Vacation Logs: Tuesday Pool Day

Some days you just need a lazy day poolside.

And by lazy, I mean so full of sun, diving, jumping, floating, and playing that the kids fall asleep in their dinner plates, bellies full of kielbasa from the grill...

Off its Hinges

And then...this happened...

 

And while it was, physically, easier to remove a door from its hinges than I thought it might be? Mentally it was like arming up for battle.

 

 

 

Sometimes? You've just got to stand your ground...

Hard Nights

Tonight was a hard night.

Nine-year-old boys are an entire species unto themselves, I’ve decided. They are at the same time hard and soft, decisive and indecisive, all arms and legs and emotions at once. And? There is no one right way to deal with them. Except to love them. Especially when they are unlovable.

Tonight? I backed myself into a verbal corner.

I saw it happening and was powerless to stop it.

The boychild had been pushing buttons since the word bedtime first left my lips. He wanted a snack but didn’t know what. He wanted a drink but nothing we had. He wanted a smore (no). He wanted a popsicle (no). He wanted cake (heck no). And when the 15 minute snack window had come and gone and he hadn’t fixed himself something he was furious. He was furious he had no snack. He was furious we didn’t have time to watch his movie. He was furious he has to live in a house full of girls. He was furious for every reason and no reason at all.

 AND then? He slammed the door.
AND he locked it.
AFTER removing the lockpick from atop his door lintel.
AND when I picked the lock anyway (because I’m badass like that.)? He screamed at me.
And it was the well-planned, long-rehearsed-in-his-head screamed rant guaranteed to break a mother's heart in a thousand pieces.

Now. I remember being young, and scared, and angry. But I also remembering thinking it was a cardinal sin to scream at my parents. So I’m unsure where I screwed things up along the way for this kid to think he was perfectly justified in screaming at me? But there it was. And there was nine-year-old hate in his eyes. And my heart broke. And I lashed out. The more he screamed, the calmer I became, and the more I started taking away. First? Minecraft. Two weeks (is there any greater punishment to a boy than this?). Second? Grounded from playdates and sleepovers for those same two weeks.  And he Kept. On. Arguing. And screaming. So next? His door. I mean, honestly, that was a given. Slammed and locked? Ohhh...that sucker was coming off. Just you wait...

And here, folks, is where I’d clearly bitten off more than I could chew. As soon as it was out of my mouth I knew I’d goofed. Because, kids? I’m not strong OR tall enough to remove the door from this kid’s bedroom. So I informed him it would happen in the morning (because I’m also assuming that these things take time and no small amount of noise to complete).

And he burst into tears. Still in the midst of telling me he hated me and I was the worst mother that ever existing, he was sobbing and hiccupping. And I was too bone-weary to fight any longer. I very quietly told him that he had made me very sad and that I was done arguing for the night. I closed the door and walked away. 

And I held strong.

I did.

For about 15-20 minutes.

The entire time, I was hiding out downstairs, consuming vast quantities of guilt-ridden Reeses that were on the top shelf of the pantry. I was wracking my brain wondering how much ground I’d lost as a parent…or if perhaps I’d won ground since I hadn’t dissolved into tears or yelling myself? Did I get points for staying calm? Did those points contribute to my overall ‘good parent’ quota? Or had HE, in fact, won that particular battle because I had to walk away with the door still on its hinges??

And after nearly 20 minutes and five Reeses, I realized that NEITHER of us had won that particular encounter.

NEITHER of us had gotten what we wanted out of that.

And so, I decided to swallow my pride and head back upstairs to my still-sobbing son.

 Because at this point neither of us were sleeping without a resolution. And sleep was worth more than my pride in the end (apparently).

So I crawled under his loft and laid down next to him.
And we breathed.

A lot of parenting manuals I’ve read (and trust me, I’ve read a few) will instruct you to have calm, rational conversations with your children in order to root out the source of their confusion or discord. And still other books will insist that you need to hold a hard line on rules and not go back on your word in order to maintain boundaries. And still others will insist that you need to allow your children the physical space to learn to process their emotions on their own. But sometimes? As people? We just need to know someone else is there. Sometimes we just need someone to breathe with us when we can't quite manage to do it on our own.

I didn’t apologize.

Neither did he.

I figure that can all come later, when we’ve calmed down.

But for tonight, just squeezing into his tiny loft area and curling up in a giant tangle of arms and legs was enough to get back on solid ground together...to get our heartbeats back in sync.

Kids, I've never once pretended to have all the answers.

In fact, most parents I know are sort of bumbling through the whole process like me, just praying to god we haven't screwed up our babies irrevocably along the way.
But I know that going back up there tonight was not a sign of weakness. It was not going back on my word. It was not giving up. Discipline is only part of my job as a parent. It's not my whole job. And in a house where I frequently have to play both good cop & bad cop simultaneously, sometimes you have to choose. And friends? Choose love. You'll sleep better at night. I promise.

Scrap Bin

This morning was an rough morning.

The girls were bickering.

Everyone's cereal was 'too soggy'

The Boychild locked himself in the bathroom.

I was on my knees removing a doorknob at 7:40 this morning.

I cried, very quietly, the entire car ride from school to work.

It was one of those mornings that makes me question if I'm doing the right thing here.

You know?

Yep. you know.

You have those mornings too. I know you do.

It's what keeps me moving.

 this weekend I let The Munchkins play in the scrap bin and this is what we came up with

 These little guys are just filled with beans & polyfil (beans help them sit up a bit better).
They're cotton flannel bodes + felt faces & accessories. All three came together in about an hour and the kids got a kick out of stuffing their own dolls, picking out body & hair & eye color, picking faces and expressions...

speaking of expressions - this kid lost her first front tooth this past weekend. She lisps now. I make her say difficult words just to hear the soft shushing sound of her tongue sliding between her teeth.

Monumental Achievement

Sometimes you just can't see the forest for the trees. I always though this was a dumb little bit of rhetoric...until I had kids.

It's amazing how you simply don't notice how much your babies have grown, until all of a sudden? All three of them have run their first full 5K race. Mind you, I didn't say "finished" their first 5K. Because lord knows we've done that. Last December I may have carried two of the three over the finish line amidst whining and complaining galore. 

But this past weekend? This past weekend they all ran a 5K. And two of the three of them? Finished before I did.

 

The Munchkin's school has been taking part in a program that was stretched across several IPS schools called BOKS. Twice a week the kiddos would go to an additional P.E. class before school - the prevailing thought being that physical activity first thing in the morning helps children focus during the day in addition to being the healthier option.

And during BOKS over the past few months, The Munchkins and their friends have been training. For a road race. For the Monumental Marathon.

So earrrrrrrrrrrly last Saturday morning, about 100 of The Munchkins' Mates showed up at school for warmups, Tshirt distribution, breakfast and a bus ride to the start line. Kids were excited and nervous, but I truly don't think they quite knew what they were up against just yet. Until we arrived...

And then? I realized I hadn't know what I was up against until that moment.

There were HUNDREDS upon HUNDREDS of tiny people in oversized orange shirts.

It was a tiny army of students marching toward the start. It was overwhelming in the best way. And I saw other parents and IPS volunteers looking around in awe at the sheer numbers of kids that had turned out for this race.

It was a testament not only to the work that the teachers had put into this event, and the massive planning it hadn't taken to get everyone there; but also to the dedication of each student to the program. Each of those hundreds of kids had gone home, told a parent or guardian that they wanted to run a 5K, and those parents? They had to not shake their head in clear disbelief and instead think "Okay, sure, my kid can totally run a 3+ mile race with thousands of other people through the streets of Downtown, Indianapolis". Hah!

But Mine did think that. And, clearly, I'm a little rattled because I, too, thought this was a good idea. That morning, however, The Munchkins were eager to take off and run with their friends (apparently, running a race with your mother is SO not cool. Unless you're six. And then I don't give you an option. Sorry, kid.)

So off they ran...sprinting despite adult protestations to "take it easy", "start slow", and "Pace Yourself!!!!" The Monkey and I darn-well paced ourselves. And that kid? She ran the entire race. No kidding. After the first mile or so we picked smaller, manageable goals.
"Mom...let's stop and walk"
"Okay, Soph., let's just run to that next pole/stoplight/speedlimit sign first, okay?"

Chopping a race up into manageable distances makes the distance fly.
Trust me, I do this to myself every single race I run.

And after that 2Mile marker? The kids were so jazzed that they were almost done we could hardly keep them at the 'slow jog' pace we'd set.

Honestly, I'm amazed. At age size, eight, and nine I was NOT running road races.

These kids are light years ahead of where I was at their age.

And when The Monkey and I triumphantly sprinted across the finish line (thanks, kid) The Monumental immediately became one of my favorite races.
Because I was able to share it with the entire clan.

 Good job, gang.
I'm so proud of you.

Solving Puzzzles

The Monkey was home sick the other day.

The bulk of our day was spend spoon-feeding Tylenol and curling up on the couch trying to sleep it all off. They’re so sad and pathetic when they’re burning up with fever, you know? At one point; however, the girl thought she might be feeling better and requested we do a puzzle.

And a good 10 or 15 minutes into putting together a slew of Disney Princesses and Kitty Cats and such, The Monkey half turns to me and says:

“it’s a lot like God, isn’t it?”

“What is sweets? Puzzles you mean?”

“Yep” she replies stoically.

“ Because they’re difficult to put together?”

“No mom,” she replies with a heavy and somewhat disgusted sigh and small shake of her head. “Because there are so many different pieces. I mean. I have one piece and you have one piece and maybe there could be, like, Angel from my class at school that could be helping or something and she could have a piece. You know?”

I just wait…hoping she’ll elaborate if I nod and smile a little

“Because we don’t get to see the picture until it’s all done, but we all have different pieces. And all our pieces look different, but they’re all to the same puzzle.”

Mind. Blown.

My five-year-old just schooled me on religion.

I don’t know why it’s always such a revelation when children say intelligent things. At this point in their development I should be innured to the shock of The Munchkins saying something so completely sensible. Kids just have a different way of looking at the world I suppose. They relate everything back to their level, back to what they know. And I think that, as adults, we try and ‘smarten up’ our statements on life. After attending 12+ years of school and reading thousands of books, I’ve somehow trained myself to think that anything of a philosophical nature that comes out of my mouth better be backed by some research and include some name dropping and citation of knowledgeable sources. And, inevitably, I fall flat on my face, because in this approach, I just make the abstract more abstract. Whereas kids, at least in my experience, make the most sense because they make the abstract more concrete. Kids play with puzzles. God is a puzzle. Got it. Locked down. Moving on. No crisis of faith here, people. She gets it.

And who am I to say she’s wrong? I dig it. God is a puzzle. Makes as much sense as anything I learned in the past 30 years. I need to remember to listen more and assume less… I learn more this way. Especially from my children.

Things I Actually Said Out Loud This Morning:

Things I actually said this morning:

What did I just step in?

No, your baby doll does not have asthma.

Do you have your shoes on yet?

Yes, you do have to wear a shirt to school.

No, your socks do not have to match, just put them on.

Do you have your shoes on yet?

No you don’t have ebola, and even if you did I would still send you to school today.

Did you just eat that entire chocolate bunny for breakfast?

Yes, Mommys are too allowed to have blue underwear. Yours have Spongebob on them, am I looking at you like you’re crazy?

No, I don’t know how many heads a Hydra would have if you cut them all off twice. It’s too early for math.

What is your bookbag doing there anyway?

Are you wearing two different shoes? No, I won’t make you change, I’m just glad you have them on.

Has anyone seen your sister?

Well if I  left my ipod on repeat playing Brick House all night, it would kill the battery same as yours.

 

No, I don’t think I can guess which one is the green ninja, you’ll have to just tell me.

Yes you can get your ears pierced, just not today.

No, not tomorrow either.

Who took all the change off my dresser?

Are you wearing my shirt?

Yes you have time for breakfast, no it cannot be ice cream with chocolate sauce.

No I do not want to hear the orange and banana joke again.

Yes I would love to hear you practice your speech in the shower.

No we cannot listen to that Yo Gabba Gabba song in the car.
Well, mostly because it makes me stabby.

Stabby? Well. It’s. You know what? I’ll tell you when you’re older.

No you’re not older enough yet.

…and you people wonder why I drink…