Queen of the World

This picture was taken the summer of 2010:

This blog post accompanied the picture.

Fast forward, almost, two years.  During those two years, EM barely touched her bike.  She wanted nothing to do with it.  No amount of sweet talking, cajoling, bribery, or pointing out her friends who rode a two wheeler could convince her to ride the bike.

We pulled out the (hand-me-down) pretty, sparkle, purple bicycle.  (The one pictured above belonged to her brothers.  Red, yellow and blue, with racing stripes.  We tried to bling it out with My Little Pony tassels, seat cover, and a bell.)  It was a no go.

This past Tuesday was a beautiful evening.  Hubby was home early, and I had to finish making dinner.  Everyone was sent outside.  Hubby convinced her to get on the bike.  By the time we sat down to dinner she was riding with no problems.

Wednesday she begged to ride her bike, so we went to a nearby (and empty) parking lot, and she rode in circles to her heart's content.  Actually, her heart wasn't content.  She wanted to ride EVERYWHERE, and was not satisfied with such a tiny parking lot.

Thursday, she was out again, in the drive way, complaining at how unfair it was that she could not ride on the street.


We have spent two years trying to convince her to ride her bike.  Within 3 days, we are now trying to convince her, that no, she can not join the next century ride. 

A Tale to Tell

"Mom, I have something sad to say about CE'" ED begins his confession.

At the time, I did not realize this was a confession, I figured he was tattling on his best friend. 

He continues the tale of woe, how CE had to move his card to the worst color of all, blue, and how he, being such a good boy, stopped at red and only had to endure a lunch time-out (they sit at a desk, in the lunch room, separate from the rest of their class). 

Um, back up a minute.  How did we go from CE moving his card to ED being punished, because if he was eating lunch by himself that means that my "angelic" child also moved his card.


"Oh, yes Mom, but I only had to move it to red, CE had to move it all the way to blue."

First, I find this color system all very confusing.  Blue is really bad, while red is an extreme warning, yellow is just a warning, and green means all systems go.

Second; "Child, what were you doing to warrant a move in your card, by THREE colors?"

This is how my son confesses his bad doings.  He starts out tattling on  a third party, probably hoping I won't catch on that he is actually talking about himself.  This child may just grow up to be a spin doctor, because he is already practicing his sound bites.

These are the Times

There are times, as a parent, when your child tells you how mean you are, maybe calls you evil, and you think to yourself, "Well, I must be doing something right".

Then, there are other times, like last night, when you realize you are doing something right.  ED looked at me and said, "Mom, you are the best Mom.  Other families have good moms, but you are the right Mom for this family". 

When I tucked EM into bed she looked at me and said, "Mom, I love you so much, even when you are mean, I love you". 

Yep, I must be doing something right.  That, and the fact that I have yet to be able to clean up my heart because it just melted, right onto the floor. 

The Stuff that Come with Children

One of the joys of having kids is all the stuff they bring home from school.  In preschool it was lima bean or marigold seeds planted in dixie cups, and left on my kitchen windowsill to grow.

One year it was maggots.  Well, they wasn't maggots, they were some sort of dirt grubbing insect, before they turned into an insect.  Maybe a beetle of some sort.  Whatever they were, I was so excited that their teacher sent them to our house.  They were thrown away ASAP. 

Then come the dirt babies.  Granted they are cute; nylons filled with dirt and grass seed, usually with a face constructed on the out side of the hose.  Cute, for awhile.  I have enough clutter in my house, 2 or 3 of those things sitting around tend to drive me slightly crazy.  Then, add the fact that my children like to give them "hair" cuts when the grass grows a certain height, though neglect to sweep up the cut grass.  Then the cat tries to knock them down, or someone bumps into one. 

During the summer the one ED brought home from school, had grown its last grass, and was now dry and dead.  So I threw him away.  A couple days later ED noticed, and oh my the wailing and mourning that took place upon this discovery.

I kid you not, the words "He was like a son" came from that boy's mouth.

So now I have this hanging in my window:

Still cute.  No grass to cut.  And, does not take up space as much as the original.  However, one of those days I will need to clean the window, and I'm thinking the picture will be moved to his portfolio. 

Severe Activities

The severe heat warnings of the past couple days have brought severe activities in our house. 

A girl can only take so much, and I am not venturing outside unless the car has been sufficiently chilled, and where we are going has working, full-on air conditioning.  Just sayin'.

Since the kids are also cooped inside, we have NO shade in our yard, there is just no place to hide from the heat, they have been occupied with indoor activities.

We have had severe Lego building:

Littlest Pet Shop towns popping up in the play room:

With Queen Hello Kitty presiding:

Severe Lego car races:

And, some severe picture taking: 

 On a side note, at the beginning of the week, right as the extreme heat moved in, I made the kids do a severe clean up of their play room.  Naturally, the mess would have been perfect for these pictures: Lego storage bins every where, and Polly Pockets sitting down to tea with My Little Ponies.  To no avail could I cox my kids into making that kind of mess, again.  Apparently, the key to keeping the play room clean is to ask them to make a mess. 

What An Imagination Will Create

Begin starting sequence:

Steering on, check:

Search, Load and Fire buttons, check:

Engines firing, check:

T-minus 45 minutes till Mom allows me to play on the computer.  What unexplored galaxies can we find until then?

All For Love

My idea of roughing it is any hotel below the quality of a Hampton. 

With that statement, it is obvious that I am not a camper. 

Yes, I was Girl Scout.  I did my fair share of camping, in tents, with spiders, and rocks as my mattress.  I've paid my dues.  And yes, I spent many a summer at camp.  However, our cabins were more like dormitories than camp cabins. 

When we married, Hubby commented on the niceties of going camping. 

:::crickets:::

After having children he commented on taking the kids camping.  He has my full blessing to take the kids camping, I'll stay and keep the house fires burning for their return. 

With saying all that, we have been camping.  It appears I love our children more than my husband, since they are the ones that have dragged me WAY out of my comfort zone. 

We tend to camp a cabin, or a pop-up camper.  Neither of which falls under my "Hampton Inn" criteria.  

Why do I not like camping, other than I'm not sleeping in my bed, and the bugs, and the lack of A/C?

First there is the planning, and packing.  I must pack WAY too much stuff, household stuff, for my liking.  Then there is the arrival, and unpacking.  The one night of no sleep, which equals to a feeling of constant fatigue for the remainder of the weekend.  All through out the weekend dealing with bugs, and dirt, and rain, and no comfortable place to sit, and bugs, oh, and the rusty nail I stepped on. 

Let me give a big old call out to my midwife who kept me on top of my shots!!!!!

Then, once arriving home, there is the unpacking of household stuff, and laundry.  Oh. My. Lands.  The laundry.  How does one weekend account for 10 loads of laundry, ... and a call to the midwives office to check on my shots record. 

Why do I do it?  Because the kids love it.  When we head to camp (which, seriously, accounts for 1 weekend or 1 week of my year, so I can stop gripping now) the kids have such freedom.  They play in the stream, catching fish and who knows what else.  They bike all over the grounds.  The swimming pool is only a bike ride away. 

And us parents?  We are able to sit, and talk with adults.  Enjoy a cup of weak coffee, and the great outdoors. 

Last week, as we finished our breakfast around the fire, my friend sat down, coffee in hand, and sighing, "this is the life".  And it was.  It was peaceful.  Almost perfect weather.  The kids had rushed off to play, and we were sitting under a tree, next to a fire, enjoying God's amazing creation.

Unfortunately, God created me with a jaded streak.  After RY's exclamation of extreme satisfaction I had to added in the desire for a spa next door, and maybe a couple fewer bugs ... and rusty nails.

All for the love of my children.  

Winds of Change

Popularity is a fair weather friend around our house.

Last Friday I was the most favored mom in the world.

Today, I receive this note:

It reads: "Dear Mom, this is summer Not an a camp for werk!  And I'm sereus so Don't push it ... OK?  from, Eli.  P.S Still Don't Push it.

Summer has begun, and it isn't all fun and games in our house.  You know what they say about idle hands, and what not.

It May be a Long Summer ...

Sound familiar to anyone: 

They are upstairs, sent to change for swim team practice.

What I hear is a lot of goofing.  Changing clothes doesn't make that much noise, even for my three.

First came goofing, then came rough housing, then comes EM (little sister) crying that someone hurt her.

Actually, she didn't come crying to me, but there was crying.  Followed by the anxious apologies of a certain older brother.  No, not that one, the other one.  Every time he said, "I'm sorry EM, I'm sorry", you could hear the pleading in his voice, "please don't tell mom". 

She did come tell me, not that ED hurt her, but that the boys weren't getting changed. 

:::sigh:::

In ED's defense, I heard EM administer the first rough housing whack.  ED was just doing what boys do.  In that case, EM was just doing what little sisters do.  Because it can never be her fault.

:::sigh:::

We have a saying in our house, usually administered after such rough housing episodes.  You can probably guess what it is that we say. 

School: A Recap

The school year is near its end.  Here is a recap:

• First, how many painting projects did I complete and closets reorganized? 

Well, I'm not employed yet, so there is always next year.  Let us move on.

• All three kids were in school full-time.  It took a couple of weeks to get used to my new freedom.

• I volunteered way to much, and began subbing at the school.

• One child is receiving the Citizenship Award, for her class, at the end of the school year.

• Another child spent a morning in the office due to undesirable behavior.

Just another validation that it is all nature, nurture has nothing to do about.

• Apparently, I joined a paramilitary group, plotting to overthrow the school, and the entire school system

... at least that is what one may believe if you listen to the school board and certain critics.  All this fuss, because a large group of parents asked for an independent, third-party climate survey to be conducted at our school (which our state's Department of Education does free of charge for any school district that asks).

• The homeschool debate returned, this year I took it as far as ordering catalogs.  There are some great programs out there, and if I had the money I would purchase one of them, just for fun.

• Then, we began looking into private school, which is obviously more expensive than homeschooling, but worth its weight in gold when it comes to mental health and a peaceful house ... according to Hubby.   So, we are looking into sending our oldest next year.

• Hmm, looks like I need to put aside those painting jobs and stop volunteering.

In many ways, summer has already begun around our house, which makes the school year bed time a complete bore for the kids. 

We are all looking forward to the summer break, and it is promising to be fast and furious.  I can only hope that the kids learn to sleep in, because the mom will be.

The Veteran

My daughter just finished up her third year of dance.  This means I just survived my third dance recital.

Now, let me clarify, in the world of dance recitals, we have it easy.  I've heard the nightmarish stories of stripper like costumes, that cost $100 a pop, multiple costume changes, rehearsals taking up weeks of time,  and 4 hour recitals.

4 HOUR RECITALS!  Seriously!  People, Broadway shows and movies are not 4 hours long.  Can we say, ... I have no idea what you would say to that.  I just don't get it.

Sorry, I digress.  Anyway.  As far as dance recitals go, we have it easy.  My most nightmarish story may be sitting there watching tween girls dance hip hop to a song titled Candy Store.  Let me be clear, this was not the lollipop and gumdrop type of candy store :::cough::: :::cough:::  I covered my own ears, and made a mental note to NEVER allow my daughter take a class from this one teacher.  I wasn't worried about my boys, they were not paying attention.

Expect a learning curve the first year.  There are some things I was clueless on, like how to make a hair bun, and was very thankful for a veteran mom's advice:  Form a pony tale, take a sock with the toes cut off, and form the bun around the sock.  We skipped the instructions that stated girls should not wear underwear.  UM, my daughter's 4, she will wear underwear.  As for makeup, we kept it minimal, and skipped the eye liner and mascara.  I'm still traumatized form when I was 5 and my mom attempted to apply that stuff to my eyes. 

Rehearsal is one evening.  We come, shell out $10 to have their picture "professionally" taken, then wait, rehearse, and leave.

We don't need to stay for the whole time.  We've been blessed by my daughter being one of the first classes to practice, which means we are in, and out.  I've had enough time to find my favorite snarky moms, we chat, make fun of something, I tape EM's dance, and we are done, in enough time to enjoy the evening.

I also know, for the future, that if EM's class is near the end of the rehearsal, we can come late.  Maybe it isn't sanctioned by the powers that be, but there is no reason to stick my daughter in her costume, in a chair, for over an hour before her class practices.

On the day of the recital, we have our regular places to sit, not real close to the stage, but close enough.  And, far enough that we can sneak out after her program.  This year, after EM's dance, the grandparents will leave, Hubby will leave with the boys, and I will sit outside the auditorium, with my laptop, completing some work.

One of us has to stay the entire time, the dancers are not allowed to leave till the very end, which is only fair to those who dance near the end.

After the recital the parents are to come to the stage and collect their child(ren).  Meaning, the parents swarm the actual stage, causing congestion everywhere.  I head to the "green room" where the dancers waited out the evening, collect EM's stuff, then head back to the auditorium to collect her.  I don't try to walk onto the stage, parents are still swarming.  Patiently, I wait at the end of the stage (the orchestra pit area, if there was one), until eye contact is made.  Yes, it may seem like a long time, but no longer then trying to walk up onto the stage, then walk back down. 

This year, I even managed the most awesome of parking spots.  We pulled right out, and headed for the exit, no lines and no pedestrians to dodge as I backed up.   

This year EM has been saying she no longer wants to take dance class.  I'm not sure what to do with that information.  Does this mean she will want to try something new, which will mean a new learning curve for me?  I hope not, I feel like I've conquered dance recitals, and I'm ready to face more. 

It Can't be This Hard

Was it always this difficult?

We were organizing swimming suits, extra clothes, towels, bags, sun tan lotion, hats, sun glasses, and who knows what else.  Granted, field day only happens once a year, but this was not our first field day.

It was a tad hectic, to say the least.

Hubby said it was because we now have 3 to organize, or get organized.  I  was giving them the lists, they were responsible for the rest. 

There was much discussion, clarification, arguing, more clarification, reminders, and another discussion.

The idea of making the kids pack their own bags is to make my life easier.

With 3 kids, you hand over more and more responsibilities to the kids.  It is supposed to make the parent's life easier.

However, I was still involved, highly involved; telling them what to pack, and how to pack.

Next step, telling 3 kids to get it done, and let them figure out what "it" is.

This helicopter mom needs to fly away.  I'm thinking the Bahamas?

Did I Just Say That?

It is that time of year again, standardized test time.  I am not a fan for standardized tests, but I keep my opinions to myself.

Regardless of my feelings towards something I see as limiting my children's education, my kids don't know.  They will be taking the tests, so there is no reason to gripe about something they can't change.

Actually, as a rule, we toe the school line at our house.  The kids may complain about this project, or that teacher, yet we simply tell them to suck it up.  It does help that we have had amazing teachers, who don't ask for, or do anything, over the top.  I have no problem supporting them at home, or at school.

At the beginning of the testing schedule ED was talking about how nervous he was about the tests.  He was mainly worried about passing, so he could get the prize all who did pass would receive.  I tried talking to him, telling him not to worry, he would do fine, and that the tests didn't really matter, and I didn't really care about the tests.  The conversation went down hill from there.

Oops.  Open mouth, insert foot.

The next day the stinker goes into school and announces to the whole class "my mother thinks the tests are a waste of time and she doesn't think we should take them".

Thankfully, his teacher has a sense of humor, and is much better at digging out of my holes than I am.

She laughed.  I apologized, again, and again. 

If your school has standardized tests you have probably received the note that informs you that tests will begin, that the kids should have a good night sleep, and have a good breakfast in the morning.  Maybe, they should have also added something about parent's keeping their opinions to themselves.  :::cough:::  :::cough:::

Survey Says ...

This is how the conversation went, between JT and ED this afternoon, after EM was given full reign of the CD player ... meaning HSM was playing at full blast. 

ED:  It is not fair.  She always gets what she wants.  It is not fair.  Why do they always give her what she wants.  It is not fair.  She always gets her way.  It is not fair.  She is the youngest, and they treat her like a princess.  It is not fair.  JT, don't you think it is not fair that they always give her her way.  JT, answer me.

JT:  She is the youngest, and more delicate than us. 

Oh My Word!  I was laughing so hard.  Thankfully, for ED, JT defused his grumbling, otherwise I was sending his grumpy, whiny self back to his room.  ED had had a long afternoon, and it wasn't fair to anyone. 

The Smooth One

He is at it again, and I'm finding it a little scary that my 8-year-old is already searching for the perfect girl ... and that he has been searching since he was 4.

Last night he announced that he found the perfect girl for him:

She likes to pretend fight, we were fighting off the zombies.

She likes to build forts.

She is compassionate. 

Ladies and gentlemen, there you have it, the perfect girl, according to an eight year old. 

However, does he remember her name?  No.  And, boy, wait until she sees your table manners.  He forgot to add "understanding", which is what I constantly tell my boys, that I pray they find an understanding woman, who will over look their table manners.  I know I try to. 

A Quandary

JT won an Xbox 360.  Yes, won.  Via an "opportunity drawing". 

It was actually a raffle, but VA law doesn't allow raffles unless you have a gaming license, or filled out an insane amount of paper work, or something crazy like that, so you call a raffle an opportunity drawing so it doesn't sound like gambling.  Yes, "opportunity drawing" does not sound like gambling ... about as much as saying "raffle".

Sorry, I digress.

Anywho, we bought each of the kids 14 tickets, 14 tickets for $10 x 3 comes out to $30.  It was for the school. 

JT won the Xbox.  EM won a teddy bear, ED won some cereal bowls, a game about Moses, and a baseball hat.  He wore that baseball hat all weekend.  Needless to say, everyone in our family left the carnival happy. 

And, for one night in JT's life, he became the most envied kid at school.  Everyone has to have one night like that.

So, now what to do?

We already have a Wii.  We love the Wii.  You can sweat playing the Wii.  Sweat and video games don't normally go together, unless your fingertips are sweating.  Surprisingly, we don't play the Wii enough.

The kids all received DSi's for Christmas.

They have become great discipline tools ... the DSi's, not the kids.

Now we have an Xbox 360. 

Now what?

Do we keep all of these entertainment mediums?

What gaming device do we fund?  We have enough games for the Wii, though the Just Dance series looks like fun.  The kids are now responsible for their DSi games, they lose them, I'm not spending any more money on them. We have found several free games for the Xbox.  OK, they are demos, but the kids (and Hubby) are having fun, and we haven't had to, yet, spend any money. 

Until we decide what to do, the kids are having fun with the Xbox. 

And, playing outside, A LOT.  The rule seems to be, 1 hour of video gaming for every 2 hours they spend outside.  JT's jump shot has significantly improved. 

A Proud Momma ... not

When your children tell you about a friend, who was being picked on by another child, you are glad to hear that your children stood up for the friend who was being picked on. 

It does a momma's heart proud.

Until, one son says, "I called the other kid a bad word", and the other son said "I threatened to hit him".

:::sigh:::

What started out as a "glad that you stood up for a friend" turned into a "let us talk about our choice of words, and how this situation could have been handled differently".

:::sigh:::

Just let me know that they will turn out just fine, eventually. 

:::sigh:::

Guilt Trip

In a couple days, Hubby and I are packing our bags, boarding a jet plane, and then a cruise ship, without the children.  For ONE WHOLE week.

I'm feeling very slightly guilty.

It is official, I am one of those mothers.

The mom who can't leave her children behind.  Who tries to micromanage everything before she leaves, because I'm afraid no one will function without me.

Sure, I've left town, without the kids before, usually for a weekend, and Hubby is home with them.  Hubby and I have gone away for a weekend here, an overnight there, without the kids.  We have sent our kids away for a week to camp, or Grandpa camp, but that was during the summer, with a summer schedule.   We have never left them with grandparents, for a whole week, during the school year, in the winter, when a flake of snow causes the schools to close down for several days.

Lord have mercy if there are snow days included in this deal.  When we return, I would like my in-laws to still be talking to us, and still want to see their grandchildren.

I've emailed teachers, called neighbors, written notes, researched medical release letters, packed, over-packed, made meals to leave, created schedules and charts.

Am I missing anything?

To allay my guilt, at least the guilt of burdening my in-laws with my children, I offered to make some meals, to be frozen, and defrosted during the week we are gone.

Hubby shook his head when I told him I was making meals.  Everyone else shoot their heads.  "You don't mess with grandma", everyone said.  As Hubby pointed out, "Grandma loves to cook for the grandkids, she doesn't need any frozen meals".  Maybe not, but I will feel better, and if they don't eat them then we will have 2 meals in the freezer.

So, off we go.  I have no doubt that everyone will survive, maybe only by a hair on their head, but everyone will survive.  The kids will still get to school, on time.  They will still complete their homework, or suffer the consequences.  They will eat what they want, and be totally spoiled.  In fact, they may be so spoiled, we may not want them back.  Which sounds good, now that I think about it.  We shall be so spoiled on the boat, we may not want to leave.

Hey, it is a win win for everyone.  Except I only made two meals for my in-laws.

Internal Radar

My children have always been morning people.  Hubby is a morning person, which explains why he is at work by 6am.  I am not a morning person. 

God has a sense of humor.

Recently, as the kids have gotten older, they will sleep in.  Till 7am, yes, for them, that is sleeping in.  When it is a school day, they would sleep till 7:30am, if I let them.

On snow days, they will be up before 7am.

They have no idea it is a snow day.  I just found out it is a snow day.

Still, before 7am, they come bounding down the stairs, burst into my bed room, and ask if they  have school.  I answer them with "no", so out they bound to watch TV.

If they had school, they would still be asleep, waiting for me to pull the covers off of them.  

:::sigh:::

At least there are no diapers to change, or babies to feed.  Which means, I can roll over and go back to sleep.  At least one of us knows how to enjoy the lazy morning of a snow day.

Stranger Than Fiction

Before children, when we knew how to parent, one would watch the movie Parenthood, or listen Bill Cosby talk about Fatherhood, we would laugh, because it was funny. Just funny.

These days, now that we have children, and realize we have no idea how to parent, we laugh because ... Oh.My.Goodness. You can't make this stuff up. 

Here is a checklist of adventures in parenthood. Sure we laughed at the thought of this happening. Now we cry, and laugh.

• Your child cuts off their hair, their sibling's hair, their cousin's hair, or the neighbor kid's hair.

• Your child cuts off the fur of their favorite stuffed animal, their sibling's favorite stuffed animal, ...

• Your child runs away, and is back in a New York Minute

• Your child runs away, and ends up at the neighbors; watching cable from their big screen TV.

• You need to mommy MacGuyver a diaper.

• Your at the checkout and realize you left your cash at home, so you borrow money from your children.

• They ride, down the stairs, in their clothes basket.

• You hop in the shower, your children run outside to greet Santa Clause, or welcomes the Fed Ex man, or talks to the neighbor walking their dog.

• They leave half their wardrobe at school, which you find as the custodian takes you on a tour of the school's lost and found piles.

• You argue with your child at the Costco concession stand that "no, you can't have water, you must have soda because it came with your hot dog. We already paid for it, I'm not getting just water."

• Yes, you have eaten your chlid's half-finished sandwich, candy bar, apple, popsicle, ....

• They throw up, well, everywhere, and anywhere inconvenient.

• They throw up, in the bathroom, but not in the toilet, on top of the toilet seat so that now it is splattered up and down the walls.  You call a girlfriend to verify that "yes, bringing in the garden hose and hosing down the bathroom would be a BAD idea since there is no where for the water to go."

• They wake you up, way to early in the morning, to announce that they have a loose tooth. Yes, loose, not lost, it hasn't come out, and no one has broken into the house to steal their teeth, just wiggly.

• Their teacher sends home a note stating that your child told them they could not complete their homework at home, because "mom says paper is much to valuable to waste on homework".

• They yelled out something inappropriate, in the middle of a crowd, which suddenly went quiet, right before your child yelled, so they heard everything.

• At the end of church, the Worship Leader asks the congregation to stand for the Benediction, and your child jumps up on their chair and says (rather loudly) "that means LEAVE people".

• Speaking of church, somehow your children receive prominent parts in the Christmas musical, and find new ways to use a shepherds hook. Back scratcher, broom (to ride on), poke your brother's butt, poke your fellow shepherd's back, .... And, when they sing, one sings with emotion, (can we say melodrama?); and the other, I think, is singing, at least his mouth is moving, but his attention is elsewhere.

Oh my, I'm laughing just writing all this. What "stranger than fiction" tales do you have to tell?