This weekend I was talking with my mom about my perfect childhood. You see, in my family, as I suspect in many of yours, there is this perpetual myth that my sister and brother and I behaved nicely. All the time. Every day. Since our birth.
So every now and then I question my mom about it to see if I can stir up some repressed memories.
"You really don't remember any of this stuff?" I'll ask, while juggling my fussy son on my lap trying to appease him with any object within reach, my shoulders drenched in tears and my patience wearing thin.
There had to have been some tantrum or fit out in public that she remembers. But no, in her memory, we were perfect children. She said "in those days" children just didn't whine like the kids today.
I beg to differ. I have plenty of memories from grade school (and later) that involve lots of mischief and a few potentially lethal objects being hurled through the air during sibling-rivalry fights, but this isn't really what I'm getting at with these questions. I'm more curious about the toddler years.
But alas, I give up. Who can blame her for not remembering a bunch of little moments from 37 years ago? I can't even remember what I ate for breakfast.
Later on that day I thought about it and realized that's the way it should be. When you reflect back on your life you should just remember the good stuff. What's the point of remembering all the exhaustion of sleepless nights and whining and crying over spilled milk?
We all know that if our memories were that keen, we'd never choose to give birth again after having experienced it once. Except for those of you ladies that thought the whole thing was magical and mystical, and that nothing could be more pure and powerful than giving birth.
In which case I'd say that someone must have slipped a little something into your IV.
So that night, while I was readying my son for bedtime, I had a "moment". I realized that I will definitely remember his wonderful smile, the same one that he gives me every single time I put him in his crib as he is snuggled up on his belly with his blanket under his cheek.
And I will always remember the way he starts (almost) every day. His sweet embrace as he leans in for hugs, resting his soulful head on my shoulder, wanting nothing more than to be loved in return.
I will remember that he is active and strong and loves to be constantly in motion.
These are the slices of time that I will take with me.
And I will very likely forget all the frustrations of skinned knees and toppled chairs, not to mention the bouts of arm wrestling through the grocery store.
Generally speaking, if it's not written down, it's a distant memory, soon to be buried underneath new ones. Even as I strive to keep wonderful memories close at heart, the list grows longer still.
For that reason, this blog is my memory keeper, of both good and bad. It will serve as my storage back-up drive for all the memories that my mind can't quite see anymore.
I can't wait to read back on them in 37 years.
Monday, September 8, 2008
Friday, September 5, 2008
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.
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.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
God Bless The Curbside Pick-Up
As I briefly alluded to in my last post, I have been introduced to some serious parking pandemonium at my oldest daughter’s school.
Here’s the lowdown.
She’s in first grade at our public school in our neighborhood, but it’s our first year there because they re-routed all the Kindergarteners to the next closest school due to overcrowding. So last year we were at a school that was farther away, but it had ample parking.
And while I’m speaking of Kindergarten, there is another key difference between last year and this year.
When class is over in Kindergarten, the teachers open their doors and no one comes out. The teacher stands at the door and looks for the parents that are waiting outside the room. Then she calls out the names of the kids who have someone there to pick them up. Each child is then let out of the room by the teacher as they are handed off to the responsible adult in waiting.
Essentially, she is the gatekeeper and we are the keymasters, and the secret password best be known or you will give up the rights to your first born.
This year it’s a bit less personalized. In short, the bell rings, the doors open, and children flood out.
Simple enough I suppose. I really don’t have a problem with it. Although I definitely don’t speak for all parents on this one.
And imagine what this is like for the kids. They are released into the open and expected to find someone in the masses that is looking for them, that may or may not be there when the door opens.
It’s a little overwhelming, even for the more responsible kids, such as my daughter. So what happens in these first few days and weeks is that the parents hover outside looking for their needle in the haystack, and the kids tend to linger in the rooms, as if they are waiting for someone to call their name. Like two strangers at a dance, neither one of them is sure they should make the first move. Then many of the parents try to give the secret password to their child's teacher, which is amusing to watch since the teachers don't even know which student they are trying to pick up. They just smile and not a lot during this process.
Now enter in an incredibly inadequate parking lot with only one outlet and a drop-off and pick-up section that feels a bit too much like SFO (“the white zone is for loading and unloading only”), and you have a veritable nightmare leading up to that crucial moment when the dogs are unleashed, running about sniffing for familiar blood.
Not to mention that I am also dragging my two other kids into this chaos every time.
In short, our first three days of school were highlighted by parking in the loading zone and getting a ‘friendly’ warning note, attempting a curbside pick-up when the teacher said she would bring kids out to the curb but never did ("Mom, what took you so long!!??"), and a very long and hot walk that was peppered with enough whining to make a conversation with Grumpy the dwarf seem like a breath of fresh air.
After three long days last week, I declared it curbside pick-up only in our family. After all, I've been looking forward to this since before she started Kindergarten, so there's no better time like the present.
The problem was talking my child into it. She was a bit hesitant to try it out.
Enter in the carpool.
I called up a friend of ours that lives down the street, whose daughter is at our school in 2nd grade, and who is also a good friend of my daughters and I said “How’s about a carpool?”
After an enthusiastic response, we worked out a plan. I’d pick up two days, she’d pick up two days, and we’d likely walk together or call an audible on the 5th day. And we’d let our husbands pick up some slack in the morning for a little while and see if we could get by on our own for the morning drop-offs.
Excellent!
Today was the first day of the new plan, and it worked like a charm.
My daughter’s friend stopped by her room, picked her up, and escorted her out to the usual curbside pick-up spot she has with her mom. But instead I was the one there today, and they were both ready and willing to hop on in when I pulled up.
They opened the door, got in the back, buckled their seatbelts, and we were off.
No looking for a parking spot (towards which only feable attempts were made since I heard you have to be there more than 30 minutes early to get one), no putting the baby in a stroller, no whining from my preschooler, and no trying to find my child in the midst of the few hundred other kids merging back into their natural environments.
It bears saying again.
God Bless the curbside pick-up.
Here’s the lowdown.
She’s in first grade at our public school in our neighborhood, but it’s our first year there because they re-routed all the Kindergarteners to the next closest school due to overcrowding. So last year we were at a school that was farther away, but it had ample parking.
And while I’m speaking of Kindergarten, there is another key difference between last year and this year.
When class is over in Kindergarten, the teachers open their doors and no one comes out. The teacher stands at the door and looks for the parents that are waiting outside the room. Then she calls out the names of the kids who have someone there to pick them up. Each child is then let out of the room by the teacher as they are handed off to the responsible adult in waiting.
Essentially, she is the gatekeeper and we are the keymasters, and the secret password best be known or you will give up the rights to your first born.
This year it’s a bit less personalized. In short, the bell rings, the doors open, and children flood out.
Simple enough I suppose. I really don’t have a problem with it. Although I definitely don’t speak for all parents on this one.
And imagine what this is like for the kids. They are released into the open and expected to find someone in the masses that is looking for them, that may or may not be there when the door opens.
It’s a little overwhelming, even for the more responsible kids, such as my daughter. So what happens in these first few days and weeks is that the parents hover outside looking for their needle in the haystack, and the kids tend to linger in the rooms, as if they are waiting for someone to call their name. Like two strangers at a dance, neither one of them is sure they should make the first move. Then many of the parents try to give the secret password to their child's teacher, which is amusing to watch since the teachers don't even know which student they are trying to pick up. They just smile and not a lot during this process.
Now enter in an incredibly inadequate parking lot with only one outlet and a drop-off and pick-up section that feels a bit too much like SFO (“the white zone is for loading and unloading only”), and you have a veritable nightmare leading up to that crucial moment when the dogs are unleashed, running about sniffing for familiar blood.
Not to mention that I am also dragging my two other kids into this chaos every time.
In short, our first three days of school were highlighted by parking in the loading zone and getting a ‘friendly’ warning note, attempting a curbside pick-up when the teacher said she would bring kids out to the curb but never did ("Mom, what took you so long!!??"), and a very long and hot walk that was peppered with enough whining to make a conversation with Grumpy the dwarf seem like a breath of fresh air.
After three long days last week, I declared it curbside pick-up only in our family. After all, I've been looking forward to this since before she started Kindergarten, so there's no better time like the present.
The problem was talking my child into it. She was a bit hesitant to try it out.
Enter in the carpool.
I called up a friend of ours that lives down the street, whose daughter is at our school in 2nd grade, and who is also a good friend of my daughters and I said “How’s about a carpool?”
After an enthusiastic response, we worked out a plan. I’d pick up two days, she’d pick up two days, and we’d likely walk together or call an audible on the 5th day. And we’d let our husbands pick up some slack in the morning for a little while and see if we could get by on our own for the morning drop-offs.
Excellent!
Today was the first day of the new plan, and it worked like a charm.
My daughter’s friend stopped by her room, picked her up, and escorted her out to the usual curbside pick-up spot she has with her mom. But instead I was the one there today, and they were both ready and willing to hop on in when I pulled up.
They opened the door, got in the back, buckled their seatbelts, and we were off.
No looking for a parking spot (towards which only feable attempts were made since I heard you have to be there more than 30 minutes early to get one), no putting the baby in a stroller, no whining from my preschooler, and no trying to find my child in the midst of the few hundred other kids merging back into their natural environments.
It bears saying again.
God Bless the curbside pick-up.
Friday, August 29, 2008
I Need A Vacation From My Vacation
Whew. We're Back.
After a whirlwind tour of Disneyland and a stop at the beach in Santa Barbara, we finally made it home. And I think my most relaxing day of it all was the day after we got home.
I'll start from the beginning and I'll try to keep it brief.
First stop, Anaheim. After a 7 1/2 hour car trip (including stops) we arrived at the place where dreams really do come true. But I checked my bank account when we got there and it was still the same, so I'm thinking that slogan is bogus.
We rode all the family friendly rides, saw all the exciting shows and met as many characters as humanly possible in two days. All in all, it was exhaustingly good fun.
We also learned that the Pirates of the Carribean is NOT a family-friendly ride. According to my oldest, it's a "roller coaster" and according to my middle child it's incredibly loud and scary. Of course that child's opinion may be overstated a bit, since she also thought the Winnie-the-Pooh ride was too loud.
Then again, I think she has a point. On most of those rides you are inside a dark room and secluded from the rest of the park. So why do they feel the need to make the voices and noises so incredibly loud? Do you really need to hear Tigger's little "hoo-hoo-hoo-hooo" at 100 decibels?
No matter, she suffered through anyway. The highlight was teaching her to hum and sing while her ears were covered so that she couldn't hear as much of the outside noise. This little trick worked, but unfortunately I didn't discover it until the end of the second day.
A big break-through did come in the form of our younger daughter finally enjoying the big fuzzy characters. I use the word "fuzzy" because the "real life" ones, like the princesses, were still too intimidating for her. But the big animals with huge eyes and mouths staring down at her all got hugs and smiles.
Here's the photographic evidence.
Well thank you for asking. I did enjoy our week. It was a lot more work than our last vacation, and I had to wait in a long line to find my happy place, which was a little worn out by the time I got there, but I did have fun as well.
In my humble opinion, the best part about the trip was coming home. The next day I hardly saw my daughters and we never left the house.
They were so hard at work re-discovering the myriad of toys that live in our home that they never once asked to watch TV. The kicker was they did not once ask me to join them, which almost never happens around here.
That was my vacation. A whole day at home just watching my kids play, imaginations running wild.
Vacations are fun.
After a whirlwind tour of Disneyland and a stop at the beach in Santa Barbara, we finally made it home. And I think my most relaxing day of it all was the day after we got home.
I'll start from the beginning and I'll try to keep it brief.
First stop, Anaheim. After a 7 1/2 hour car trip (including stops) we arrived at the place where dreams really do come true. But I checked my bank account when we got there and it was still the same, so I'm thinking that slogan is bogus.
We rode all the family friendly rides, saw all the exciting shows and met as many characters as humanly possible in two days. All in all, it was exhaustingly good fun.
We also learned that the Pirates of the Carribean is NOT a family-friendly ride. According to my oldest, it's a "roller coaster" and according to my middle child it's incredibly loud and scary. Of course that child's opinion may be overstated a bit, since she also thought the Winnie-the-Pooh ride was too loud.
Then again, I think she has a point. On most of those rides you are inside a dark room and secluded from the rest of the park. So why do they feel the need to make the voices and noises so incredibly loud? Do you really need to hear Tigger's little "hoo-hoo-hoo-hooo" at 100 decibels?
No matter, she suffered through anyway. The highlight was teaching her to hum and sing while her ears were covered so that she couldn't hear as much of the outside noise. This little trick worked, but unfortunately I didn't discover it until the end of the second day.
A big break-through did come in the form of our younger daughter finally enjoying the big fuzzy characters. I use the word "fuzzy" because the "real life" ones, like the princesses, were still too intimidating for her. But the big animals with huge eyes and mouths staring down at her all got hugs and smiles.
Here's the photographic evidence.
Huh. Go figure.
The one major complaint I will make is that the park turns into a madhouse at 8pm. They start closing rides and major throughways so they can get ready for the fireworks show. You not only can't walk anywhere, there is no where to go since the middle of the park shuts down to prepare for it. You could stick to the outside areas, but then you'd miss the show. You can't win either way. Maybe with a lot of planning and an engineering degree we could have navigated it better. Next time.
And then getting out of the park after the fireworks show seems much like what it would be if someone just shouted "Fire!" in a movie theatre. Mind your young ones or you might loose them under the feet of the masses.
All in all, my 6 year old daughter's favorite ride was Alice in Wonderland, my 3 year old daughter's favorite ride was sitting on top of my son's stroller, and my son's favorite ride was pushing the stools around at the cafe outside Casey Jr's Circus Train. It's safe to say who enjoyed the park the most.
We did have a great weekend in Santa Barbara as well. My husband survived his longest triathalon with flying colors. Well, his colors were fluttering at the very least. We were all very proud of him, cheering him on at the finish line.
The beach was the highlight of that part of our trip. Our sand castle construction team was headed up by my husband, and manned by the many little people we had in our company at the time. It was complete with seaweed decor and a protective moat.
The one major complaint I will make is that the park turns into a madhouse at 8pm. They start closing rides and major throughways so they can get ready for the fireworks show. You not only can't walk anywhere, there is no where to go since the middle of the park shuts down to prepare for it. You could stick to the outside areas, but then you'd miss the show. You can't win either way. Maybe with a lot of planning and an engineering degree we could have navigated it better. Next time.
And then getting out of the park after the fireworks show seems much like what it would be if someone just shouted "Fire!" in a movie theatre. Mind your young ones or you might loose them under the feet of the masses.
All in all, my 6 year old daughter's favorite ride was Alice in Wonderland, my 3 year old daughter's favorite ride was sitting on top of my son's stroller, and my son's favorite ride was pushing the stools around at the cafe outside Casey Jr's Circus Train. It's safe to say who enjoyed the park the most.
We did have a great weekend in Santa Barbara as well. My husband survived his longest triathalon with flying colors. Well, his colors were fluttering at the very least. We were all very proud of him, cheering him on at the finish line.
The beach was the highlight of that part of our trip. Our sand castle construction team was headed up by my husband, and manned by the many little people we had in our company at the time. It was complete with seaweed decor and a protective moat.
Good clean fun.
Now if we could only get our son to stop screaming non-stop during all his non-sleeping hours in the car (which was most of them, if you are curious), we'd be ready to pack up for the next car trip.
And what about me, you ask? Did I enjoy our vacation?
Now if we could only get our son to stop screaming non-stop during all his non-sleeping hours in the car (which was most of them, if you are curious), we'd be ready to pack up for the next car trip.
And what about me, you ask? Did I enjoy our vacation?
Well thank you for asking. I did enjoy our week. It was a lot more work than our last vacation, and I had to wait in a long line to find my happy place, which was a little worn out by the time I got there, but I did have fun as well.
In my humble opinion, the best part about the trip was coming home. The next day I hardly saw my daughters and we never left the house.
They were so hard at work re-discovering the myriad of toys that live in our home that they never once asked to watch TV. The kicker was they did not once ask me to join them, which almost never happens around here.
That was my vacation. A whole day at home just watching my kids play, imaginations running wild.
Vacations are fun.
But it's good to be home.
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