When we bought this house, we joked often that Bob Vila would have to move in next door, with Norm on the other corner because we were the absolute last two people that you would expect to own a "vintage property." And oh, do I mean it's vintage - so far, the building date is listed at 1896, and the family who sold us the house caveats that with "so far."
But we fell in love with wavy glass, rolling floors, and 5 different electrical panels and we bought it, for better or worse. And as we got settled, we bragged that "there were no projects - the house is done!"
We were so flipping wrong, I can't even tell you.
For those who aren't sure, I moved pretty far south. Far enough south that I promised my children that there would be no down coats this year. No mittens, no icy windshields, none of that nonsense. Again, I was wrong. In a true freak of nature, we had 3 days of weather below freezing, and this house? Was not prepared. It was cold enough that no matter what we set the thermostat on, the temperature in the house never rose above 63 degrees. And one morning? It was 58.
Apparently, insulation never quite got crossed off the list, and now, we have a project. Note to self - while a new house doesn't have soul, old houses will put you right back in your (very, very cold) place.
Monday
Friday
The New Year, Carpool Style
So. It is, of course, another new year. My children, finally, are back in school, and it is time for me to celebrate surviving last year. Instead of doing the obligatory recap (which I don't think I can do without whining, frankly), I'm doing what I always do at the first of the year. Make The List.
The List, you see, is not the Gratitude List, which while helpful, is not goal-oriented, it's the List of things that (hopefully) have been finished. Either finished or haven't killed me, anyway. No. This list, you see, is the list of things I want to do this year. You would think that I would wise up and actually make the list attainable, but alas, the making of the list is so much fun that I just wind up with 428 things on there because one rambling thought leads to another and all that. (Sort of like this entry, but bear with me.)
This year, though, in an effort to actually cross more things off the list than I've added on, I'm trying a monthly format. Oprah would be all kinds of proud, since this puts me in a state of continual resolution. Surely there is a self-help book like this?
So. January. There are the must dos, like finish my niece's baby sweater before she arrives, and at least start her quilt by then, and the would really like to dos, like write more and clean out my office. (There is indeed some dissension in Casa Carpool as to which list that particular item falls on, but since this is my blog, I win. ) Then, the worst category of all, is the "dreading them but need to anyway" list - clean out clothes, make the new budget, find an anger management strategy that is better than continual chanting of "be good" and total avoidance of PE, figure out how to insulate under the house, etc.
Those things do seem awfully low-brow for a New Year's list, though, so I broke down and thought that if people keep making a singular resolution list, perhaps there's something to it. (Like Eastern Medicine. You don't really know why it works, but if it's been around since the beginning of time, there must be something to it, right?)
So here (drumroll, please, and hold the snickering) is The 2008 List.
- Give up on being a Size 8 again. There have been 3 babies in this body, and I just need to deal with it.
- Exercise anyway.
- Figure out how to garden without killing everything or using 427 pesticides in the process. (Which, frankly, still allowed me to kill the actual plants.)
- Clean more than once a month so that it's not so overwhelming.
- Play more games with my kids.
- Take more pictures. Develop the film, even. (It is not good form when you get your baseball pictures back in January, especially when baseball was in March. Of 2007.)
- Act on the things I want to try or do, instead of just filing them away for "someday."
Now to figure out how to make those things happen - and to make the January "to do" list coincide with it.
Happy New Year, y'all.
The List, you see, is not the Gratitude List, which while helpful, is not goal-oriented, it's the List of things that (hopefully) have been finished. Either finished or haven't killed me, anyway. No. This list, you see, is the list of things I want to do this year. You would think that I would wise up and actually make the list attainable, but alas, the making of the list is so much fun that I just wind up with 428 things on there because one rambling thought leads to another and all that. (Sort of like this entry, but bear with me.)
This year, though, in an effort to actually cross more things off the list than I've added on, I'm trying a monthly format. Oprah would be all kinds of proud, since this puts me in a state of continual resolution. Surely there is a self-help book like this?
So. January. There are the must dos, like finish my niece's baby sweater before she arrives, and at least start her quilt by then, and the would really like to dos, like write more and clean out my office. (There is indeed some dissension in Casa Carpool as to which list that particular item falls on, but since this is my blog, I win. ) Then, the worst category of all, is the "dreading them but need to anyway" list - clean out clothes, make the new budget, find an anger management strategy that is better than continual chanting of "be good" and total avoidance of PE, figure out how to insulate under the house, etc.
Those things do seem awfully low-brow for a New Year's list, though, so I broke down and thought that if people keep making a singular resolution list, perhaps there's something to it. (Like Eastern Medicine. You don't really know why it works, but if it's been around since the beginning of time, there must be something to it, right?)
So here (drumroll, please, and hold the snickering) is The 2008 List.
- Give up on being a Size 8 again. There have been 3 babies in this body, and I just need to deal with it.
- Exercise anyway.
- Figure out how to garden without killing everything or using 427 pesticides in the process. (Which, frankly, still allowed me to kill the actual plants.)
- Clean more than once a month so that it's not so overwhelming.
- Play more games with my kids.
- Take more pictures. Develop the film, even. (It is not good form when you get your baseball pictures back in January, especially when baseball was in March. Of 2007.)
- Act on the things I want to try or do, instead of just filing them away for "someday."
Now to figure out how to make those things happen - and to make the January "to do" list coincide with it.
Happy New Year, y'all.
Monday
Welcome home, Carpool
I feel like my life is a big blur lately - first there was Thanksgiving (aka puke-fest 2007), then the standard winter colds and the start of basketball season, next are the multiple office Christmas parties and gift-buying Olympics... but then what?
At the end of December, I usually get a monster of a cold and a serious social hangover. To be honest, I'm sure the cold is my body's way of saying "Seriously, not one more conversation with someone we don't know. Not one." But this year, we don't know many people, so will it come sooner? And how do I ward it off, just stop speaking to people in August?
I'm on serious social overload. Because y'all, I might, just might, have made some friends. For I have found them, the sarcastic few in a saccharine culture. The girls on the snarky schoolbus pulled up into my driveway, and made me feel welcome.
Finally, y'all, I have come home.
At the end of December, I usually get a monster of a cold and a serious social hangover. To be honest, I'm sure the cold is my body's way of saying "Seriously, not one more conversation with someone we don't know. Not one." But this year, we don't know many people, so will it come sooner? And how do I ward it off, just stop speaking to people in August?
I'm on serious social overload. Because y'all, I might, just might, have made some friends. For I have found them, the sarcastic few in a saccharine culture. The girls on the snarky schoolbus pulled up into my driveway, and made me feel welcome.
Finally, y'all, I have come home.
Martha, eat your heart out.
I think that it's safe to say that where there is a holiday, and where there is the extended Carpool family, there will be chaos. And something worthy of laughter. So Happy Holiday Season, y'all, sit back and enjoy the Carpool Thanksgiving - the holiday that just kept giving, and giving, and giving.
We begin our saga with the fact that I agreed under some duress to fly 800 miles north for the holiday. And stay in a house that would temporarily contain 11 children. Under the age of 10. Including two infants. The faint of heart should likely just go lie down now with a cold rag. The rest of you? Don't say I didn't warn you.
The Carpool Husband is the oldest of 4. The rest of the 4 live in a large ring around Boston, in houses we rarely frequent. So it came as no surprise to me that we would be required to drive around Boston to visit all of the houses. Let me state for the novice that driving around Boston is akin to walking through quicksand. It looks like it won't take that long to get across, but before you know it, you're almost in Canada, and nowhere near your actual destination. Throw the first snow into the mix, and you might as well just walk your 45 miles and be done with it. I finish Day 2 by stating that 5 boys under 7 in 400 square feet is 5 boys too many. (For that matter, 5 of anything in a small space is probably too much. But you get the idea.)
Day 3 brought puking by two of three in the Carpool household, one of whom did so spectacularly on the kitchen floor.... just as lunch was being set out. It was the Alberta Clipper of viruses, apparently, quick but powerful, so we spent the day in solitary with an abundance of disinfectant. Child Number 3, not to be outdone by his siblings, joined the sick parade at 3am on Thursday. This did, however, get me confined to the infirmary for the better part of Day 3, which was indeed a blessing, seeing that the 11 children, 4 sets of parents and my inlaws were present.
I digress here to mention that 1) the host family has a large dog, and 2) 3 of my nephews are paralyzed with fear at the mere sight of a dog. As in, they are standing on countertops screaming as only a 2 year old can. Often, as in every time they caught sight of the dog. Even when the dog was crated. For two straight days.
Ah, Day 4, Thanksgiving itself. Having battled through the puke, Day 4 dawned with a rare break in the New England weather, allowing for the above-mentioned 5 boys to go outside with the remaining 3 cousins, leaving the 2 infants and one cranky tween, who was "so bored I could die." Day 4 also brought the annual dining conundrum, with dinner to be somehow scheduled with 4 competing nap schedules, only one small child's table, potatoes that "looked funny", and not nearly enough forks.
But the kids were grateful for all things, ranging from "my mommy" to "my new video game controller", the food was great, and the dog-screaming lessened to mere whimpers by the end of Day 4. (Or I became hard of hearing, I'm not sure which.)
Day 5 was travel day, highlighted quickly by my niece's sore throat. And cough. Guess what our parting gift was? (Bonus points if you too are currently buying stock in NyQuil.)
All in all, the perfect Carpool holiday. Hope yours was just as wonderful.
We begin our saga with the fact that I agreed under some duress to fly 800 miles north for the holiday. And stay in a house that would temporarily contain 11 children. Under the age of 10. Including two infants. The faint of heart should likely just go lie down now with a cold rag. The rest of you? Don't say I didn't warn you.
The Carpool Husband is the oldest of 4. The rest of the 4 live in a large ring around Boston, in houses we rarely frequent. So it came as no surprise to me that we would be required to drive around Boston to visit all of the houses. Let me state for the novice that driving around Boston is akin to walking through quicksand. It looks like it won't take that long to get across, but before you know it, you're almost in Canada, and nowhere near your actual destination. Throw the first snow into the mix, and you might as well just walk your 45 miles and be done with it. I finish Day 2 by stating that 5 boys under 7 in 400 square feet is 5 boys too many. (For that matter, 5 of anything in a small space is probably too much. But you get the idea.)
Day 3 brought puking by two of three in the Carpool household, one of whom did so spectacularly on the kitchen floor.... just as lunch was being set out. It was the Alberta Clipper of viruses, apparently, quick but powerful, so we spent the day in solitary with an abundance of disinfectant. Child Number 3, not to be outdone by his siblings, joined the sick parade at 3am on Thursday. This did, however, get me confined to the infirmary for the better part of Day 3, which was indeed a blessing, seeing that the 11 children, 4 sets of parents and my inlaws were present.
I digress here to mention that 1) the host family has a large dog, and 2) 3 of my nephews are paralyzed with fear at the mere sight of a dog. As in, they are standing on countertops screaming as only a 2 year old can. Often, as in every time they caught sight of the dog. Even when the dog was crated. For two straight days.
Ah, Day 4, Thanksgiving itself. Having battled through the puke, Day 4 dawned with a rare break in the New England weather, allowing for the above-mentioned 5 boys to go outside with the remaining 3 cousins, leaving the 2 infants and one cranky tween, who was "so bored I could die." Day 4 also brought the annual dining conundrum, with dinner to be somehow scheduled with 4 competing nap schedules, only one small child's table, potatoes that "looked funny", and not nearly enough forks.
But the kids were grateful for all things, ranging from "my mommy" to "my new video game controller", the food was great, and the dog-screaming lessened to mere whimpers by the end of Day 4. (Or I became hard of hearing, I'm not sure which.)
Day 5 was travel day, highlighted quickly by my niece's sore throat. And cough. Guess what our parting gift was? (Bonus points if you too are currently buying stock in NyQuil.)
All in all, the perfect Carpool holiday. Hope yours was just as wonderful.
Wednesday
The End of Summer
Some of you are thinking that I've well and truly lost it, declaring that summer is finally over right before Thanksgiving, but the weather here is bizarre (80 today) We have no summer delusions, the leaves are turned and all over the place, and I've had to break out the fleeces and turn the heat on overnight.
But let me tell you, the Summer of Quilting is done. Over. Finito, as my boys like to say. In this one tiny area of my life, I am caught up - 8 nieces & nephews, 8 quilts, no more to work on. It is a huge satisfaction to cross things off my to-do list, but since this one also made me feel guilty (one recipient will be 3), it's all the better. Now I'll have to find another undone project to blame for my chocolate addiction.
The other areas around here are still works in progress - we've broken out the self-help books and the exercise plans, and I'm even taken to visualizing a week where I exercise daily and no child yells at their mother. Parenting is a funny thing around here - we may have twins, but good grief are they different children. What works for one most certainly has never worked for the others, and it's impossible for me to guess what will work next. But we are determined to figure it out, and I'm hopeful that the Summer of Quilting will not immediately progress to the Winter of Our Discontent. (Or the Winter of Excessive Yelling, your choice.)
Off to wrap the quilts - I'll take my contentment while I can, like the rare 80 degree weather today.
But let me tell you, the Summer of Quilting is done. Over. Finito, as my boys like to say. In this one tiny area of my life, I am caught up - 8 nieces & nephews, 8 quilts, no more to work on. It is a huge satisfaction to cross things off my to-do list, but since this one also made me feel guilty (one recipient will be 3), it's all the better. Now I'll have to find another undone project to blame for my chocolate addiction.
The other areas around here are still works in progress - we've broken out the self-help books and the exercise plans, and I'm even taken to visualizing a week where I exercise daily and no child yells at their mother. Parenting is a funny thing around here - we may have twins, but good grief are they different children. What works for one most certainly has never worked for the others, and it's impossible for me to guess what will work next. But we are determined to figure it out, and I'm hopeful that the Summer of Quilting will not immediately progress to the Winter of Our Discontent. (Or the Winter of Excessive Yelling, your choice.)
Off to wrap the quilts - I'll take my contentment while I can, like the rare 80 degree weather today.
Monday
... in which karma kicks her, and hard.
Everyone has their idea of purgatory. For some, it's bad food. For others, it's not seeing your loved ones. For me, it's being locked in a room with a well-caffeinated cheerleading squad. So you can only imagine my shock and dismay when my adorable daughter announced, in her perkiest voice, "I want to be a cheerleader."
I have never been one to embrace my inner mouseketeer, and heaven help you if you are perky before 10am. In fact, it was pretty much my entire purpose in life to make fun of the cute and terminally cheerful. I was pretty sure hell on earth was driving the cheerleading carpool in high school - 3 bow-heads and myself, twice a day. No one is quite sure who was more mortified - me for having to drive them, or them for riding in the nerd car.
And now I am raising one of them. Karma sure does loop back around, and you just never know quite how it will get you. But it always does.
I have never been one to embrace my inner mouseketeer, and heaven help you if you are perky before 10am. In fact, it was pretty much my entire purpose in life to make fun of the cute and terminally cheerful. I was pretty sure hell on earth was driving the cheerleading carpool in high school - 3 bow-heads and myself, twice a day. No one is quite sure who was more mortified - me for having to drive them, or them for riding in the nerd car.
And now I am raising one of them. Karma sure does loop back around, and you just never know quite how it will get you. But it always does.
Friday
You'll have to come up with your own title.
Has it really been a whole month? Unbelievable, but let me tell you, there have been precious few things for me to blog about with involving the phrase "I know I'm whining, but". And I can't force y'all to listen to my whining. I'm not 8, so I assure you, I know I should have grown out of it by now.
So let's recap my month. Three things should do it.
Item One -
At an age substantially older than 8, I am diagnosed with food allergies - specifically peanuts and tree nuts. Since I'm pretty sure I didn't even try a sandwich other than PB&J until college, I'm pretty surprised by this. And am here to tell you that this is a colossal pain in my rear, adding at least 30 minutes to an already painful grocery store run while I read every last label in sight. Not mention the sheer torture of not being able to eat a single piece of my children's Halloween candy.
I will also tell you that if you're having an allergy test run, having the nurse come in halfway through and say "OH NO!" is never, ever a good sign. Aside from the nuts, I am allergic to everything they tested for, aside from seafood, which is the actual reason I made the stupid appointment. I am the Bubble Mom, and buying a historic house was pretty much the worst mistake ever. I do, however, have an excuse for not dusting - I'm allergic to the dust too.
Item Two -
My motherhood competitiveness has reached a new low. We have apparently reached the stage in her class where boys are asking girls "out." It is only out in a figurative sense, they go nowhere, but they're asking. And I'm freaking out, because good grief, she's like 3, and I am so not ready for this. But in the midst of the freaking out, I'm like "Why on earth are they not asking my child out? Is she not the cutest thing you have ever seen? And the funniest?"
Repeat after me: I will not project my middle school horrors onto my child.
Item Three -
I survived what had to be the most ambitious field trip ever conducted. I did not cry, I barely whined, and I only prayed to be beamed out of the field trip twice. Field trips should only be 1 day, not 7. They should not involve questionable hotels, children rooming without their parents, and difficulty obtaining alcohol or food not served on a plastic tray. But I get to go again in 4 years, this time as a care-free mother of boys, not a neurotic mother of a girl.
Item Four -
I am not meant to be an athlete. I think it's clear that the number of ankle braces, crutches, and surgical scars confirm it. But I will have to tell you that my hate of all things exercise is fading, and I actually look forward to it. I don't love it, but it's coming, they tell me. I still refuse to buy a workout ensemble for each day, and velour tracksuits just don't do it for me. I'm hippy enough as it is, purposely dressing as an easter egg is not going to be a flattering look.
I think that covers the month. I still have not finished the summer of quilts, I caved and actually bought Halloween costumes this year for the first time, and I'm craving a pecan pie like my life depended on it.
There is some crazy movement where people are posting every day - I won't promise you that, but I will promise it won't be a month before you hear from me again. Although I can't explain it, I miss you guys too.
So let's recap my month. Three things should do it.
Item One -
At an age substantially older than 8, I am diagnosed with food allergies - specifically peanuts and tree nuts. Since I'm pretty sure I didn't even try a sandwich other than PB&J until college, I'm pretty surprised by this. And am here to tell you that this is a colossal pain in my rear, adding at least 30 minutes to an already painful grocery store run while I read every last label in sight. Not mention the sheer torture of not being able to eat a single piece of my children's Halloween candy.
I will also tell you that if you're having an allergy test run, having the nurse come in halfway through and say "OH NO!" is never, ever a good sign. Aside from the nuts, I am allergic to everything they tested for, aside from seafood, which is the actual reason I made the stupid appointment. I am the Bubble Mom, and buying a historic house was pretty much the worst mistake ever. I do, however, have an excuse for not dusting - I'm allergic to the dust too.
Item Two -
My motherhood competitiveness has reached a new low. We have apparently reached the stage in her class where boys are asking girls "out." It is only out in a figurative sense, they go nowhere, but they're asking. And I'm freaking out, because good grief, she's like 3, and I am so not ready for this. But in the midst of the freaking out, I'm like "Why on earth are they not asking my child out? Is she not the cutest thing you have ever seen? And the funniest?"
Repeat after me: I will not project my middle school horrors onto my child.
Item Three -
I survived what had to be the most ambitious field trip ever conducted. I did not cry, I barely whined, and I only prayed to be beamed out of the field trip twice. Field trips should only be 1 day, not 7. They should not involve questionable hotels, children rooming without their parents, and difficulty obtaining alcohol or food not served on a plastic tray. But I get to go again in 4 years, this time as a care-free mother of boys, not a neurotic mother of a girl.
Item Four -
I am not meant to be an athlete. I think it's clear that the number of ankle braces, crutches, and surgical scars confirm it. But I will have to tell you that my hate of all things exercise is fading, and I actually look forward to it. I don't love it, but it's coming, they tell me. I still refuse to buy a workout ensemble for each day, and velour tracksuits just don't do it for me. I'm hippy enough as it is, purposely dressing as an easter egg is not going to be a flattering look.
I think that covers the month. I still have not finished the summer of quilts, I caved and actually bought Halloween costumes this year for the first time, and I'm craving a pecan pie like my life depended on it.
There is some crazy movement where people are posting every day - I won't promise you that, but I will promise it won't be a month before you hear from me again. Although I can't explain it, I miss you guys too.
Wednesday
Mimes don't talk, you know
It appears that I've needed a break. Sometimes the breaks are well-planned and announced, and sometimes they just sneak up on you a bit while the rest of your thoughts are kidnapped and run away on you.
It's not like things are getting any slower around here - school is busy, work is insane, soccer has started, the kids are... still my children, thank you for your concern, but we might have turned a corner. Or not, time will tell. It's a good life, but a busy one, and one in which I still don't know exactly where I am anymore. And while I made a pact to not whine, and keep my chin up, and move outside of my box, it's a struggle, and one I'm not particularly proud of, given my brave face and purported love of adventure. (To be fair, I do love an adventure, but only the ones I have complete control over. Which probably means they're not an actual adventure, but a well executed checklist.)
Change is a'brewing over here - maybe not big, noticeable ones, but changes that will help me move through the awkward and into the open space. Baby steps, if you will. I'll keep you posted.
It's not like things are getting any slower around here - school is busy, work is insane, soccer has started, the kids are... still my children, thank you for your concern, but we might have turned a corner. Or not, time will tell. It's a good life, but a busy one, and one in which I still don't know exactly where I am anymore. And while I made a pact to not whine, and keep my chin up, and move outside of my box, it's a struggle, and one I'm not particularly proud of, given my brave face and purported love of adventure. (To be fair, I do love an adventure, but only the ones I have complete control over. Which probably means they're not an actual adventure, but a well executed checklist.)
Change is a'brewing over here - maybe not big, noticeable ones, but changes that will help me move through the awkward and into the open space. Baby steps, if you will. I'll keep you posted.
Monday
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?
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?
Friday
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.
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.
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.
Monday
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...
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!
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!
Thursday
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.
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.
Tuesday
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.
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.
Thursday
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.
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.
Monday
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.
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.
Tuesday
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?
Friday
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!
Monday
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.
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.
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