, but that's going to be happening closer to 7am now that we are headed toward back-to-school time.

I joyfully remember those lazy Saturday mornings when I'd sleep until 10 or 11am as a teenager.

Ah, those days seem so far away now. Waking up to the hazy almost afternoon, knowing that there was nothing to do but hang out with my sister and try to convince my mom to drive us to our friends house or the mall. I'm going to drift off and remember that carefree time in my life when my biggest worry was what I was going to wear to school on Monday.

Mmmmmmmm.

Okay, I'm back now. Ouch. That was a bit of a crash landing.

Come to think of it, crash landing is a good way to describe this morning, when my husband got up at 7am as our son demanded to be released from his cell. Not so early, I know. We are lucky. But still, I just couldn't drag myself out of bed yet.

I guess it doesn't help that he wakes up and cries as loud as he can. I don't remember my other two doing this little routine. I have clear memories of my oldest just talking in bed, having a grand ol' time until we would finally come in and get her. And I'm pretty sure my middle child did this too, although admittedly, the memories start to get a little fuzzier with her. But I know she didn't holler at the top of her lungs.

So there he is crying in his crib and along comes my husband to calm him. And it works. It's the same at naptime. You pick him up and he snuggles in for a good hug and enjoys the ride downstairs to the kitchen.

But then the minute you try to put him down or in his high chair, he screams again. He wants his milk cup, and occasionally he wants food, but most of the time he just wants to be held.

This is where the problems come in. My husband wants to make coffee and get his own morning started, and not just minister to the boy. And I'm the same way in the morning. Especially since I'm not that social when the day starts, which is where this pattern of my husband handling the wake up calls began.

We've got work to do. There are lunches to be made, two other kids to tend to for breakfast, and we mustn't forget the coffee forever getting cold as it sits unsipped on the counter. Plus we always have a dishwasher full of clean dishes that aren't just going to put themselves away now, are they? And lest we forget that we big people also need to consume some type of nourishment as well.

And there's our son, demanding to be picked up. He'll have none of it. He just gets louder with his crying and screaming until you surrender to his demands. Some mornings are better than others, but this is usually the pattern that we have around here.

And this morning was especially loud.

So my husband became a member of the Twisted Sister Fan Club and decided he wasn't gonna take it. He put him down on the floor and let him cry. Then he sat in a chair and tried to get a grip back on his happy place while reading the paper and drinking his coffee. With our son trying to claw his way back onto his lap, piercing the invisible walls that my husband was trying his darnedest to keep up.

This final round of primal screams is what eventually got me out of my sleepy-head state and back into reality. I got my butt down there in a hast and took over the hard core TLC program that my son enrolled in upon birth.

They really ought to put some kind of parent authorization on the enrollment form for that program.

The funny thing is, I just said to my sister last week that I need to start getting up at 6:30am every day so that I can get things done before any kids get up. Like drink my coffee while it's hot, for starters. Then I'd be in a better place when cry-baby our son gets up, soon followed by the other two and all the chaos that ensues.

Somehow I just can't let go of that notion of sleeping in. I want to go back in time to when my mornings were just mine, and my subconscious knows that the best way to do it is in dreamland. So I hear the baby cry and I think "not now mom, I don't want to go to school" and I shove a pillow over my head and go back to sleep. And so far my husband has indulged this teenager like behavior.

But I think it's time to pay the piper.

I gotta get the worm. Rise and shine.

And all that other early morning crap.

These three little people that run around our house really are my kids, proving that I must be one of the adults around here.

And I have to start acting like it.

Yuck.

Make It Burn

I think I'm one of those lucky people that views exercise as a part of life. At least a part of the life I am living right now. I can't really say what the future holds when my kids are older and the possibility of me working outside the home enters the picture.

Ever since I moved in with my then-boyfriend-now-husband about 11 years ago, I took on a new way of life. Thanks mostly to him. Although I truly believe I have it in me, and I always tried to optimize it, it wasn't until I absorbed part of his lifestyle that it really became a part of mine. And I'm thankful for that.

These days I try to get in one hour of exercise at least a few times a week. I'd like more but that's sometimes the most I can manage with my schedule. If I don't enjoy it often enough, I really crave it. Just like...ice cream. I'm sure my husband wishes I wrote something else in that comparison. Then again he knows me well enough to know not to stand in the way between me and my ice cream.

I especially like to play tennis, which I really like for the exercise and the social aspect. At the very least I make sure to do that once a week, and sometimes the rest is just gravy. Or yogurt, if you are talking about a healthy lifestyle.

Today was one of those days that I probably should have just written it off from the beginning. I thought about not going to the athletic club, but since I make reservations for the day care ahead of time, and get charged for last minute cancellations, I feel committed to make a go of it. So even though we were running late, as I knew we would, we went anyway.

Our lateness was a factor of a strange schedule that we are keeping this week and next. My oldest daughter is at a camp that starts at 10am, which is generally smack dab in the middle of my workouts. Who has time to drop off their kids at 10am anyway? I thought we'd go early to the club and squeeze it in. But the word "squeeze" and my schedule really don't work well together. In fact the word "change" and my schedule don't work together either, so I'm just going to have to suck it up for the next two weeks.

Nonetheless, we went to the club. And not more than 10 minutes into my workout do I see a familiar face from the child care center coming for me. That's never a good sign.

In my 5 years and 3 children at this athletic club this has only happened to me once. For that I am also blessed.

Turns out my son had something wrong with his eye that made it look sort of like pink eye. So to be safe, or in reality to keep all the other kids safe, they made me pick him up. A half hour later I realized it wasn't pink eye at all and he was perfectly fine.

So be it. Today would have to be an exercise around the house day.

What exercise, you ask? Well I’m glad you asked that question.

Here's how I see my life in calorie-burning terms.

Bending over to pick up sippy cups x 15 repetitions: 75 calories

Opening the drawer/door/cabinet/dishwasher/dryer door that my son has closed while I am doing something x 5 repetitions x 5 times per day: 50 calories

Climbing up and down the stairs to feed my son's love of playing with the safety gate at the very top of the stairs and then climbing down and starting all over x 5 repetitions: 85 calories

Sitting down to take a breather only to get back up again upon hearing cries of help/loud noises/too much quiet x 10 repetitions: 65 calories

Carrying around 24 pounds while making dinner: 100 calories

Total calories burned during this daily workout, excluding any optional piggy back rides, walks to the park or running after little people: 375 calories

Then again, the value of being able to exercise how I want while listening to my music and not the chaos that consumes every other minute of my life: priceless.

A Groundhog's Goodbye

Here’s a little more clarification about what my younger daughter and I are working on these days, per my last post a few days ago.

First things first, she is a kind, loving and thoughtful little girl. She is just starting to discover the joy in making people laugh and is really beginning to shine when the spotlight is on her.

I see a budding flower in her that is already amazing in its own right, so fresh and full of life. So raw with emotion and sincerity. And it will have a remarkable beauty when it blooms.

It’s just that her bud isn’t starting to blossom yet. And from my experience, it should be a bit more open than it is right now.

The challenge lies in her social skills. She is hesitant, even reluctant, to join in social situations on her own. Even if I am there, sometimes it takes her a while (and I mean over an hour) to really separate and go join the fun. A lot of times her big sister helps, but sometimes I think that can even make things worse because she’s still not trying things out on her own. Plus she will chase her sister down if she tries to go off with her own friends, which puts a bit of a damper on my other daughters’ experience.

But once she is in the moment, she does have a lot of fun and sometimes she even shows the rest of the world what I get to see every day.

Her preschool teacher last year told me it took a few months of school before she would even talk in class. And she doesn’t really have any one that she considers a close friend in her class because I think she’d just as soon play on her own. Plus she sticks to the one little girl that she has known her whole life who isn't in her class. She calls her one of her "best friends", and is still reluctant and unwilling to go play with her when we arrive at the school.

The real downside to this is that sometimes it’s too late and she doesn’t get everything she wanted because the world couldn’t stand still waiting for her to jump in.

As her mother, this is my arch enemy. I want her to have everything she wants and more. And I know she wants these things. She just can’t seem to muster up the strength to venture out on her own, and that weighs her down.

I want to lighten her load so she can run free and soar high. I want to ensure she doesn’t suffer from missed opportunities because she is so painfully shy.

Granted missed summer camps, gymnastics classes, and the like aren’t going to turn her into a social leper. I know she’ll be fine if I leave her alone and don’t worry so much. She will get through this stage in time.

But there are two problems here. One: I don’t want her to be just fine. I want her to be stupendous. And two: how much time are we talking about? Because this time that she spends is not just hers, it’s mine too.

Do you remember that movie Groundhog’s Day? Where the guy kept living the same day over and over? Well I have that going on with her goodbyes. Which are closely tied in to her hellos. Which all circle around to her shy social habits.

Here’s how her goodbye goes. She says she’s ready, then when the moment comes she balks. Burying her face in my legs is usually next, followed by “I don’t want to go to” fill-in-the-blank. Then we have a five minute discussion about what bribe I’m currently offering, and maybe one out of five times that works in motivating her to walk in to her activity, albeit without a look back or a good-bye.
It’s like I’m sending her off to the slaughter instead of someplace where fun and creative people are waiting to teach her all kinds of new and exciting things.

If you add up all the school mornings, gymnastics classes, summer camp days, swimming lessons, babysitter afternoons, etc, for the past year and a half, it’s over 400 times we’ve gone through this song and dance.

It’s killing me softly. I can’t take it anymore.

And anyone who knows me knows that I am a do-er. I need to feel like I am completely controlling doing something to help the situation.

So here is where the last post begins. With a trek into the social world of my three/almost four year old.

Over the next year and more, we will go places, we will see people, we will make friends, we will have play-dates, and we will enjoy every opportunity.

And slowly but surely, if I do my job right, that “we” will turn into “she”.

My end goal is that she sees her own opportunities ahead of her and she runs full-force, or at least at a fast-paced walk, until she can grab it on her own and head out toward the wild blue yonder.

But she still looks back to make sure I’m still there.

And I always will be.

The Price of Vanity

Today I had a very frustrating experience at the doctor's office. I was there to try to get one more pregnancy souvenir taken care of, my spider veins.

I really don't have that many of these on my legs, and one of them I've had since I was a teenager, but a while back I thought I would look into getting them treated. And I wanted to get rid of a large mole that developed during my first pregnancy, called an agioma. This was my sort of "congratulations-you-carried-and-gave-birth-to-three-beautiful-children-and-now-you-are-done-with-that-crap" present to myself. Yes, yes, pregnancy is nature's most amazing gift, yada, yada, yada.

So I went to a 'consultation' that consisted of me sitting in a group of 50+ year olds and discussing cosmetic treatments with a medical dermatologist (this was the necessary first step to getting treated at the medical foundation I use for my primary care). The doctor looked at each person one at a time and you had to sit there through the whole thing. I was easily the youngest in the room, so I felt a bit like a calf in a herd of grandma cows that they were shuffling through the pasture as fast as possible. They clearly had more important cattle to handle than us.

Despite this not very warm and fuzzy experience, I decided to make an appointment. When I called I was told there was nothing on file for the prescribed treatment for the angioma, so I'd have to get it looked at again. Clearly this place, a well established medical facility, has some marks against it in my book already. But I really like some of their departments (pediatrics, namely), so I was willing to move forward.

I did have an alternative location in mind, a skin spa, but decided to go to the reknowned medical facility for this procedure. Huh. Should have given that another thought, I guess.

So today was the day that I was supposed to get my youthful legs back. I show up 10 minutes late; my bad. But I did have to get my husband to take the 3 year old to preschool - kicking and screaming - and then wait for the babysitter to show up for my other two. I am called in by a nurse that either isn't happy that I am late or just can't seem to find her happy place. She's rude and has a very indignant tone to her voice. She proceeds to tell me that I didn't listen to their advice in making appointments in the summer-time, which is the worst time of year to do any cosmetic treatments.

"You'll just end up with brown streaks in place of the spider veins that you say you don't like," she says. Excuse me, but are there people out there that actually like spider veins on their legs?

My retort is that I didn't recall any such advice and I didn't realize that treating veins would cause pigmentation changes. Although this does ring a bell when she mentions it, but I don't say so.

She then essentially tells me that I'm the idiot here, not her. She says "you people" were all at that cosmetic dermatology consultation and that's what they always tell "the groups". Just like, the sky is always blue. It's a fact. They said it and I didn't heed the warning.

At this point it is not lost on me that her reference to the room full of wrinkled, gray-haired, age-spotted women was like we were a bunch of puffy-lipped, breast-augmented, botoxed thirty year old bottle-blonds looking to get an eyelash transplant.

I mean, give me a break. I know there are people here with serious health concerns, but it's not like we aren't paying customers too. OUT-OF-POCKET paying customers, by the way. And I didn't just pull the nurse out of a life-saving melanoma removal to talk about botox. I made an appointment, like everyone else.

Then I ask her to just cancel my treatment for today, but to look at the angioma so I know what kind of treatment I can get for that, explaining why I don't have that information from the consultation. Since I am clearly wasting her time now, she gives a big sigh and tells me to show it to her.

Next I get a series of condescending remarks: "those are nothing" about some of my spider veins; "you know, that's not the angioma" while pointing to a vein, which I am well aware of and never claimed it to be; "yes, you are really tan" stated in the same tone she might say "yes, I see you are smoking while eating a large order of cheese fries and drinking a vodka tonic". Finally she looks at it and proclaims she needs to get the doctor to look at it too. Fabulous.

I then wait 35 minutes for the same doctor to come in and look at it (again) and tell us what is recommended. At least I'm not the only one that had her time wasted; the nurse was waiting too.

Then I bid farewell to the two women that look like they have spent way too much time in their coffins offices. I think they must drive to their medical facility in the dark of night so as to avoid any exposure to "the elements", like the beautiful sunshine that "my people" like to enjoy.

Skin spa here I come.

In the winter of course.

I'm not that vain.