From the mouths of small children...

"Mom! When I grow up, I want to be a street performer! You know, like those guys in the box? Look, Mom, I'm trapped!"

Later...
"Mom! When I get tall like Dad, I'm going to be a clown! Because you know, Mom, then I could put a banana peel on the floor? And trip over it when I walk? Because people will sure think that's funny, and I like to be funny."

What, exactly, are the odds of me having a 35 year old living in my basement? Do they go up if the 35 year old in question owns white face paint and a beret?

So I take it back.

Yes, two posts in one day, but this was worthy. To set the stage, our school retains 97% percent of their student body every year, and the majority of this 97% started in Pre-K. So lots of things are "understood."

So my glee about carpool? Was promptly thoroughly negated by the fact that not only did I have to do walk-in pickup today, in my sweats, but that I had to do it in front of the entire school, parents and all, because there was a seemingly unannounced PARADE for homecoming. With full tailgate regalia, I might add. And me the only mother that had NO idea it was coming. And seriously? No lipstick and a baseball hat, while the other mothers (all of them) had on cute sandals and full makeup.

I knew I had gotten a little cocky this morning, but I swear I had no idea the universe would work this quickly to knock me back down a peg or seven. Pride goes before a fall, that's for sure - especially at walk-in pickup.

Victorious At Last

I'm finding myself a bit blog-blocked this week - in a strange turn of events, I have nothing to talk about. No monogram mishaps, clumsy adventures, or child behavior issues. (Ok, I have issues, but I'm pretty sure we can all recite them by now. So let's move on. Because unless you have a new drink recipe to soothe my nerves, or a restraint for my chatty-in-class child that won't offend CPS, it won't help.)

But I am here to proclaim that I have won. My children? Got out of the car at the curb, and walked themselves into school. Victorious at last, people, I am back. Sport those pajamas and bedhead folks, because my children? Get dropped off at the curb.

(Did you hear me? The curb. Not at their classrooms, the most beautiful stretch of curb I have ever laid eyes on. I saw no one, and I am proud. )

Long live carpool.

What I mean to say is...

I had this long thought about how the children you're given sometimes can't possibly be yours, but I can't finish the thought. Fall is kicking my ass, y'all, and has taken my brain hostage.

I love Fall. Can't wait for Fall. Live, for Fall, even. But this year, it has run me ragged, leaving me hoping that if I get buried by the pile of leaves in my yard, it will leave me alone. What happened to all of that free time I was getting now that the kids are in school? It has evaporated with the high humidity, and I am buried in carpool lists and school assignments. The only sign of relief I've gotten is the one that relieves me of wearing a swimsuit in public - and I think the entire community needed that break, if you're asking.

But I love every minute of it. We're getting into the groove, picked up a soccer team for the boys, finally found riding lessons for K, and survived mini-cheerleading. I think we're all just relieved that I was not asked to demonstrate any moves for Kate - only my orthopedist would have been disappointed. (She had a blast, and I spent only a few minutes cringing at my own memories of failed attempts of coolness.)

So back to school is like New Year's for me, and thus the beginning of list-making. First on the list? Clean out this hovel of an office. Next on the list? Figure out what I should be doing in this free time instead of helping with homework. Got any ideas? I'm open to suggestion...

Very Close to the End...

Nothing new to report here - a quiet weekend with out of town guests, and a quick ramp up to a busy week. So let's finish the alphabet.

V - Very unorganized, is Mayberry's soccer system - we got the same roster as another coach, so we're sorting through it. Apparently if it's not baseball, it's not important.

W - Way too many schedule conflicts, with both Carpool parents travelling this week. Unfortunately for us, we're not going at the same time.

X - The eXtreme negotiations our sons are putting us through to get their TV time back during the school week - holy cow, do I have some future politicians on my hands! (oh, and xylophone - is there a better "x" word?)

Y - The loud YAHOO you'll be hearing when I'm in a hotel room by myself this week - what more could a momma ask for, even when it's for work? I need some space, y'all.

Z - Zero - the amount of time I'll be having to blog this week since I'll be either a single parent or on the road. Have a great week!

Unavoidable Delays

As a parent, I think I've become more superstitious. You don't dare say things like "Wow, they are playing so quietly" or heaven forbid, "He slept through the night last night" without expecting that the universe will rain down it's distaste at your need to show off.

So I had to wait to tell you. But quietly? We had a much better week, aside from one tiny temper issue that involved several children not knowing the rules of baseball, which apparently are much better understood while your friend is elbowing you in the stomach. But I digress.

The color of the week is, well, not red or yellow or blue, but I don't dare risk it for fear of the aforementioned universe raining. Several children, perhaps even mine, were, well, not terribly behaved this week. Perhaps even tolerably behaved, if you don't think I'm showing off by saying that sort of thing. And several other children, again, not mine, tried much harder and received pats on the head (literally, who still does that?) from their teacher.

The health issue? Resolved, although in my haste to catch up on doctor's appointments, I once again became a human pincushion at the dermatology office. Sunscreen, y'all, I beg of you. Often and everywhere, since apparently not even your toes are immune. (And no, I am not kidding. My pedicure is SO screwed up right now, I can't even tell you.)

The work projects? Still projecting, although there is an end in sight, thank heavens.

So this week wasn't terrible. It might even be slightly better than last week, although I'd hate to admit it and jinx us.

And U? Definitely not for unbelievable turnaround. No siree, not here. Next door, maybe. But definitely not here.

T is for Trainwreck

Last week, I think it's safe to say, was a week of train wreck proportions. The gratitude list was non-existent, tears were shed, phone calls were made, children were threatened, and Casa Carpool was not a happy place. I am almost embarrassed to say that it was potentially the worst second week of school ever. Ever.

Let's recap, shall we?
Monday - Failed to sign child's agenda in correct place. Gentle slapdown from teacher, since surely I should be getting with the program by now. Child does not receive credit due to parental error.

Tuesday - The hitting incident of 2007. Calls received from different school parties scare crap out of parents. The yet undisclosed Bead Incident, requiring new & surgical uses for the smallest crochet hook in my bag.

Wednesday - Visit to the principal's office for the Hitter, along with much wailing and gnashing of teeth while writing the apology letter. Drinking begins in earnest.

Thursday - Eye doctor visit for Kate almost ends with child beatdown during the exam. Fortunately for all involved, I have perfected my "under the breath" scolding and stealth death grip, so social services was not called. It is perhaps karmic justice that when I put my own glasses on, they break in half, not even to be salvaged by nerd tape. To further the day, the other boy causes a call to poison control as he "helps" me by taking 3x the amount of antibiotics he is prescribed. Child-proof cap, my arse.

Friday - More visible beat down by teacher as I discover that not only has the other boy not been a model student, he has been spectacularly un-model, and has caused his very strict teacher some serious heartburn. More drinking ensues, along with wailing and gnashing of teeth as parents discuss their military school options.

Add in a small health crisis (mine), more newspaper coverage than my poor husband can stand, and some extended family drama, and we were so ready for a three day weekend. I have never seen a perfect storm quite like this - only Kate came out unscathed, and even she had a brief brush with the lunch money police. It's remarkable how our entire day turns on what behavior color our children have earned - if they're green, I can call my husband and tell him. If they are at the bottom of the scale, I avoid his calls so that he can get through the rest of the workday.

But this week, this week will be better. We've adopted a new "no yelling" policy that should help everyone (and give you an indication of just how much yelling occurred). The heat has started to break, and things are settling in. Soccer starts soon to burn off some of that frustration, and I've restocked the liquor cabinet just in case.

Our motto for this week? "Just don't leave a visible mark."

And yes, I know that there are letters between M & T - believe me when I tell you that right now, the things I can think of for them are well worth skipping. Sample entries include Nausea, Oh my he IS the worst behaved child ever, Public School : The threats our parents make, Removal of foreign objects from the nose, and Sucky behavior modification tactics. Hopefully "U" will be "Unbelievable turnaround", but I'm not betting on it.

Mayberry, USA

Oh, Mayberry. I don't even know where to start anymore, but there is much ado about Mayberry these days.

I got here in May, worn out and emotionally drained from the big city strife, selling a house alone, freaking out about disrupting our lives for what seemed to be a bit of a pipe dream. How on earth were we going to pull this off - move 800 miles to a town that had only twice as many residents as our subdivision, take huge salary cuts - and not go completely insane in the process?

Now in August, several months and 2 million boxes later, I can honestly say I like it here. I don't love it yet, but I think that will come. This town is nothing if not pathologically nice, and while I love the nice, for someone who is from the cold, cold North, nice is a little scary. Too nice is downright creepy, and that's where we are. Smack in the middle of overlyniceville.

What's wrong with too nice, you ask? Only those from the North will understand this, as Southerners everywhere love the nice. Northerners expect a catch with every transaction - no one does anything for free. (This may also apply to those who live in BigCity, so don't think I'm leaving y'all out on purpose.)

Let's take this simple transaction for example - I needed to buy a street map of the county. Nothing fancy, nothing expensive, just a map. First off, it took me 4 convenience stores to finally see one. Secondly, every single clerk pretty much refused to sell me one, even if they had it - "I'll just give you directions, you just keep your $5." In Big City, that usually results in a gang following you to your destination so they can case the joint. In Mayberry, it's just because they want to help you. Really, they do. For free, even.

It's a bit unnerving, I tell you.

But the niceness has it's good side, even if it freaks me out - I got the sweetest phone call this week from a mom I met at art camp - her daughter loves Finn, and they played at the pool this summer. They ran into Finn at school, and she thought to call me and make sure that I had met people, had my football passes, and "felt plugged-in" on campus. I am pretty darn sure that no one called me at our last school just to check in, and I'm pretty sure I could have used the help. I've also gotten a couple calls about card groups and bible studies - everyone is definitely trying to make us feel as if we fit in, which is wonderful.

So, what to say about Mayberry? It's a nice little place. We're feeling pretty welcome, we're making friends, and the kids love their new school.

But we're still not monogramming our car.

Boy, this alphabet sure is long

This alphabet thing is now killing me. I realize that other languages have more than 26 letters, but since we're only on G, and this exercise is supposed to finish at the end of August, we may skip a few and move this thing along.

We're settling in this week, the kids have started their first full week of school, and are starting to feel as if they are part of the crowd. I'm actually remembering more mothers' names than I forget, although I'm not sure I'm actually associating them with the right children. I've figured out the whole drop-off / pick-up routine, and while my protest was color coordinated, my own children are forcing me to walk in and get them. (They have clearly lost all common sense.)

Every afternoon, we are starting our own little gratitude lists - things we love at school, new friends we've made, what new cool thing we've learned. It's great for all us to take the time on the drive home to think through what's good about our day, even for me. I love the gratitude lists, especially on the days when they are toughest to make.

So G stands for gratitude lists.

And H stands for the hiding from other parents I'll be doing if it gets out that one boy has a touch of an anger management problem.

I? I has to stand for the ice cream I just consoled myself with after learning of said anger management problem. And the loud, wailing "Iiiieeeee" noise that came from me. My apologies for disrupting your cell phone service, the frequencies must be similar.

J is likely for the jokes that we will make of it to get through it - case in point? Not 45 minutes after I get the call from the school, my husband gets one from the headmaster.... about the turn lane he'd like to propose to the transportation board. (Seriously? We thought the boy was in his office and that we were royally screwed.)

K is for the kittens my husband had after the phone call. Litters of them, I tell you.

L is for trying to laugh at every situation, no matter how dire. If you can't laugh at it, you'll never muddle through, we always say. (Yes, we are the people telling jokes at the funeral. Our apologies.)

And M? Well, M is for Mayberry, of course. We'll tackle M tomorrow, since to no one's surprise, I have lots to say on the subject.

Carpool in Crisis

Ok, y'all, who's with me? Do you think that if the signs were color coordinated, they might be more inclined to take us seriously?

Freckle Juice

There is nothing else "F" can be for other than Finn and his freckles - he has always had them, and they have always been part of his charm. This picture was from the first day of pre-K, and is still one of my favorites. There are lots more freckles now, even with sunscreen 'round the clock, and they are such a part of him that I can't imagine him without them. He's such an imp - the freckles suit him perfectly, and show how mischievous he can be.

F is also for
.... fabric, of which I have too much of
.... the front flip Finn did off the diving board this week
.... friends, that the kids are finally making, just in time for school
.... finishing long overdue projects
.... Friday!

Everday Things

Motherhood didn't so much call to me as it mowed me down in it's wake. I never planned on having children, honestly, I wasn't the camp counselor the kids adored, the favorite babysitter, the peer counselor in the elementary school. I was the snarky aloof kid, busily looking for things to make fun of. (I'm sure you're all shocked.) Motherhood was sort of inevitable, I guessed, but nothing I really desired. There are lots of times that I still wonder how I got here, how I'll survive it, and how soon I should start my children's therapy.

But Sunday, I got a flash of what could be. And a flash of maybe, just maybe, I hadn't screwed it all up as badly as I thought. You see, I am a horrible perfectionist, described best by my brilliant friend Ron as letting the dementors chase me. Instead of letting things go, I obsess over them to the point of being paralyzed into doing nothing. It sucks the joy out of decision-making, let me tell you, and it brings a lot of terror into "just throwing yourself out there," which is always the advice I've received.

And I've let my angst color most of my world-view, which I think is coloring my children's, like it or not. I have visions of motherhood being like Martha Stewart and June Cleaver - aprons, fresh-baked cookies, and clean houses, all of which continually elude me. It's an odd thing, setting yourself up for failure and learning to settle, but here we are. Back to Sunday.

Sunday was back to school shopping day, and since Kate is now of the age where you can't just pick out her clothes, we agreed on a "no boys allowed" trip. Shopping for us now entails a bit of travel, since beyond WalMart, Mayberry doesn't offer much for the fashion-conscious 5th grader. So off we went to Big City, map in hand, and high hopes for her new wardrobe. She's a tricky kid to shop for, being that most 1st graders we meet are bigger than she is, so it's tough to find the cool clothes she craves in little kid sizes.

Based on my track record for the odd outcome, you're likely thinking that the trip was a disaster, and all that we could find were smocked jumpers and pinafore collars. But in a shock to all, Katie, who became Kate the cool, found clothes. And lots of them. And for once in my life, I enjoyed a trip to the mall. She giggled, paraded around the dressing room, and stopped twirling only long enough to throw her arms around my neck and sigh.

"I love you, Mom. This is the best day ever."

E is for... celebrating the everyday things. The times that your "too old to be Katie anymore" daughter becomes Kate, but holds your hand in the parking lot anyway. Maybe this motherhood gig just might work out after all.

Disjointed Ramblings

As much as "D" should be for dogs, or dishes left undone, or disastrously large laundry pile, I'm pretty sure it's for disjointed thoughts. I'm having one of those heat wave moments where things just aren't connecting. Even my trusty list system is failing me, since every time I think of one thing to cross off, the three things I've forgotten magically reappear, somewhere in the middle. Even carrying something upstairs has become an ordeal where I know that I brought that granola bar upstairs, but cannot for the life of me remember where I set it down between the kitchen and my final destination. (answer? Kate's dresser. Don't ask why, because I honestly can't remember why I was even in there.)

Things here are finally settling down - the last week of Art Camp and the last week of summer are quickly here, long before I was ready for them. We're in the midst of working through the school supply lists, deciphering unwritten dress codes, and negotiating on school shoes. You would think that my brain would slow down, enjoy the lists, and get my annual high from the smell of new school supplies.

But alas, I'm racing around leaving half-done projects in my wake - the school supplies haven't been brought in from the car, Quilt 2 is staring at me waiting to be quilted, work projects are all over the map, and the dishes are still in the sink. And all the while, I have ideas coming at me from left and right - gifts to be made, knitting projects to try, organization ideas for the rooms with no closets.

I'm like one of those manic toy tops with the scary clown that pops out of the top, and I've even cut down my daily caffeine intake. (Good glory, can you imagine what might happen if I was fully caffeinated? I'd be like a full-fledged tornado, and the house would be minus some windows or something.)

I'm blaming the heat - no wonder southern women always got the vapors on days like this. Their pretty little brains must have just short-circuited. So I'm going to go with the tradition, and just turn it all off. It's pizza night, it's 105 degrees, and I'm milking it for all its worth. Break out the fruity drinks, girls, they're on me today.

Let's just hope my brain catches on to the idea, shall we? I'm pretty sure I'm going to have to get it together, or heaven forbid, my children will go back to school in clothes that don't match, and I'm pretty sure we can't have that.

Chaos Theory is Real

I'm pretty sure that sums it up. It not always that bad, but with everyone grumpy from the heat, it's definitely not a fight worth fighting. Two little boys can make quite a mess, let me tell you. But they play with all of it, and it's fun to see the Rescue Heroes ride the Milk Truck my Dad gave Kate. (Although I think they're delivering prisoners, but still.) The picture really leads me back to Eren's post on consumption (her "C"), and the most depressing part is that the toys strewn all over the place have been whittled down by half in the move. Maybe those physics folks can finish proving out their theories by watching two boys start with a clean room.

C is also for Concentration, as Will works on his letters to my family - we're trying to start thank you notes early, which is always a struggle for us. Will has always hated writing, which breaks my heart - no amount of occupational therapy, grip gizmos, or love and attention can break the cycle of crying and protesting we get. It absolutely doesn't help that Finn can do them in half the time - today we tried separate sessions and that seemed to help. I hope it's just a matter of time and patience, since he loves everything else about school - reading, math, circle time - all of it, until you ask him to write the answer down.

C is certainly not for cool at this point, as we're learning the ins and out of cooling this old house. There are multiple units, multiple floors, and lots of uninsulated windows. Our poor units are struggling to get the house below 85, which is great on the beach, but not inside. Surely we won't be sweating in January, right?

B...

B is for beach pictures...













... for two Boys...




















... and for baseball, books, and other things we love in the summer. And much to my great dismay, B is for Barry Bonds, who just can't seem to admit that he deserves the "*" shown to him by the fans, instead of the great admiration that Hank Aaron received. It says a lot to me that each time Barry has hit his home run, none of his team-mates have greeted him at the dugout. For the tying home run, the on-deck batter went completely out of his way to avoid greeting him at home.

What good is the victory if there is no one to share it with?

A is for...

A is for angels, all around. I'm convinced they're there - not exactly in an "Izzy & Denny" sort of way, but something like that. How else can you tell me that the airline kiosk completely rearranged Kate's and my seats to be together when the boarding passes printed out - and they totally were on opposite ends of the plane when I saw them on the screen?

A is for apple - the Big one, that is, where I spent a too-short 24 hours picking up Kate, who is now "just Kate, Mom" instead of Katie. Sigh, when did my tiny daughter become this person who has opinions about her name? She is such a great kid, but I have a feeling between a "tween" parent is going to be interesting. Just when I think I get a handle on things....

A is for Art Camp, which my children just can't get enough of - it's such an amazing resource to have in a town this size, and the teachers are so enthusiastic about working with these kids, I just can't stand it.

(And we interrupt this alphabet to announce that Quilt 1 is finished, and in the hands of my niece. The summer of quilts continues - two more to go!)

Alphabet Soup

In a strange twist of the world, I've essentially run out of things to say. Well, not things to say, exactly, but interesting things to say. I could ramble on and on about how this baby quilt is mocking me, work is driving me insane, and my sweet husband had to admit he couldn't remember how to turn the dryer on, but I figured you guys would fall over in boredom.

So, in looking for ideas, I came across the Encyclopedia of Me meme that BellaDia has started - what a fun way to come up with things to talk about! (Go read it, I'll wait. Her blog has beautiful things outside of this, take your time.) She's basing it on a book I'd like to read - Encyclopedia of an Ordinary Life, by Amy Rosenthal. That's all this blog is, anyway - just ramblings from an ordinary mom, trying to make it through the week.

I'd love to see what others do with this project, and I'm hoping it will cure my writer's block. Do the letters in any order you'd like, whatever strikes your fancy that day. And I'll be looking to copy whatever you come up with for X, so start there, ok?

Four things...

I've been tagged by Ali, so here goes - 4 things.

Four jobs -
1. ice cream server
2. clothing salesperson
3. computer admin for a geophysical prospecting firm
4. map maker for a power company

Four places I've lived -
1. Auburn, AL
2. South Carolina
3. Northern Virginia
4. Mayberry

Four Favorite TV Shows -
1. Big Love
2. The Closer
3. Grey's Anatomy
4. John from Cincinnati

Four foods -
1. Chocolate of most any kind
2. Crunchy peanut butter sandwiches
3. Tomato - mozzarella salads
4. Filet Mignon

Four Places I'd rather be -
1. A large chain bookstore with comfy chairs (something sorely lacking in Mayberry)
2. The beach
3. Anywhere with my girlfriends
4. The pool

Four movies I love -
1. Anything with Ben Stiller except "Meet the Fokkers"
2. The Princess Bride
3. PCU
4. Say Anything

Four folks I tag next -
Fitzhappens
Mindy
Mama in Pajamas (c'mon, Mama, you have to be feeling well enough to blog by now...)
you!

The List continues

I've been keeping up the list, every night before I go to bed. But instead of sharing with you my sappier moments (heaven knows we've had enough of that around here), I thought I'd share with you some things that could have made The List.... but didn't.

1. Kept a plant alive for 6 months.
Didn't make the list because.... Sweet husband thought the plant was fake, so he didn't water it. For a week. Needless to say, the plant is in the trash.

2. Made it through swim practice twice in one week.
Didn't make the list because.... my hamstrings were so tight I couldn't get out of bed the next day, prompting a long string of expletives that my boys thought was a great battle cry. Whoops.

3. The weather finally cooled off enough so that we could weed the front beds before being evicted by the Historic District folks.
Didn't make the list because.... apparently weeding is worse for your hamstrings that swimming. Walking down stairs is highly overrated.

4. Great guest priest at church yesterday.
Didn't make the list because.... The guest caused 2 offerings to be collected. My father-in-law, being kind, gave each of the kids a dollar to put in the plate, causing Will to loudly protest "Why do we have to pay them?" Twice. (We'd particularly like to thank to row behind us for only snickering, instead of the rowdy guffaw of the guy in front of us. Very classy.)

Hope your lists are growing longer - even with our mishaps this week, ours are.

She rules the school

So you may have gathered that I've been a bit emotional lately. And I'm betting that you can only imagine what happened this week when the mail brought us a large box from Will's Kindergarten teacher.

Oh yes, I burst into tears.

Kindergarten teachers, I'm pretty sure, have mothers' hearts everywhere, and if they don't, they should. They have also shown that they can make me cry at the drop of a hat, and it's not just this week. Kindy was one of those things I wasn't sure I was ready to tackle, no matter whether my children were ready or not. And imagine my shock when I cried every single school program, every last picture opportunity... with all three children. I was supposed to be an old pro by that point, but glory those teachers could wring me out every last time. I couldn't even stay for a gift presentation for fear of embarrassment, and that was just to the assistant - I'll be mailing my gift to you, thank you, with a tear-stained label.

Great teachers in general deserve to be loved well by parents, but great Kindergarten teachers just take the cake, because I'm pretty sure they are the only teachers that are also required to be full-time therapists to the parents. They console us on the first day that our children will survive without us, and on the last that our children really were just "spirited", not heathens. (OK, maybe only I got that pep talk.) And that they were sure the sweet child you picked up that day would grow out of that annoying behavior by first grade. (Again, was this just me?)

So imagine my surprise when I open the box, and our wonderful teacher has done a scrapbook with a layout for each month - full of artwork, pictures, and what they did that month. She kills me. And I'm sure each of the 11 other books are just as lovely, and just as "awesome" as Will said it was. And as a surprise to no one, I weeped happy tears over all of the growing we've done through the school year.

Making my gratitude lists have been tough over the last few days, since most of the things I can come up with probably don't really count as things to be grateful for. ("Husband only complained mildly about the lack of dry cleaning" was one of them that seemed questionable.) But this? This tops the charts. So my one and only list item for tonight - the best Kindergarten teacher a boy could ask for.

Here's to you, Mrs. R - thanks for holding my hand, and letting Will go fully ready for what the world has to offer. We're incredibly grateful.