Swoon A While

I've been spending a little too much time with Jane Austen of late, and I think I would really, really, really welcome a good swoon right about now. But in my running shoes & sweats, it just doesn't have the same effect. (And wouldn't you know it, I run straight into the gossip queen at the grocery store on my way out - this is so not going to get me into supper club, let me tell you.)

But back to the swoon - my dearest sweetest boy just walked in, asked for another stack of laundry, and told me "I like taking the laundry, Momma."

Swoon-worthy, I assure you. Wagers as to where he's actually taking it?

Let the Good Times Roll

So, it's still Spring Break, officially, but since we are now down to just a weekend before my life resumes, I'm calling it off. The Break, I mean. Because aside from the sleeping until 8:30 thing at my parents, it hasn't been much of a break.

Let's review.

Monday - Mom works from home, taking conference calls amidst cries of "He's telling on me" and "I will never EVER clean my room." Flee to my parents in hope of a sanity break.

Tuesday & Wednesday - Play with sweet baby niece, sleep moderately late, allow my parents to deal with the "complete unfairness" of 3 children with new computer games, one of which "like totally stinks." Return home at the bequest of dear husband who proclaims that the house is too quiet without us.

Thursday - Spend some time with our friends at Urgent Care so that I can get antibiotics for the pink eye I've acquired from the sweet baby. More cruelty to children inflicted as I pronounce Thursday "no electronics" day, and force them to play outside. In 75 degree sunshine, I might add, lest you think I was sending them out to the tundra for a game of Ring the Reindeer.

Friday - Cave to demands of Happy Meals as well as video game time. Compromise is made that games can be played on the screened in porch to allow fresh air to actually see my children. Spend afternoon making a countdown chart for school to resume. Decide that summer-long sleepaway camp might be worth the third mortgage.

In two days, 18 hours, and 7 minutes. But who's counting?

We were on a break.

Spring used to be the two most magical words in my life. No classes, no pesky undergrad students, no stress. Go home, let Mom do the laundry and cooking, sleep 'til noon every single day.

And then, suddenly, I am Mom, and I hate those words. No schedule, no school, pesky elementary school kids, no sleeping in.

So what do I do? Go home, let Mom do the cooking, and sleep until the now heavenly hour of 8:30. Every. Single. Day.

Back soon, I'm on Spring Break.

Wish Granted.

So I was in a bit of a funk the other day. You see, moms around me were talking about Spring Break plans, supper club, and shopping trips, and I was feeling pretty sorry for myself. I wallowed, a little too long, frankly, and in my panic scramble yesterday to clean my house, find the right color shirts for Grandfriend's Day, and gather enough rations for breakfast, I realized that one of my big complaints in our old life was that I didn't have enough quiet time.

Well.

It would appear that although I am not capable of receiving everything I want in the way of say, lottery tickets and thinner thighs, I have been granted this one wish, and in spades.

So I got what I asked for. Be warned, apparently the universe (in whatever form you believe in) does hear these things, and grants them. And sometimes, just at the time you want them the least.

But today? Today I am thrilled for the silence, my parents have just pulled out, I had the right shirts, a public lunch with my children did not require me to issue "the look" more than twice, and it is finally, officially, Spring.

And as people around here will tell you, there is nothing better at all to wish for than a Southern Spring breeze. Here's to clearing out the cobwebs, y'all.

Table for one, again.

So if there should be a universal sign for "give me some darn space already" (courtesy of Mindy), is there a sign for "please, don't make me eat lunch alone again"?

I am not very good at asking for things. Honestly, it would less painful for me to ask you for a kidney as it would be for you to eat lunch. And lest you think I'm not moving ever so carefully out of my comfort zone, I have actually invited people to lunch. Or dinner, even.

Based on my call back rate, it would seem that I'm not a good second date.

We have always been the callers, my husband and I, and very rarely the recipient - do we just own our role, and suck it up, or wait? Or do I let my paranoia overcome me, and wonder if I smell funny?

Oh, the joys of living in a new place.

And they are 7.

Yesterday, for once in my life, every last thing I did worked out. On schedule, worked well, I was on my best game. Deliveries arrived when scheduled, conference calls ended in record time - it was like the planets aligned, and I was a rock star.

And then, of course, I had to actually pick my children up from school. And what did they do? Walk past my car, and around the other side of campus, forcing me to park and chase them until they finally realized that the crazy lady waving their arms and yelling at them was in fact their mother. (It is fortunate to note here that I was only picking up the boys - if I had been picking up Kate, she would have looked, grimaced, and kept going. Embarrassing the family name and all that.)

Once I actually collected the birthday children, I tried to recover my rock star vibe - the car was loaded with birthday gear, my husband arrived on schedule to help with the festivities, and plenty of kiddos arrived to celebrate. I hadn't asked any one parent to stay, specifically, since I felt certain that some lonely 1st grader would require Momma to hang for the 2 hours.

Not a single parent stayed. For 2 hours, I had sole custody of 38 children.

And no alcohol.

Needless to say, the fact that I had to come home afterwards and deal with dinner, 43 un-iced cupcakes, healthy standardized testing snacks, gymnastics "watch night" and set of unassembled patio furniture killed my rock star buzz. But that was all fine, I had sort of planned it, minus the patio furniture.

But here's where the crow comes in. I think I've confessed my love for cute stationary, so the hand printed favor tags causes no alarm. But the cupcakes? I may have griped about the overachiever mom that uses fancy icing tips. And a pastry bag.

I have caved.
And bought the icing tip & the bag.
And I lurve them.
And iced 43 cupcakes last night with fancy swirls.
And Will said that they looked "perfecto, man."

But I did not wear makeup this morning dropping them off. Or anything monogrammed.

Crow at my house, high noon. Bring a screwdriver for the patio furniture.

Just when I needed that extra hour...

So I felt like I was on a bit of a roll there, and then Daylight Savings Time struck. I hate DST with all of my being for the first week, and then, once I'm no longer dragging children out of bed by their ankles, it grows on me. Particularly when I can gain a quiet house by throwing the children outside. For. Hours. On. End.

Needless to say, we haven't made it through the week yet, so no one in our house is getting up very easily. And since I am not a morning person to begin with, you can only imagine the chaos. It's also standardized testing week this week, on top of Kate's first try at Quarter Exams, birthday parties for the boys, and a round of my favorite houseguests, and you'll agree that maybe we've taken on too much.

The mothers here still astound me with their Martha-like overachievement. Birthday cupcakes are frosted with bags & fancy tips, snacks are brought in coolers so that the drinks are cold, and their makeup is impeccable. I, on the other hand, am thinking that 48 birthday cupcakes will be fortunate to actually get to class, much less wasting my time with a fancy schmancy icing. And the makeup? Not a chance.

Yet I persevere, and spent my time today printing "thank you" tags for party favors. Perhaps these will make up for the fact that I'm only wearing tinted sunscreen?

The Space Between

I am beginning to think that Nature had a decent plan, trying to convince me into having that second child so that they are 18 months apart. Things are getting manageable, you'd have a decent night's sleep once a month or so, and you're feeling like you could just do with a little more sweetness. All decent reasons, if you ask me. But the reason I didn't hear advertised?

You don't want the view so far ahead.

You see, we didn't fall for the siren song of 18 months apart, we waited a bit longer for a variety of reasons, not the least of which was that we weren't sure we could handle pregnancy again. (For the record, I'll announce that while I am a champion at getting pregnant, I am not good at making it into the 3rd trimester. I hear it's overrated, the 3rd trimester, but it sends my dear husband into convulsions at the mere mention of baby envy. Ahem.) So we waited, and our children are 3 1/2 years apart. And this, I'm thinking, is not such a good thing.

For starters, our oldest was a pretty easy child, once we got her here. No behavior problems to speak of, good student, easy going. Our boys, on the other hand, are famous for pine-cone throwing, being "active", etc. We were not prepared, and had become complacent "older" parents. Been there, done that does not win you favors in the Principal's Office, let me assure you. It's more like "You've already done this, why are you having so much trouble?"

But the real kicker? The preview of what will happen later with the troublesome younger children. As my oldest gets ready for Quarter Exams, boy-girl parties, and the icky May Day forced march dance around the may pole, I can only watch these older boys and moan. That is what I am raising? Those goofball 11 year olds? You mean they never quite change?

The view far ahead is not pretty. I am beginning to understand the UK system of boarding school at 8, so that you don't get to watch. Or spend quality time with the Principal, explaining why you still can't quite get it right the second and third time around.

New Year's Resolutions, Strikes 1, 2 & 3

So I took a little unplanned break. I'd tell you that my keyboard was frozen solid, or that I was trapped underneath a snowbank, but since I've revealed my southerly location, I doubt you'd buy it.

In all honesty? I haven't been able to think of a second sentence. I have lots of first sentences floating around, begging for my attention, but when I sit down to write them? The second sentence runs for the hills. (Yes, I'll note here that I've now written like 6 sentences, but let me assure you that none of these sentences were the ones I had planned on my list.)

So let's recap my failed resolutions - Write More? clearly, no. Photos? not exactly. Less Caffeine? Oh, please. The only reason I'm actually sitting upright after last night's storm bands is 3 Diet Cokes. But I've been great about exercise, and I've even managed to send a few craft projects out the door without reworking them 58 times. So I've made some progress.

Back on the wagon, I suppose. Send me some 2nd sentences and some film?