From North of Here

Old Habits

2009-04-16T17:01:35-05:00

There was a note on a stack of envelopes and papers waiting for me this morning.

"Please, if you get a chance, I need you to take care of my car's vehicle registration and run these photos to the post office."

Sadly, these instructions make me happy. The thing I miss most about work is being someone's "Right Arm". Chris pretty well takes care of himself. I don't get messages left on scraps of paper. I miss those. I miss the "Mail this", the "Call them", and "Bring us up to date with our payment" notes of the working world.

I was gleeful. I had errands to run. I made a list "Ballet. Vehicle Registration. Post Office." As I made the list I realized there were only three things on it. I didn't need a list for that. I didn't care.

I've been "unemployed" nearly a year. Does this go away?

Party Girl

2009-04-07T17:28:56-05:00

I am "Mom" to twenty two first grade children. In some ways it's a pain. In a lot of ways it's so much more rewarding than I think anyone else - including myself - realized it could be.

It all began last August. I took Will to his Meet The Teacher night. Still only three months in to my new gig as a Stay at Home Mom, I was coming to a point where I realized all of my days in this new gig involved a swimming pool and a picnic lunch. Knowing that even in Texas the weather will eventually phase out that style of parenting, I was trying to decide what to do with the time in my days that usually were spent running around creating reports, statistics, and databases.

On the wall was a sheet to sign up as Room Parent and Assistant Room Parent. I've spent my entire working life as "assistant" something or other, so I figured I was qualified to do that. That, to me, meant whatever Room Parent needed me to do I would do. And I'm a very good assistant. Personally, given the choice, I would always rather be First Runner Up than the star of the show.

The thing about First Runner Up is that if the winner cannot perform duties...

The thing about Assistant Room Parent is that if no one signs up to be Room Parent...

I found out a few weeks before the Silent Auction that I had gotten a promotion. I also discovered that not only did I need to flounder through putting together a basket for a silent auction that I needed to plan a party for Christmas. I needed to come up with snacks, games, party favors, and crafts for 22 first graders. I needed to fit all of those elements into a 50 minute party.

Anyone can wrestle a bear for a little while. Right?

Except there were two more parties. Valentines and Spring. And I am not a craft person. At all.

Somehow I've come up with enough crafts, games, and goodies to get through a school year. It's been costly - I won't lie. If you have to pick a time to be promoted against your will to Room Parent, I highly recommend doing so in a good economy. Because, chances are, people will want to donate to your party then. I'm having no luck. So I shell out my "walking around" money for parties.

Here's the thing, it's worth it. It's worth it to spend time preparing for the party, agonizing over the crafts, giving away my "walking around" money. Because I get to spend 50 minutes with 22 first graders who are hopped up on fruit juice, candy, and cupcakes. I get hugs. I get "thank you"s. I get "you're the best"s. I get more hugs. And some more. And they're all delighted to see me. For 50 minutes of that party I alone am the one they are happy to see. And my joy overflows because it's so unexpected and so worth it to see their sugar induced happiness as they delight over the world's crappiest crafts that the world's worst craft person made up.

And it's so worth it that I only have to take one of those sugared up, hyperactive, messy kids home.

Taking a Break

2009-01-15T22:11:18-05:00

The last month has been a much needed break. No school, no football, no gymnastics, no tap class, no ballet, no children's choir, no ladies Bible study... So when it all got started back up again I was so thankful! I miss busy. I think it's biproduct of leaving the working world to stay home. I realized I have a problem with taking a break and taking time out to breathe and relax last weekend.

For Christmas my husband purchased a gift package for a Day at the Spa. There's a spa not too far away from our house. He purchased a lovely gift for me. Lovely. My friend Misty called and set us up so she could use her Christmas gift at the same time. So we headed off to Day at the Spa.

First up on the agenda was the massage. Then a break. Then a facial. Then a break. Then a pedicure and some spa food. Then a break. Then a manicure. The whole process took several hours. And it was all lovely, wonderful - I highly recommend it. BUT as I was getting the massage I kept sneaking peeks at the clock on the bookcase wondering "How much longer?" and "When do we move to the next thing?" and "How long is this all going to take?" Who does that? Who in the world worries about places to go, people to see, things to check off a list during a Day at the Spa?

Me.

Apparently I cannot get out of "go mode" even for a day that is supposed to give me a break from the constant go-go-go. I think, in the back of my mind, I have a fear of sitting still. I might miss something. Someone in our house might miss something.

But today after ballet class Gigi asked me to take a nap with her. At first I looked at the floor that hasn't been mopped in a few days and the dishes sitting in the sink. I looked back at Gigi in her "snuggle pants" holding her blanket. And for the first, but not the last time, I decided to take an afternoon nap.

I might need to give that Day at the Spa thing another try.

Pledging PTA

2008-09-24T15:07:35-05:00

I went to my very first PTA meeting of the year as a card-carrying member. The meeting was held simultaneously with the annual book fair. I picked up a few books for the kids and then purchased a book off of Will's teacher's Wish List. I meandered to the PTA meeting and sat close to the front in the middle. Since I volunteered to be a Room Parent I thought I was required to attend.

My most recent boss said I have an uncanny ability to find organizational disasters. That ability is then aided by my inability to say "No" to volunteering and going into Executive Assistant mode where I go in and clean everything up. I looked around the room and realized I was going to have to fight very, very hard to not volunteer to clean up this particular mess.

Everything I know about PTAs to this point has come courtesy of the song Harper Valley PTA. With that said, I was expecting some straight-laced business meeting where marching to a different drummer was not going to be tolerated and where we worried about the moral standing of the community. At the very least I expected some moms in mini skirts and go-go boots to call the board to the mat on certain things. I hate to say this, but there were no go-go boots.

The primary players at this meeting were wearing shirts that matched and read "It's a PTA THANG, you wouldn't understand". I don't like "thangs". Not because I don't understand since I'm completely empathetic to causes I don't understand, but because I rather prefer "things" to "thangs". I spent a few moments trying to understand what PTA THANG I wasn't going to understand but then I was interrupted by the spastic woman at the microphone yelling to the other board members in the cafeteria: "I think some parents are escaping through the back door out of the library! We need to cut them off there and make them come to the meeting! If they won't come with you, tell them you need their money!"

Why, I thought, were other parents escaping through the back door? Why, I wondered, was I here willingly and on time for this meeting? Where, I mused, was the nearest exit for me to escape from? No, I reasoned, I'll stay. I have to take an interest in my child's education.

A major flaw I saw in this meeting was that the PTA had purchased sodas, popcorn, and sticky cinnabuns for the meeting which, then, they placed in the back of the room for parents to eat. However, since this was the night of the family book fair a lot of smarter parents dumped their kids in the cafeteria with the free sugar snack and then they went, child free, to the library. The kids after a few sodas and cinnabuns were wild. And loud. And when the parents were done and had escaped from the back of the library they called kids on those little kid cell phones to meet them outside thus preventing the parents from returning to the PTA meeting.

The meeting was called to order and we were told we would say the pledge of allegiance to the flags. Plural. Flags - with a "s". I looked around the room trying to figure out what flags I needed to pledge to, but I only saw the U.S. flag and a state flag. I felt a little better, like maybe they weren't going to have me pledge to a foreign entity. We pledged to the Flag of the United States of America and then, to my complete shock and awe the room turned as a collective to the Texas State Flag. And, they proceeded to loudly pledge to it. Shock and Awe. Followed by an urge to bust into laughter, nervous and uneasy laughter.

I like Texas. I like it a lot. I like that we can swim until November in pools. I like that our small suburban town has a BBQ place that offers Homecoming specials. I love that everyone talks to you in line at the grocery store. I love that people always hold the door for you no matter how far back you are behind them. I love a lot of things here. But after thirteen years living in this state I had no idea they have a pledge for their state flag. I guess, you know, I sort of figured if you pledged at the federal level that should cover it.

Wrong. You must also pledge at the state level. If you don't you're going to be branded a communist, a socialist, a non-patriot, or worse.

I stood there, silent trying to convince myself that probably all states have a pledge. The kids in front of me turned around.

"You're not pledging." One kid said - loudly enough to make others look at me.

"Hm." I smiled.

"You're not pledging to the Texas flag." He said again.

"I don't know this pledge. I haven't lived in Texas very long." Thirteen years is relative I suppose so it wasn't really a lie.

"You illegal? Are you illegal?" He annunciated in case English wasn't my first language. I tried to fight the urge to whip out my Texas driver's license but then I wondered if it would be confiscated since I don't know the state pledge. Lucky for me the meeting turned from the pledge to the budget that still isn't ironed out, but not to worry because we can keep ammending it.

Ok. So I don't know what on earth is going on at that school where kids know the pledge to their state flag and identify anyone not pledging themselves to Texas as "illegals", but I have to tell you I'm filing that in with the PTA THANG I don't get.

I sat there through the rest of the meeting wondering about a lot of things - budgets that would repeatedly be ammended throughout the year because we don't know about some stuff yet, who the renegade Room Mothers were from last year, how people demanded to be reimbursed monetarily for volunteering, and I learned the important thing when trying to get people to join the PTA is to tell them they can always give money instead of joining. In fact, I'm supposed to tell everyone I know. Send money, it's what everyone understands.

Birthday Greetings

2008-08-20T13:47:00-05:00

A birthday card arrived in the mail. It wasn’t for any of us – it was for a politician and the idea was that we were supposed to write our birthday message and our best wishes for the campaign and then mail it back, postage paid. Chris dropped it in front of me on my to-do pile.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” I asked.

“Write our birthday wishes.”

Duh.

Dear Sir:

I hope you have a great birthday. I don’t know how old you’re going to be, but I’m turning 31 next month and I gotta tell you, it’s been a doosie of a year. Turning 30 wasn’t bad. 31 seems like I should know what I’m doing with myself, but I’ve been trying to finish a master’s degree for the longest time and I keep having to drop my classes on account of work, kids, lack of childcare, etc. I did manage to finish a semester, but that seems pretty lame considering I finished my BA ten years ago. I mean, if you’re like me you’re going to sit there as your birthday approaches and think “What now?” Of course, you’re running for President and not a stay-at-home-mom, so maybe you don’t have those “What now?” moments while you’re dropping a semester of classes – again. Maybe you don’t sit and wonder what to do with yourself while the Wiggles scream crazy songs in the background. I do, but at least it’s not Barney.

I’m supposed to tell you how much I am supporting your bid for the presidency. And, I am. Sort of. It's not like I have a lot of time or money to give you. Economy and all. But I like you. Of course, I keep hearing from the rest of my demographic that I really should be for the other guy, but to be honest, I just can’t figure out why I should be for the other guy if the best reason my friends have is “Oprah says…” I like Oprah and all, but I just don’t think we run in the same circles. She and I are not in the same trench. Besides, I liked you the last go round. I liked you the last time when you didn’t stick around all the way through the primaries. I made the mistake of telling my Mom I liked you more than the other guy who did stick around – she got sort of angry about it and listed all of the reasons I shouldn’t like you, but seeing as how she’s on your side now, I guess that’s water under the bridge. I’m still in your court, but I don’t agree with everything you’re for. And some of your ads are nasty and I wouldn't want my kids acting that way or thinking it's ok to call people names. Maybe you’re not up for everything you’re for either. Maybe that’s the deal with keeping your constituency happy. Or maybe you and I are on the same page but I’m too busy trying to teach my 6 year old how to keep his shoes tied and how to ride a bike and to remember to wash his hands before leaving the bathroom to notice. Maybe I should be watching the news instead of wrestling with my 2 year old to brush her teeth, comb her hair, and trying to get that child potty trained because filling up my SUV to drive to Wal-Mart to buy diapers is just financially irresponsible even if I am buying the cheap gas and the cheap diapers. At any rate, I loved the performance on Saturday Night Live you did years ago and that endeared you to me. Because I could tell you were out of your element and were nervous, but there you were and you were laughing at yourself and God knows I do those things every day.

I like that you are a war hero. My dad was over there too. He doesn’t talk to me about it so I guess it was pretty bad. Thanks for that, by the way – I know you probably had other things you wanted to be doing with your time than sitting in a nasty prison. I can’t imagine how bad that was, but I do thank you for doing it. And I am old enough to know that Thank You doesn’t nearly cover it, but there isn’t anything else I can say.

Back to your birthday – I hope you have a great party. You are having a party, right? I don’t go to many parties. Well, not the fun kind with special drinks that have little umbrellas in them. I wish I went to those special umbrella drink parties, but I just don’t get to do things like that much. It’s probably the economy because it costs way too much to go out and afford the 13 year old sitter for the night. The last party I went to was for a 5 year old. It was a costume party for kids. I dressed my kids as a football player and a cheerleader. They were adorable. But then my two year old cheerleader got mad that I let another kid play with her pom-poms. I told her to share, but she wasn’t having any of it. I mean, she had the other kid’s toy pistols (he was dressed as a cowboy) so I didn’t think it should matter that I let him borrow her pom-poms. She didn’t want to share so she pistol whipped me. I was pistol whipped by a two year old cheerleader over some pom-poms at a five year old’s birthday party. Has that happened to you? Probably not. I guess we can’t relate on that. I do hope there won’t be any pistol whipping at your party. It doesn’t feel good. And the worst part is that you want to cry because it hurt so bad, but you have to keep face in front of the other moms whose kids aren’t pistol whipping cheerleaders. You have to keep on parenting even though all you can think is “I hope that cake has chocolate in it” and “Where is my husband when I need him” and “I really hope I don’t have a concussion.” Maybe we can relate – because even if you just want to sit down and hide for a while, you can’t because there’s a country to run and everyone is watching you and you know they’re silently talking about how they could do it better. Maybe you do get it.

Well, that’s about it. I have to figure out where my two year old ran off to with the kitchen scissors. And I have to get school supplies ready for my 6 year old to start the first grade. I also have to take care of a preschool registration, bus registration, tell my dogs to quit barking, and do the laundry, sweep the floors, and clean the bathrooms. It’s a pretty busy day here. I’m sure you have a busy day too. What are you having for dinner? I wish I knew because I’m running out of time to pull something out of a hat here. Hamburgers? What do you think – or noodle casserole? Who knows. I bet you have someone cook for you though. So maybe that’s one less thing you have to mess with.

So, have a happy birthday. And drink one of those little drinks with the little umbrella in it for me.

I decided against this letter and just told Will to write to the man and tell him Happy Birthday, God bless. No need to burden the man and end up on a Watch List.

School Supplies, Year 2

2008-07-31T10:36:00-05:00

I knew the time was coming. School supply shopping. I remember it vividly from last year - the anxiety, the frustration of the stupid list of required items. I remember it all too well. But a lot has changed in a year, so while the list was the same (except requiring more) and while the store was the same, the woman doing the shopping is not.

Glue, no color, no glitter, no no-run. Whatever. All of it says "no run". I throw it in the cart.
Folders, solid, two pockets with brads. There aren't any solids with brads left. There are a million with Hannah Montana, Hello Kitty, and High School Musical on them. Apparently only girls get the choice of characters on their folders. I opt for the somewhat disturbing and annoying "boy-targeted" ones knowing whatever or whoever that is on the front of my son's folders is nowhere near as disturbing to me as the Hannah Montana and High School Musical folders.
Scizzors, Fiskars only. I opt for the pretty blue and green scizzors and don't give it another thought.
Crayons, Markers, Colored Pencils - Crayola is the most durable. Obviously these authors of the list do not have children. It doesn't matter how "durable" the marker is if the user is notorious for leaving the lid off. That is kryptonite for all markers, even the Superman of markers, Crayola. To top it off the Crayola is at least $1.50 - $2.00 more expensive. These are hard economic times, School District. I have to put gas in my SUV to go to the store to get these stupid markers every time he leaves the lids off. Gotta sacrifice.
Spiral Bound Notebooks - solid, wide ruled. Again, solids are only college ruled. I opt for the same disturbing character of anarchy that is on the folders because if he's going to have a anarchist on his folders he should mirror that on his wide ruled spiral ruled notebooks. I like to send the same messages with my folders and my spiral bound notebooks.
Two Black Dry Erase Markers, Low Odor. The thing is that there aren't two black in one package, unless I buy the 10 pack with the eraser and the cleaning spray. Last year I bought the whole pack. It's $12.00. The thing is that these markers aren't for Will. They go into a supply pool for our teachers. I buy the $2.00 black and blue marker combo. I don't know if it's low odor. I don't care. The thing is, School District, sometimes you just have to play the cards dealt to you. Flexibility - you push it on parents all year - "We're just all going to have to be flexible...." well, here's your chance to put it to practice.

The rest of the shopping went much the same way. I did my best to accomodate. But instead of following every letter of The List I inserted what items were available, what was practical, and what was financially reasonable. Because the main difference is that last year I was an assistant 40+ hours a week. I did as I was told, and I did that very well. This year I have had a career change. I'm sorry about that, School District, but I just can't spend all day and all of that gas driving from store, to store, to office supply chain hoping to make you happy. The thing is that I have to get the supplies where I get my eggs, my milk, my raisin bread. And I'm busy, School District. There's only so much time in the day to sit out by the pool and watch the kids practice swimming.

I checked out and threw the items in the SUV. Will and Gigi were elated. We drove back to the pool where we intend to stay until time comes to use those stupid supplies.

The Luncheon

2008-07-08T15:44:29-05:00

I was invited to a former co-worker's retirement luncheon. I accepted the invitation without hesitation. I was looking forward to seeing my co-workers again after a month of not having co-workers.

The night before the luncheon I realized how new I am at being a SAHM. That's Stay-At-Home-Mom, which I have also recently learned. I had accepted an invite to a luncheon, but I had forgotten that I have two kids and no childcare.

I ran to find the girl who lives down the street - she's a babysitter extraordinaire. Lucky for me, she was available. Problem 1 - down.

Problem 2 hit the next morning. Since being "unemployed" my "work clothes" consist of various capri and cropped pants, a swimsuit cover up and a swimsuit. And flip-flops. I realized I could attend the luncheon looking that way, but everyone else was coming from work - where there is a strict dress code. That meant I needed to actually iron something and take more than 5 minutes to get ready.

Problem 2 was solved, the babysitter arrived, and I headed out the door. I even remembered to take my cell phone. I never have my cell phone.

The luncheon was beautiful. Everything was wonderful and I enjoyed seeing my friends again.

Until.

It never failed that while working I'd be in the middle of something important and one of the kids would get sick. The phone calls always came while I was in the middle of something. I never got phone calls on the days where nothing happened. I don't know why I was surprised when the phone rang - but it did. Gigi had vomited during naptime.

My friends understood. They had seen this happen to me for years. I excused myself and ran home, stopping by the bank to take out more money - bonus money - for the babysitter who had cleaned up Gigi and the vomit. I did tell you she was a wonderful babysitter. At least this time I was able to take a nap at the same time when I got Gigi back to bed and there wasn't any work to mess with. It was nice.

The Junk

2008-05-29T22:28:04-05:00

Tomorrow I am unemployed. Tomorrow is my last day of work after 7 years in one place. And, while I'm certain I made the right decision, that in no way means this is easy.

When I started working there I was just me. I went through two pregnancies there. It's hard to leave a place I associate with my family. And it's so hard to leave friends who have become my family at work. I really have the best boss, and now I'm trading him in for two bosses - one 6 and one 2 - who are no where near as understanding as my 8 - 5 boss. I am just so uncertain of how it will be not going back.

Of course, I'm assuming I won't have plenty of work to do at home. I think it will take a while for the reality of un-employment to set in.

There's just so much going on right now. So many changes on the horizon. So many large decisions to make. Of course, right now, I just want to go to bed. For at least one more night, there is a job I have to get to tomorrow morning.

Redefining Process

2008-01-21T21:44:55-05:00

Next week my classes start again. I'm doing my best to get my writing here in now so I don't get the "why aren't you writing" inquisitions. I do write during the semester, just not here and not anything that any of you would want to read.

Big things are happening in life. Big decisions were made. Big change is coming, and for the first time in 30 years I'm actually looking forward to the change. Mostly.

Chris' new job is providing us with the opportunity to allow me to stay home. This is great for several reasons, but the most important one is that Will is putting in 11 hour days at school. He catches the bus at 6:50 am. He has to be up at 6 am in order to do this. I don't get back to school to pick him up until 6 pm. And it's a rush getting from the other side of town to school by 6 pm anyway. We get home, cook dinner, eat, then he's still doing his homework. By the time he gets to bed at 9 pm I can tell he's just exhausted.

And I'm exhausted. Chris works strange hours when deadlines approach or when there are meetings to go to in the evenings. The bulk of work at home hits me - which is fine, but I can tell my mind is scattered and not as focused as it used to be when I had "back up". I'm spread too thin and I am one of those who must put in 110% to everything I do. The problem is that there are only so many hours in a day.

So I started looking at the income around here. Two incomes was not a choice for us up until now. We did what we needed to do to tithe, pay bills, have health insurance, and sack away into savings. But now I'm looking at this and the days Will has and I think if one of us makes more than the two of us combined used to, it's prime opportunity to bow out of the work force.

The plan is to make it until the end of the school year. Then Will, Gigi, and I will all transition to staying at home - or at the pool. I foresee a lot of pool in the future. We need to have a summer vacation - for once. Will has no idea that summers are full of doing nothing. He has no idea that you don't have to get up at 6 in the summer. Summer vacation is a foreign idea to him. I don't want it to continue to be that way.

Not that we're just going to be at the pool all summer. There are science projects we've picked out to do. There's gardening to be done. There are bicycles to be ridden. There's a reading program at the public library. There are friends to have lunches with, to meet at the park and play with.

I'll be honest, I don't know what it means for my Master's degree. It is a sacrifice I'm not thrilled about seeing as how I put going back to school on hold for nearly ten years. I love going to classes. I love writing papers. I just don't see how it fits any more. And when Chris switched jobs it was difficult to take 6 hours, work 40 hours, get the house clean, cook the meals, chauffer the kids, and keep up with the laundry. I'm not saying I can't do all of it - because I did. The question becomes - what am I getting out of having it all and what are the others here missing out on? Also, why do I need to have it all?

Things are cut out now. Non-essentials hit the trash.

I won't lie. I agonized over how I could keep doing everything. I spent all of December stressed out about making decisions. But finally I made them and surprizingly, that feeling of dread and worry went away and I slept for the first time in weeks. A month later, I still feel that same sense of relief and optimism and I'm still sleeping at night, which sadly hasn't been the case in the past.

I don't know how I'll do at first with no job to go to. I have the need to compete with myself to beat deadlines and to organize everything. I don't know that this translates to the world of staying at home. I've created a calendar with our schedules on it. Something tells me I may be missing the point. I suppose whatever it takes to ease me into a life with no looming deadlines will work though.

I'm probably going to love it.

8 Things About Will and Gigi

2008-01-21T20:01:48-05:00

Sarah requested I make this list and since she's a good little blog reader I acquiesced and have presented eight things about my children you may not have known.

1. Will's favorite meal in the world is "Wilson Pasta" which is something I throw together to get rid of leftover vegetables and noodles.

2. Gigi gave herself her nickname because she couldn't say "Reagie" like the rest of us. To be honest, I like Gigi a whole lot more than Reagie. Also our neighbor from Turkey has called her Gigi for the last year and a half.

3. Will always wants to be some obscure character for Halloween - usually the hero from a cancelled Fox tv show. Last year he wanted to be Fry from Futurama. The year before that Captain Malcolm Reynolds from Firefly.

4. Gigi sings and dances all of the time. Always. It's sort of like having your own little Broadway show. Or Vegas showgirl treat, depending on how she's singing and dancing.

5. Will is really interested in bugs. He loves learning about bugs and as a bonus I get a helper in the garden. Last fall we raised butterflies in a kit we ordered. It was really neat. But it was really sad to let them go.

6. Gigi is a neat freak. She insists on having a wet wipe in each hand while riding in her stroller so she can clean the wheels of the stroller as she rides along.

7. Will soaks up my archaeology and Egyptology books. His teacher was extremely concerned because during "Free Art" he was drawing "a lot of dead people" and told her the jars next to her held their organs - except for their brains because those were just thrown out. I had to explain to her that he wasn't a disturbed child, just a budding Egyptologist. She seemed only slightly relieved.

8. Gigi has been too quiet for a little too long just now... That means something is in the process of destruction.

Carnival Ride Lesson

2007-10-05T13:15:00-05:00

We took our children to a fair. Not “The Fair” – if you are in Texas you know “The Fair” has Big Tex and fried everything – but to a fair. Smaller. Still had a midway and coupons though, which makes it a fair.

We arrived at the fair in the heat of the day and at dinner time. Why didn’t we eat before we went to the fair? I can’t explain that one. But I will tell you that for $20 worth of coupons you can get one large coke, one large lemonade, and two large corndogs. We shared them because we weren’t about to spend $40 for the four of us to eat something on a stick. Then we headed to the midway.

Will wanted to go on a ride. He wanted to experience the rides but he backed away from each one when we asked if he wanted to get on it. The problem here is that, much like his mother, Will has anxiety from “what-ifs”. I don’t want him living his whole life afraid of “what-if”, so I volunteered myself to go on a ride with him. Because if I’m not afraid of something, he feels like it’s perfectly safe for him to do. Mom will never lead you into danger.

I picked a ride in front of us. It had no line. I grabbed 16 coupons from Chris and we walked up the stairs to the ride. 16 coupons was probably like $80. We got in our little seats. I explained to Will that this ride was just going to spin us around. Probably. I hadn’t seen this ride in action, I just decided we’d ride this one because it didn’t have a line to wait in. I searched the ride, while buckled in, to see how this thing was going to work. While I am in no way an engineer, I do understand point of rotation.

I noticed this ride was not attached at the bottom, but at the top. Upon further inspection I noticed that I could rock the cart from side to side. I looked over at Chris when our cart started moving in a circular motion, except we were going backwards. I mouthed “Wrong Way” at him. He mouthed back “Good Luck.”

Very loud music was playing on this ride. Very loud. Heavy, screamy, thrash metal music. Over the very loud music the ride supervisor spoke sinisterly on the intercom “Welcome to the Death Scorpion! I want to hear you scream!” Generally not a good sign.

A sudden rush of responsibility hit me. I hadn’t seen this ride in action. I had NO idea what I was in for. And I hadn’t even bothered to look at the name on the ride before loading my only son into this cart with me which was harnessed at the top by a bolt. One single bolt – and it was rusty. I remembered a Dateline episode about carnival rides and shady inspections of rides. Just as I was coming to the realization that the Death Scorpion was probably more excitement than I had wanted and definitely more excitement than Will was ready for, the music got louder and the arm that was spinning us backwards in a circle now started to move up and down in a sickening motion. I realized the only other people on this ride were pre-teens and teenaged boys. No 30 year old mothers and their 5 year old sons. This was not the ride to take a child on if he’s never been on anything more exciting than the merry-go-round.

We were spinning around very fast while getting blasted with very loud trash metal music listening to pre-teen girls scream, moving up and down in a raft-in-open-sea-during-hurricane manner. I think it was Hell. In fact, I’ve since realized if a ride has something in its name which indicates death, hell, or something else unpleasant I’m just going to pass on it.

The ride continued despite my internal pleas to make it stop. I’d long since given up saying “This is fun, isn’t it?” I was now saying “No-no-no-no-no-no!” Will, when able to, would look at me with that look you get when you have endangered the life of your child and he knows it. He clutched the safety bar with one hand and my arm with the other. I clutched the safety bar with one hand and his leg with the other. We were going to die together, holding on tightly.

Between the screams of the pre-teen girls on the ride and the very loud music Will said “You’re trying to kill me!” and “I hate this!”

I yelled back “I bet it’s almost over!” and “Please, God, make it stop!”

Here’s the thing about carnival rides. If there aren’t people in line, they’re going to let you ride for a while. They might as well. The screams from the riders will surely attract more business. Plus, on one of our sideways fly-bys of the control stand I clearly saw the kid operating the ride had just received a cell phone call. I also was keenly aware that if Will and I threw up $20 worth of soda and corn dog it was not only financially irresponsible, but we were going to attract some attention. I decided to use the up and down motion to my advantage. During the up swings I spotted an area to the side secluded enough to do some good “I’m too old for this ride” and “He’s too young for this ride” vomiting. We were just going to have to find a way to get over there.

Finally, either through serious answered prayer or due to the end of the cell phone call, the Death Scorpion slowed down. It came to a halt. I raised our safety bar and Will said “Let’s not tell Dad we were scared to death, ok?” “Ok.”

We forced ourselves to walk straight lines to where Chris and Reagan were waiting for us. And the thing is that I didn’t have to tell Chris how much Will and I hated that ride because he could tell. And he’s just wonderful enough to suggest he would like to sit for a little while next to the perfect spot to have privacy to throw up, just so Will and I wouldn’t have to say anything.

I mentioned to Chris how wonderful it was that he could read my mind. He didn't say anything. He smiled and pointed a finger at my arm and a finger at Will’s leg. You could clearly see hand marks on both of us where we had clutched on each other during our first - and last - mother/son carnival ride.

Bus Fuss

2007-08-22T21:00:00-05:00

With the first day of school looming before us we have a few problems which are still unresolved. One is the lack of our ability to find a solitary sheet of construction paper of the required sizes in all of Tarrant County, Texas. The other is “The Bus”.

To Bus or not to Bus.

If I stand on the corner of our street I can see the roof of the elementary school. We’re not that far away from it. It is a neighborhood school. It is, however, too far to let him walk to school or even ride a bike to school. So, the choice is either have him take the school bus or drop him off on my way to work.

I resolved that I would just drop him off every morning (“At or after 7:30 am. No child should be dropped off prior to 7:30 am” according to my parent manual) and then head to work. The bus route picks up children at the end of our street, at the intersection of our street and the busy street, at 7:20 am. Really there’s not that much difference in time and if I’m dropping him off he’ll be safe.

It’s not just the bus stop on a busy street. I admit that. I can’t help but thinking of Forrest Gump’s first bus ride in the movie. What if everyone tells Will “Seat’s taken!” What if there isn’t a Jenny on the bus for him to sit with? He’s never been on a bus – there aren’t seat belts on those things, right? I don’t know how I feel about putting him on a vehicle with no seat belts with a stranger I don’t know behind the wheel, trying to find a seat with a bunch of kids saying “Can’t sit here.”

He wants to ride the bus. He tells me that every morning when we pass the school. “I want to ride the bus.” I tell him “I’ll just drop you off, it’s on my way.” He counters with “I want to ride the bus. I’ve never ridden a bus.” I counter with “There aren’t seat belts.” He objects with “It’s just down the street.” I ignore it by turning up the volume on the car radio. (Just a note here, every morning Will wants to listen to Pink Floyd - We Don’t Need No Education. He sings it. He loves it. I cannot wait for that phone call from the administration at his school…)

There’s another problem with the school bus. My mother will tell you about it if you run in to her. She has a few of the facts wrong, but in essence I didn’t do so well on my very first bus ride on my very first day of kindergarten. Mom is correct – I didn’t get off the bus at my stop. The events surrounding why I didn’t get off the bus are up for debate, but what I remember (vividly, like it happened yesterday, not like it was 26 years ago) is that I started to get up to get off at my stop and the bus driver asked me “Is this your house?” and since it was at the top of the street and not in front of my house I said “No, this is not my house” and I was told “Then sit back down!” by a very unfriendly bus driver who was sick of us already. I then got to continue riding the bus while everyone else emptied off. Alone. It is just that sort of trauma that sticks vividly with you for 26 years and makes you very weary of letting your firstborn ride the bus less than 2 miles to his elementary school.

But surely he won’t have the same traumatic experience.

The hardest part of his education - so far, I mean, school won’t start until next week and by then I’ll have found a million other things to worry about - is trying to keep him safe (and away from school bus trauma) while not suffocating him to death with my good intentions. I do know that he’s very excited about riding the school bus. I know that I’m doing a poor job about faking excitement about the school bus. But I am faking the excitement, and that’s a good start.

School Supplies

2007-08-15T18:30:00-05:00

In less than two weeks I am sending my firstborn to Kindergarten. Along with an onslaught of emotions about this upcoming event, I also have a list of school supplies. I have a very detailed, very specific, list of school supplies, courtesy of my local Independent School District.

A month ago I saw at the grocery store a pre-packaged box with Will’s school supplies already picked out and a price tag of $50. Hubris took over – surely it could not be that hard to buy school supplies and surely I wouldn’t spend nearly $50 on them! I passed up the pre-packaged supplies while other mothers were grabbing them up, singing praises to our local Albertson's. Our dear friend, (teacher and mother of 2) volunteered to watch Reagan and Wilson while I went school shopping. I said “It’s just a list of school supplies!” She looked at me with the eyes of experience.

I’ve learned experience is the thing you get after you needed it.

After work I took Will and Reagan, the school supply list and my grocery list to Super Target. I figured we’d be in and out in 30 minutes, groceries and school supplies in hand.

I miscalculated.

Our store is pretty close to the campus of TCU. I was school shopping with parents who are sending their children off to college. I noticed similarities between me and the college bound mothers: we all have a list, we all have strong emotions about this, and we are doing our best to be excited about this new “adventure” while suppressing the urge to drag the kids back to the nest and chain them down. The mothers smiled at me, my kindergartener, and my 18 month old. I smiled back. We had a moment. They were sisters in arms. They were getting me. I was sympathizing with them.

The college bound daughters were arguing about reading lamps, comforters, pillow sizes. The college bound boys looked bored while their mothers tried to get them interested in reading lamps, comforters, pillow sizes. In both cases I could read the mothers’ actions “Please let me choose this lamp for you! Please ask me to help you! Please give me this before I have to leave you alone with this lamp! Please let me continue to hold on to you!” In any case you could see their college bound children were ready to pick out their own lamps or to tell their mothers that comforters are stupid. In both cases the kids are ready to go out on their own.

I made it through the college bound set to the school supply area. I pulled out my list. My very detailed list that mentioned it was “brand specific”. That means I’m not going to be able to get by with the store brand knock off. Crayola crayons ONLY. Elmer’s School Glue ONLY – with no gel, color, or sparkles. Specific sizes and brands of construction paper, scissors, Kleenex, and dry erase markers (black – low odor). Somewhere in the dry erase marker area I was starting to get a migraine (possibly from the high odor markers?) and I realized I’d already exhausted the 30 minutes I had planned for this trip and I wasn’t halfway through my monster list.

This is when I looked back over at the college bound parents. None of them had an 18 month old getting antsy in the cart. That alone made me envious. And, while they too had lists, their stuff was large, easy to find – lamps, pillows, comforters – I was getting eyestrain looking for the specific scissor type specified for me by my demon list. I started to realize that those college bound parents also were not bound by a brand specific list. They could price shop. And, they could probably send their kids to the bathrooms alone – I had to leave my cart while taking the kids to the bathroom to change and diaper. So – school shopping will get easier, it will just take me 13 years to get to that point.

Finally time came to choose a backpack. There was a whole wall of backpacks. I read my list: “1 backpack – no characters, no wheels”. No characters. That removed 1/2 of our options. No wheels. That took out 1/3 of our remaining options. I showed Will the remaining choices we had. He wasn’t impressed. He wanted the Spiderman backpack with wheels. I showed him the list.

“See, right here. It says – no characters, no wheels.”

“I can’t read Mom.”

“I know. That’s why I’m buying this junk for you to go to kindergarten so you can learn.”

He studied his choices. He tried on different backpacks. I suggested some, he turned them down. I wanted to choose it for him. I know what a good backpack is. I have experience with backpacks and school. I looked across the store to the moms arguing with kids about desk lamps. I wanted him to say “Mom, I really need you to help out with this because you know more than I do.” But that’s not how growing up works. I have to let him do this alone. I have to keep letting him do this alone. I was going to cry, but Reagan dumped my purse out all over the floor. Mothering meltdown averted.

I decided to multi-task and search for “4 assorted solid color pocket folders, two with brads, two without brads”. Reagan started to get antsier. I quieted her with “beveled pink eraser”. I found the pocket folders with brads just fine. The ones without brads were giving me more trouble. From the back recesses of my mind, homeschooling became a very real, very appealing option.

Finally backpack was chosen and I discovered you can remove the brads from pocket folders easily, which I decided to do later at home.

We found everything except for 3 items. We ran through the grocery list in ten minutes. I wheeled our cart to the checkout. Two hours had passed. Two HOURS. Final cost, more than $50 for the school supplies. Next year, it’s Albertson’s pre-packaged deal.

We arrived home late. Chris helped unload the groceries and the school supplies. He saw the weariness in my eyes and suggested dinner out. I kissed him and handed him the detailed school supply list with the three remaining items. He said “I’ll just pick these up on my lunch break.” I laughed and said “I wouldn’t count on it.”

Kindergarten is turning out to be a learning experience for me. A very painful, costly, time consuming experience.

It Never Ends. Never.

2007-05-18T14:47:17-05:00

There for a while every TV movie was about a super virus. A super virus that would destroy all mankind and that all of our modern medicines would be worthless against. I thought those movies were stupid.

Then, I had Reagan.

I'm convinced Reagan is the carrier for the super virus. She's sick. Again. I'm up to my elbows in soiled clothing. My kitchen is a mess of medicines and thermometers, each promising a more accurate read than the others. I am out of Kleenex.

Yesterday I sat down for my lunch break, started to eat my Tomato Soup, and the phone rang. Reagan. Throw up. Twice.

I can handle it. We've gotten very, very good at handling sickness here. The worst part about it is that she has learned a new trick - giving kisses - and every time she runs to me or Wilson with her snotty, open mouthed kisses, I can visualize the super virus rubbing its hands together while thinking "One step closer to world domination!"

The good news is that the weather is perfect, nice, breezy, low humidity. So we set up our sick camp outside which means if someone should get sick there's a water hose to do the clean up and my carpets will get a (brief) reprieve.

As I was doing the millionth load of soiled laundry Will asked "Mom, is it still Mother's Day?" "No. Mother's Day was last Sunday." He breathed easy "Good, because I thought I was going to have to help you clean up puke if it was still Mother's Day."

Every day is Mother's Day. Every. Single. Vomiting. Day.

Sporting Event

2007-04-20T11:33:34-05:00

Will and I head off to the pre-season baseball meeting the other day. I have Reagan in a stroller because the nouns “Meeting” and “Reagan” don’t go well together. “Free-Range”, “No-limits”, “Wild-Crazy-Party” and “Chaos” all go well with “Reagan”, but “Meeting” doesn’t go with “Reagan” unless “Constraints” get involved. So we head to the meeting with our “Constrained Reagan”. We sit in the back with “Constrained Reagan” because it has been our experience that “Constrained Reagan” sometimes becomes “Loud Reagan” and “Attention Demanding Reagan” very quickly, necessitating quick access to a door, window, or fire escape.

We’re the only mother-son duo at this event. There are other parents there with their kids, but the dad-son duos picked up information packets and left, not caring about the information meeting. Some dad-daughter duos stayed because even a young female needs to hear details – safety, apparel, etc. So we are in a room with daughters and parents and we are in the back of the room with “Constrained Reagan” who insists upon smiling and waving enthusiastically at every person who enters the room. This enthusiastic greeting causes all who enter to come over and say hello to the friendly little girl and to say an obligatory hello to Will and me. Basically, everyone has seen us.

The meeting begins and all of the usual information is presented – practices, attitudes we should display, blah, blah, blah… Then the issue of equipment comes up and after we cover rubber cleats, bats, gloves, uniform the young man at the front says to me “Your son will also need a cup this year.” The meeting continues and I make a note to pass this off to Chris. Will, however, has questions.

“Why do I need to bring a cup?”

“All boys need a cup.”

“The girls don’t?”

I decide to let his father handle this. This meeting, with a room full of daughters and a “Constrained Reagan” is not the time, nor place to explain the difference.

“Girls won’t need them.” I whisper. Several of the dad-daughter duos are looking at us. The dads are smirking at me. I smirk right back because I know one day they’re going to have a lot more than the “cup/cup” discussion with their daughters. The joke is on them.

Wilson, ever a champion of women’s rights gets annoyed. “You mean they’re not going to let those girls have anything to drink?! What if the girls get thirsty?”

I realize there is no way he’s going to let this go. I give him a quiet run-down of the mechanics of this male-specific piece of sports equipment. He stares at me with very large, surprised eyes. His mouth is wide open. He looks like I have just slapped him. Very loudly he says “You have GOT. TO. BE. KIDDING. ME!!!!”

My son is obviously upset over the issue of equipment or the possibility of injury but I don’t stop to find out what the main concern here is. I stand up and direct “Constrained Reagan” and “Shocked Will” to the nearest exit. We don’t speak on the way to Sonic. We don’t speak while we drink our cherry cokes. Even Reagan is uncharacteristically quiet. I say “You want to talk about it?”

He looks at me from the corner of his eye and says

“There’s no way you’re taking me shopping.”

I agree. Apparently he’s reached the age where some things are just off-limits for a mom. When we get home he grabbed Chris and said “We need to talk.”

“Un-Constrained Reagan” and I head upstairs to brush baby dolls hair and pretend to have a tea party.

Registration Day

2007-04-17T22:23:42-05:00

One day after Reagan's ear surgery - which went so well - I took Wilson, his birth certificate, his social security card, his shot record, and our water bill to the local elementary school. It was time to register him for kindergarten.

The kids and I made our way from the parking lot. We've driven by this school nearly every day, watching as it was built. We stood in front of it and Wilson said "This place looks very big." And it did. It looks really big. It is a million times bigger than his preschool. He clutched my hand tighter and for a minute I think we both seriously comptemplated homeschooling, but then Reagan took off running and laughing for the front door, so, of course we had to go after her and once we caught her at the front door we thought we should accomplish our mission of Kindergarten Registration.

I was a college recruiter and admissions counselor for several years before we had children. I am familiar with Registration. I am familiar with paperwork. College paperwork. There was a lot more paperwork for kindergarten than I ever remember for college. The only thing missing from this was an essay either about Wilson's goals to make the world a better place or if he could choose three people from history to have dinner with - who and why. No essays, but plenty of other paperwork.

Wilson sat next to me very quietly as I began writing in his registration packet. (Yes, it was a packet.) Reagan stood next to the information center, tasting and distributing papers all over the floor. Every few seconds I had to wrestle something away from her and apologize to the receptionist. I would not have brought her to Kindergarten Registration if I knew there would be a packet to fill out, but I believed mistakenly that I would hand over the birth certificate, the social security card, the shot record, and the water bill and they'd give him a sticker or something and tell us when to show up for classes.

The receptionist, the school nurse, and other office workers asked if Reagan would like to go with them. She ran off, happy to be in the company of so many people and so many office machines with buttons to push. With Reagan off having fun with the elementary school staff, I concentrated on the registration packet.

"Mom, is that a lunch room?" Wilson looked behind us across the hall.

"Yes."

"Do I bring my lunch?"

"You can do that or you can buy your lunch here."

"Will someone bring my lunch to me like Mrs. Dianna does?"

"I think you have to go through a line and carry your lunch."

"What if I spill it?"

Now, rightly, I don't know the answer to this. Kindergarten, for me, was back in 1981. We only had a half-day kindergarten. This is full day. We only had milk time where you could choose either white or chocolate milk and you sat down and someone brought it to you. In 1st grade I remember clearly that the lunch room monitor was about 100 years old and if you dropped your lunch that was too bad. You had to rely on friends to share whatever they didn't want. And that meant all you got was a nasty "vegetable medley" to eat. I'm sure school systems are nicer now. At least, I hope they're nicer.

I continued filling out paperwork. A little girl, not much older than Will came in through the office doors. She reported she was sick and she was ushered back to see the school nurse who then had to pass Reagan off to another woman.

"Mom, what happens if I get sick at school?"

"You do what that little girl did and come see the nurse."

"Then what happens?"

Again, I don't know. Right now if he's sick I run across the street and take care of it. I remember in 1st grade I went to see the nurse because I wasn't feeling well and she took my temperature, said I was "imagining things" and sent me back to class with a scowl. Later, on the way back from art class I threw up in the hallway between the 3rd and 2nd grade wings. The nurse said I should have gone to the restroom instead of messing up the hallway. I tried that but was told to "get back in line" because one must always walk in a single file line when going from art class - or anywhere else for that matter.

In my mind I'm running over the years 1981 - 1995 in the public school system and millions of bad memories. I look at my son and in my mind I can clearly hear Pink Floyd singing "We don't need no education.... We don't need no thought control.... No dark sarcasm in the classroom.... Yeah, teachers, leave them kids alone...." I start to stand up and rescue my children from institutionalized education, when the Principal and several other administrators come out carrying Reagan. They talk with Wilson and he seems to loosen up.

"Is your baby sister coming to school next year?"

"No, but I am."

"Oh? Did you see our collection of stuffed alligators? The gator is our mascot."

"That's cool!"

He carries on a conversation with the adminstrators while I check off items on the "Kindergarten Readiness" checklist. I keep careful eye on these administrators, but not one of them seems capable of punishing a child for spilling a lunch tray, condemning children for not being sick enough, or yelling about walking in a straight line. These administrators seem to care about children - that must be something done after the 80s - compassionate education. Of course, children are graduating without being able to read, but they don't seem like the kind of teachers who exhibit "dark sarcasm in the classroom" so I figure I can always make sure he can read.

I finish my application for kindergarten. They take it, hand Reagan, who was not happy about returning to her family and leaving the copy machine, and they tell Wilson "We'll see you in August."

Pain and fear make me freeze. I'm sending my baby to kindergarten. I try to convince myself it's kindergarten, not college, but I understand it's not going to get any easier.

We walked out of the building and Wilson reminds me that the next day he'll need me to pick him up "over there". I remind him he has to wait until August.

"But I'm ready now!" He says.

"But I'm not." I reply.

Irrelevant Examples from a 30 Year Old Mom

2007-03-30T11:15:30-05:00

Last night we cleaned the house so Miss Roxanne can babysit while Chris and I go on a double date to Texas de Brazil with our friends. Wilson is an excellent helper - mostly - but sometimes playing with your toys is more fun than cleaning them up. If I told him once, I told him 1000 times to put the superheroes up.

"Wilson, please put Batman and Superman where they belong. I'm tired of sounding like a broken record."

He stared at me. He stared at me perplexed-like. He kept staring at me.

"What's a record?"

"It's like a very big CD."

"What?"

We don't have CDs anymore. We have iPods. You can't sound like a broken iPod. Finally I told him "I'm sick of sounding like a badly downloaded song that wasn't ripped right."

He picked everything up without me asking again.

The Birthday

2006-09-27T15:46:00-05:00

I've been told this will be the last birthday I ever have. 29. Next year I will probably not have a birthday anymore according to some. Turning 29 or 30 or whatever doesn't really bother me too much because the fact of the matter is that there are news articles touting "50 is the new 30". That means 30 is the new 10. One great thing about following the Baby Boomers - they refuse to get "old" and that means I will forever be young. I will also tell you from first hand eye witness account that 50 seems like a whole lot more fun than anything I've experienced since leaving college. My mom and her friends make 50seem like the place to be. 50 is better than being the new 30 because you don't have any young children at home, keeping you up all night with an ear infection or nightmares of King Kong...

Wilson came through and bought his dear mum a movie. He is very excited. He bought me "the best movie EVER" - Curious George. Chris bought me a ring set that has both kids' names engraved on it. Of course, it won't make it here today, but as soon as it arrives we will have to show pictures. Reagan woke up at 1am. I'm sure this was her way of making sure she was the very first person in the world to wish Mommy a happy birthday.

My inbox was full of singing birthday e-cards, which was a great way to start off the day. I had a delicious birthday praline, courtesy of my boss. Karen and Summer took me out for lunch and I had my favorite meal - spaghetti. I have spaghetti every year for my birthday - plain spaghetti, nothing fancy - because it is my favorite meal. Tonight Chris is cooking his special bow tie pasta dish. Yum. And we have cake, which I baked Sunday in order to avoid not having one and going through Wilson's "You can't have a birthday without a cake" lecture.

Tomorrow, before the sun wakes up, we are off to St. Louis. I haven't had a birthday at home since my 23rd birthday when my job required me to be there. Before that, my last birthday at home was when I turned 17. Since then each birthday has been spent in the heat here in Texas. I am so anxious for Chris, Wilson, and Reagan to experience what September should feel like - cool, leaves flirting with changing colors... It will be wonderful.

This is my first birthday since Kenneth, Lesley, Brandon, and Kerry-Lea went back to South Africa. The last several birthdays have included yummy South African food and trips to the ER. While I won't miss the ER this year (God willing) I do miss my friends and the yummy South African food.

A Day Planner and A Doctor

2006-06-06T16:01:00-05:00

Once, when I was probably Wilson's age, my mom gave me this old calendar/ledger/planner type thing to play with. It was harvest gold with a bee on the front. It was a binder with tabs. I can't tell you exactly what this thing was she gave me to play with, but I remember it. It had lines. It had paper. It screamed "order" and "efficiency" and even as a 4 year old I recognized comfort there. I love calendars and planners. If it's not on the planner or schedule, it's not happening. Likewise, if it is on the schedule it will actually take place. You can place money on it. Things written down are concrete.

This is why I was all for scheduling an induction of my two kids. Not that I had "a life" to schedule my kids in to - it's just with a day and time on the calendar I knew it was going to happen and when. I don't "do" surprizes. I also don't "do" disorganization. Both make me very, very anxious.

I tell you that so you will understand what a nightmare moving has been. A total nightmare.

The last time we moved Wilson was about 7 months old. Why do we always have to move with an infant? We apparently don't learn our lesson the first time. We're slow learners who quickly run out of room in our accommodations. The last time we moved we lost baking dishes. We also lost some important documents - like, say, our marriage license. Not that I expect anyone will show up and demand to see that we are legitimately married (which may not be the case since our marriage license reports that we were married in McClennan County - and that doesn't exist in the State of Texas... but it's been seven years so if there's a question about the non-existent county of our nuptial eventually "Common Law" sets in to play.)

This time I was determined not to lose anything. And so far, our possessions seem to be in order. My mind, however, seems to have been lost in the move.

I can't remember when things were scheduled - doctor's appointments, hair appointments, T-Ball games, dentist appointments, etc. Case in point - I missed Reagan's 4 month doctor visit yesterday morning. So, we got to go today. And because I had to take whatever they had open today (or wait until the end of July), I got to take Reagan by myself. During the time she should have been napping. And I was the only one there during her 4 vaccinations. She screamed and squealed like we had performed an amputation. She was/is mad at me.

On the good side of the visit - she weighs 13 lbs, 13 oz and is 24" long. She's in the 50% of her growth chart. Entirely different from Wilson who was always 80 - 90%. Of course, now he's at about 75%. I still don't think it's right that you can have two children so different. I think if you get a certain type the first time all of the others should be the same way. We know how to parent that 80% type. We're not sure what to do with 50%. She also has the green light to start with rice cereal now. Big girl. Before you know it she'll be driving a car... Rice cereal is when it all starts falling apart with their dependence on me. Rice cereal is what fuels their independent streak. Rice Cereal contains a mineral or vitamin which causes them to believe "I DO IT MYSELF!"

I would like to get in to a routine at the new house. I would like to know specific locations of things - right now it's "in the garage". I would like to return to a quiet, predictable schedule. It's probably not going to happen, but on the bright side we were outside talking with two families who are our neighbors. For three hours. My kids didn't get into bed until 10:30. But they are making friends and bedtimes can't interfere with trying to make friends with the neighbors.

Keep Your Cradled Cat to Yourself

2006-04-04T19:20:00-05:00

So I was feeling pretty good about getting back to work. Reagan's report from her first day at school was wonderful - she was happy all day, smiled, and her teachers love her. Wilson loved being with his buddies again and playing on the big playground... All was right with the world and April was looking a little less "cruel". Then, this morning I was driving to work by myself, heading off for a day full of meetings... I turned on the radio. And through it came melodic guilt:

And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon
Little boy blue and the man on the moon
When you comin' home son?
I don't know when, but we'll get together then son
You know we'll have a good time then...

And you know there are days when you get a song stuck in your head and you can't get it out. There I was all day, harrassed by it all day long. Anytime someone asked me how it felt to be back at work the stupid song started up again. Cats, silver spoons, moons...

In other news, Reagan had her 2 month appointment today. Chris had to take her because I was in meetings (can you hear it? Can you hear the cat in the cradle? I can...) and she got all 4 of her shots. Lucky him. She's now 11 pounds and 22 inches long. Her growth chart shows her at a perfect 50% all the way. She's healthy and happy and really that's all that matters.

I'm going to take the silver spoon and knock the cat out of the cradle toward the moon... That will make me feel better, won't it?

TS Eliot - Right Again

2006-04-03T16:52:07-05:00

Yet another line from my favorite work of lit - "April is the cruelest month". Normally I would not say April is in any way cruel, but today maternity leave ended and I left my children at school to head back into the workforce.

There are things I will miss and there are things I won't miss. I'll miss the afternoon snuggle naps. I won't miss Spongebob Squarepants episodes when I know good and well something (anything) better is on television at that exact moment. I will miss lunching with my son. I won't miss the food critic he has become. I will miss our afternoon walks. I won't miss how long it takes me to get everyone and everything needed for the walks out the door. I will miss seeing Reagan's smiles and developing laughter. I won't miss her screaming at me when the dogs bark too loud. Leaving my children at their school would have been a whole lot more traumatic except for three things: 1. Wilson told me recently "You need to think about taking me back to school because I think my friends miss me." (Code for "You're really not as much fun as my friends are.") 2. All of Reagan's teachers have had Wilson at some time over the last 4 years and I know she's getting maximum cuddle and care, and 3. My children are right across the street from my office.

The best part about going back to work is that Chris' office is just downstairs. Instead of waiting all morning to see him at lunch or waiting all afternoon to see him at dinner, I can see him any time I want - often just passing in the hall as we're running around campus. It makes it nice having all three of my loved ones right here.

Still, April is cruel this year - tearing me out of full time motherhood and placing me back at my job. Lucky for me all of us are here together and I love my job. That makes April just a little less cruel.

But I can't tell you how much I will miss afternoon snuggle naps.

Calendaring

2006-03-03T19:44:00-05:00

These few days are a calendaring nightmare. Without my calendar at work which is organized, detailed, and color coordinated, I have been floundering around on memory alone. I booked every appointment possible in a span of 5 work days. This wouldn't be so bad except I had no access to Chris' work schedule and I am having trouble remembering who has an appointment at 8:30 and who is at 9 and which child has the actual appointment...

Wilson's dentist appointment was great. He earned an "A" on his brushing. Good job.

The pediatrician appointments were a little more complicated. It was me, solo, with two children, a car seat, and a diaper bag. And insurance cards. Keys. Wallet. Check book. My mind still is not back to pre-pregnancy function. It will have to ease back in to common sense and short term memory skills. I'm actually concerned it will never reach pre-pregnancy function. Wednesday we took Will in for his 4 year check up. At your 4 year check up we were instructed there would be 3 shots. However, some group of doctors at the state or federal level added two more shots to this. 5 shots. It's just me, the kids, and the 5 shots. Wilson did well. I promised him a treat when we left. Nothing makes shots worth it like a brownie and milk (yes, it was before 10 am but there were 5 shots involved. We both needed a brownie and milk.). Today we took Reagan in for her 1 month check up.

Wilson was concerned and told me I needed to remind the nurse and the doctor that it was Reagan's turn. He wanted me to be sure and tell them he had gotten his shots on Wednesday and he didn't need any more. I told him ok. The nurse called Reagan's name and Wilson said "Tell her Mom." I told the nurse. The nurse said she remembered. The doctor came in to check Reagan. He asked Wilson how he was doing. Wilson told him "It's my sister's turn. I don't need anything, thank you." The doctor said he remembered.

The time for the shot came. Wilson said he wanted to watch. It's always better to be the oldest when it's your younger sibling's turn to get shots. It's always better to watch them get that. I remember that much. You always want to go first and you always want to watch theirs. Wilson seemed disappointed that he got 5 shots and Reagan only got 1, but he asked if he could come back for her 2 month check up because she's getting 4 that day. I told him he would be in school. He said he could take the day off. I told him forget it. And his dad will be doing that appointment... It's not the shots, it's not the crying that gets me with my kids. It's that look on their face as I'm holding their arms and the shot is given - the "Thou hast forsaken me" look of betrayl I get from them. Like I knew what was going to happen and I did nothing to stop it and even held their arms. It's a terrible look.

Wilson also had a playdate today. He's been missing his best friend and his best friend's mom invited Wilson over for playtime this morning. I would say I enjoyed the morning off, but by the time I got home, fed, changed, and re-changed Reagan I had just enough time to quickly eat some corn flakes, drink half a glass of milk, then I was back on the road to pick him up again. But Wilson was happy - and worn out.

Next week more appointments. Only this time they are mine. The worst part of bedrest is that you can't get to the salon. I need the salon. If just for a few hours it will look like I took the time to do something with my hair... And then it will go back to the "hurried mommy" look I've been doing. But there will be a few hours there in the afternoon where I will not look like I've got a newborn and 4 year old. And it will be good.

A Memoir of a Purse

2006-02-24T16:50:00-05:00

To My Dearest Kate Spade tote-

I love you. I love your simplistic style. I love your size - perfect for my things and some things my son packs in you (stuffed dog, rocks, sticky candy without the wrapper). I love how when things are spilled on you, you make it so easy to clean. I love your sophistication. I love everything about you. That's why I have to tell you the reason you are up in the closet is not your fault.

I put you in the closet a month ago, completely gutted out of my belongings. It broke my heart to do so. Motherhood has taken the drivers seat again and style and function are indulgences I will not be able to have for at the very least one year. Maybe two.

You are not large enough and you are too stylish to fit my life right now. I had another baby. You weren't here with the first baby, so this is all new to you. I cannot stuff you with diapers, clean or unclean. You are not large enough for the wipes. You will not do for a changing mat. There is no where to stuff the tube of Boudreau's Butt Paste inside your stylish totiness. You are not suited for carrying burp cloths, multiple hats, hairbows, socks, changes of clothing, the rattle, or anything else the baby needs. I've moved on, for now, to a rather clumsy and large diaper bag (more of a suitcase if you ask me).

Don't feel like I'm replacing you, darling tote. I promise complete fidelity to you as there is nothing belonging to me in this diaper bag/suitcase I now carry. If I'm lucky I may be able to squeeze one tube of lipgloss inside the bag, but most of the time there isn't room and the rest of the time I forget what lip gloss is for... At this stage of my life the only thing that replacement purse says about me is "professional mother".

Never fear. I know from experience one day you and I will reunite, unless by that time the infant has grown into playing dress up with my shoes and my purse. I look forward to many more days with you on my arm, unless you are in her room, stuffed to the brim with plastic play jewelry or Barbie dolls...

Until then, little black tote, collect dust in peace.

Name Change

2005-12-09T17:18:00-05:00

To the Bureau of Motherly Affairs, Name Change Department:

12/9/2005

Dear Office of Motherly Affairs:

I am acknowledging your paperwork, requesting a permanent name change. In February 2002 I received one (1) delivery of 8 lb. 2 oz. baby boy at 6:01 pm. Soon thereafter baby boy began speaking and I became 'mama' or 'mommy'. 'Mommy' has been fine. I have even been completely fine with being introduced as 'Wilson's Mommy'. This title was fine. I am fine with 'Mommy'.

I am accepting a permanent name change from you now for the following reason - slowly after Thanksgiving my son, issued to me in 2002, began replacing 'Mommy' with 'Mom'. I thought this was a phase, introduced to him by noticing that my brother, sister, and I refer to our own mother as 'Mom'. I believed this would pass. It has not.

He has transitioned to this much like he weened himself. It snuck up on me. I have tried correcting this by saying 'Mommy' everytime he says 'Mom'. I have tried ignoring him until he switches back and calls me 'Mommy'. This last technique has completely backfired - instead of switching back to 'Mommy' he escalates to 'Jolene'.

I am not excited about this name change. I have waited many years to be 'Mommy' and somehow he feels I've moved to 'Mom'. Somehow he has gathered that since there is a sibling on the way he must become the "big boy" and he believes this means he can no longer call me 'Mommy'. This has happened entirely too fast for someone who has waited so long to hear 'Mommy' in reference to herself. For one thing, I have a Mom. I have noticed several things that are different between 'Mommy' and 'Mom:

You snuggle with Mommy. You roll your eyes at Mom when she asks if you want to snuggle.
You kiss Mommy in front of everyone without hesitation. You pretend like Mom is a stranger so your friends think you gave birth to yourself.
You pick all sorts of flowers, weeds, grasses for Mommy because she is on your mind. Mom has to hound you down for a 5 second response to "How was your day?"

Basically this all boils down to thinking you need 'Mom' less than you need 'Mommy'. Maybe. Maybe he does need me less than he did a few weeks ago. I would like to file a complaint with your department - you should have allowed me to stay 'Mommy' with this child until the one that is currently in the production process learned to say 'Mommy'. I fear this second child will stay in the 'Mommy' phase for a shorter period of time since there will already be another person in the house giving me the 'Mom' treatment.

Reluctantly I await your permanent change to my name. I am not happy about this. Not happy at all. This was a terrible thing to do to me, 8 months pregnant and at the Holiday Season, no less. I am notifying all of his friends' mommies, and they are aware of the upcoming change. We would boycott, but we have all decided to let them grow, reluctantly. I take solice in knowing that one day he will go from hearing 'Daddy' to 'Dad' and he will understand why I've had a confused, pained look on my face these last few weeks.

On a related topic - why is it the same time I became 'Mom' did his 'daddy' suddenly become 'Your Honor'? I would like to point out here that while his father has sat for jury duty, he has no experience in legal issues - unless it's representing himself in traffic court...

I still think this was a terrible time for you to spring the name change on me. It is, after all, Christmas.

Sincerely,

Wilson's Mom

Mitten Expert

2005-12-07T16:08:00-05:00

It got cold here. Fast. Saturday it was nearly 90 degrees outside, today it is sleeting and the natives are driving like maniacs on the snow, preparing for the Armageddon that is a "wintry mix" in Texas.

To prepare for freezing temperatures I took Will out last night to buy mittens. He needs mittens on the playground. As he puts it, you can't swing with your hands in your pockets. He's right. We are at the store in the mitten section which has obviously been hit and ravaged by panicking North Texas mommies who heeded the prediction a day in advance. By the time we get to the mitten section there are 5 pairs left and only two choices in color. He picks red. The blue would have matched his coat better, but he picked red. Whatever. It's not like he's going to wear these more than 10 times this season, I promise. Later he will be using them for boxing gloves I assure you so he might as well pick something he likes.

We buy mittens and get in the car on the way home. He has to wear them, of course. I unhook them and pass each mitten back. Soon sounds of mitten frustration reach the front seat. He's gotten one mitten on but can't put the other hand in the mitten because the mitten-clad hand is of no use to pull it up. He gives up. I encourage him that it can be done. He's close to ultimate 3 year old frustration. Chris tells him to wait until we get home. Meltdown approaches. I turn around and show him that your teeth are not just for eating, they are for putting on the second mitten too.

Will and Chris look at me like I've just suggested the most moronic idea ever uttered. I nod and tell Wilson I know what I'm talking about. He uses his teeth. Viola! Two mittens on hands. Chris rolled his eyes at me. Wilson looks at his mittens in amazement.

"Mommy, you are so smart. You're the smartest mommy ever. You are so smart with mittens, Mommy."

I see the inscription now on my tomb - "She knew all about mittens."

Texas vs. Clean Laundry

2005-10-27T07:49:00-05:00

He's been a Cardinal fan since birth, an Astros fan for a week, and now he's a White Sox fan...

Since there is no loyalty or logic in who the boys cheered for in the NLCS (if you have no idea what I'm speaking of, you'll need to head to the archives to find "The Astro Turf is Always Greener" and "When the Pujols Hits the Fan") I figured I would beat Chris at his own game. And I won.

Last night, game 4 in the World Series:
Will - "Are the Cardinals playing?"
Me - "No."
Will - "Who is playing?"
Me - "The Astros and the White Sox."
Will - "The Astros are from Texas."
Me - "Yes."
Will - "I am from Texas too. I'm going to cheer for the Astros. Are you cheering for the Astros?"
Me - "Not a chance. I'm sticking with the team from the region that has four distinct seasons." Then, seeing my opportunity to outsmart Chris' Texas Card play "Will, what do you have on your feet?"
Will - "White socks."
Me - "Yeah. Do you like clean, white socks?"
Will - "Yes." He thinks for a minute, "I like clean socks. I'm cheering for the White Socks."

And we score one for laundry, the White Sox, and the absence of reason. Go Chicago.

A Childrens Book You Should Buy

2005-10-22T19:52:00-05:00

I'm going to do a plug for a children's book. I have been reading my fair share of children's books for the last several years. That makes me a mommy with a reading degree. A pseudo-expert.

Children's books are the hardest to author (and do a good job). You know what makes a good children's book? Artwork and a good moral that kids hear from moms, dads, teachers - but it really sinks in when they see it in a book they like. Something else I've learned is that very few children's books are authored and illustrated by the same person. It's hard to write for children because you can't fool them. It's harder to illustrate for children - because they study artwork and know if it's bad. You know what else makes a great children's book? An action figure.

I have found the book that meets all above criteria. It will be available in time for Christmas. Little Bunny Kung-Fu. The book is written and illustrated by Regan Johnson. Even though it's not on shelves yet you can order one by going into Barnes and Noble and giving the ISBN - 0976941783. Actually, with that number you can order it from anyone, but B&N is my favorite because once a pre-ordered book hits their warehouse they ship it to your local store. Like book fast food. And - there's an action figure coming - a plush rabbit you can pose. How great is that?!

The book is "a story about learning respect for those around you. By seeing how one bunny's actions effect his neighbors, we realize that in life, what goes around, comes around."

On a personal note, I know the author. Regan is very talented. Very, very talented. I have seen how much work she puts into her craft and I know this book would be a welcomed addition to every child's library. As "Wilson's Sheri" said - if parents would just read to their kids 30 minutes every night illiteracy would be gone. There's another good reason to buy the book. If you start kids out with a love for learning you are creating an excellent foundation.

This is Regan's first book but I've seen her to-do list and I assure you this will not be her last. Toys break and kids eventually outgrow them - this Christmas give the kids you're buying for a gift they will not outgrow or get tired of in three weeks (it happens, I promise) go out and buy the book, Little Bunny Kung Fu by Regan Johnson. It doesn't require some assembly, it will not make loud noises, it does not have flashing lights, and it takes up little space. Plus you're investing in the foundation of education. Books make the best gifts. :)

If You Can't Say Something Nice...

2005-10-19T22:38:00-05:00

Cardinals lost. The boys are free to cheer on the Astros. Good luck to them. :(

The Astro Turf is Always Greener

2005-10-16T19:27:00-05:00

One of the definitions of the word Loyal is "faithful to a cause, ideal, custom, institution, or product". Another definition is "unswerving in allegiance". Here's the thing - when we set up this blog Chris set the links over there on your right hand side. Do you see what links he put in? That's right, there's a link to the St. Louis Cardinals. Do you see a link to the Houston Astros? No. You don't. It's not there because he did not put that team there.

I was born in St. Louis. I grew up in St. Louis. I grew up watching and attending Cardinal games. Before we got married I let Chris know there are a few things my family holds sacred - politics, religion, the Marine Corps, and the Cardinals. Everything else is fair game. He had no problem with that when we met nor when we married. He's been attending Cardinals games and cheering for them every year with my family since then. He buys a Cardinals hat every time he wears one out and those are his favorite hats.

Then there's his son - Wilson has literally been wearing Cardinals apparel since he was a week old. He was a newborn and we watched Spring Training during my entire maternity leave. I listened to his colicky cries during the 2002 home opener. He has a room decorated in Cardinals memorabilia, courtesy of the family in St. Louis - including an autographed baseball by Stan Musial. He learned what a Cardinal was as soon as he learned to talk. One of his few sentences starting out was "Go Cardinals!". He's only ever been to see the Cardinals play at Busch Stadium. He watches every televised game and cheers for them.

Here's where I get confused: Chris never mentioned the Astros until last October when it was down to Houston and St. Louis. All of a sudden, he's an Astros fan. Fine, I understand he grew up "near Houston" and attended a handful of games when he was younger. Fine. But he never, ever mentioned the Astros before that and I can tell you last year he couldn't name you 5 players on the team or even who the coach was. I had to tell him it wasn't Enron Field anymore. Big Astros fan, huh? Then the Astros started losing and what do you know, he's cheering for the Cards again. I thought he'd learned his lesson.

This year it's the same story. Only this time he has taken our son who has only ever cheered for the Cardinals and turned him against me. Chris played the Texas card. Apparently if you're a Texan you're going to cheer for the Astros, even if you've spent the last 6 years (or in Will's case - your entire life) cheering for the other team, attending the other team's games, watching the other team on TV, wearing clothing with the other team's logo on it... What's worse is the two boys can give you the batting order of the Cardinals - I had to tell them what the "Killer B's" meant. Then Chris comes up with some jive story about being able to have more than one team to cheer for! Way to teach your kid how to be a fence-sitter. Not in my house.

Chris said "It's just baseball". No it's not. It's not just baseball. It's about the one thing your wife still has here in Texas, her favorite sports team, her connection to her family. It would be like me burying him outside of Texas, and I'm tempted now to bury him in Oklahoma after this stunt he has pulled. They seem to think that when "their Astros" win this series with the Cardinals that I'm going to cheer along with them. Chris, as he has said at least 500 times a game, "grew up near Houston." Well, I grew up "near" Chicago. I'm going to be the best White Sox fan ever - I know just as much about the White Sox as these two Texans know about the Astros.

I've explained to Chris that you don't go against the family where the Cardinals are concerned - during the 1985 World Series there was a rift between the St. Louis side of my family and the Kansas City side of the family due to a terrible call made by the umpire. Chris said "I didn't know you have family in Kansas City." That's the point.

Backseat Traffic Cop

2005-09-02T22:26:00-05:00

We were on our way home this afternoon when I made a right turn at a red light. Wilson started yelling at me "It's red! It's red!" I asked what he was talking about and he said "You broke the law! That light was red!" So there I am in the car telling my son it's ok to make a right on red - it's legal unless there is a no-right-on-red sign. Then I realized this was a pointless argument - he is only 3, he doesn't know the difference between right and left yet. So I decided to divert his criticism from my driving to his dad's. I told him he might want to pay attention to Daddy's driving because you should always use a blinker to signal you are turning, but Daddy doesn't use them. Ever. Wilson said he'd have to check that out. I'm convinced Wilson is my mom: either I'm told my car radio is too loud or I get traffic rules rattled off verbatim from the passenger in the backseat. My question is where did Wilson learn traffic laws? Do they have the Texas Driver's Manual in an illustrated version for children? He's a backseat driver in a car seat!

We're just so tired of the heat here! There's a cold front coming this weekend, so it should only be 95 every day. The sad part is we are looking forward to the cool weather! We sent Wilson out to revive the flowers and the grass with the water hose. He thinks it's a big treat, so, of course Chris was out there with the camera again...