In an effort to put some space between ourselves and our kids, KH and I decided to haul our 5 total kids down to the beach. We smuggled in our margaritas, sat back and munched on junk food and 'supervised' the kids as they played in the white sand of the Gulf.
As I sat there, crouching under my wind-blown umbrella, I got to thinking about my favorite beaches and how it is, exactly, that I am now spending my beach days in Alabama.
For comparison, I'll use the beach down by my parents' house. It's not Malibu or Santa Monica. It's not Newport or Huntington. It's a small beach, depth wise, but continues on for a nice while and enjoys year-round surfers and sunbathers. I could use my favorite spot in the world, Poipu beach, but alas, I can't even comprehend Alabama and Hawaii at the same time, and if I force myself to, my head will explode.
KH is one of my psycho skinny friends. Despite 3 kids, the woman rocks a bikini. Unlike the women in the family next to us. Each woman was boasting at least 18 inches of combined cleavage/butt crack. They had thick, leathery skin with unappealing wrinkly tattoos. They herded their children around with childish aggression and whined much like their own offspring. At one point, a woman said,"I didn't dig dat hole in da sand fer you to climb in! Git outta der! Dat's my hole."
KH and I burst into laughter.
While these sunbathers were definitely good for the ego, they weren't the most attractive or quiet of neighbors. Then I think of the potential beach neighbors in Southern Cal: Mother/Daughter clones of blond hair, silicone parts, fake tans and nails. Both honed by personal trainers and/or eating disorders into perfect Barbie-esque figures. Guys spending too much time at the gym gazing at their chests, forgetting to work their bird-like legs. All, parading down the beach, adjusting their suits, preening as they seek the eyes of all beachgoers. These people are seriously hard on the self-image. I can handle sitting next to one skinny minnie, but not a beachload of fake ones.
So, there's that tradeoff. I think I prefer the eye candy. At least, I can speculate who's real and who's 93% silicone. It's something to talk about. Jabba the Hutt and Co. weren't really conversation starters so much as a sad, sad joke.
Also, there is the quality of the beach itself. The beach in Southern California is subject to all sorts of liberal, tree-hugging, preservationist, beautifying laws. I realize that Alabama would sooner surrender its Confederate flag collection than legislate environmental protection, but it does have some benefits.
The Cali beaches are pristine stretches of sand, dotted with mounds of sea kelp and mussel shells. Loud, crashing surf foams and races up the beach and retreats in mesmerizing consistency. The beach air smells of salt and drying kelp and marine life.
Things were a little different down at the Gulf. Though the white sand is indeed beautiful, the water on the Mobile bay side of Dauphin Island is sometimes, um, gross. All of the river runoff from a state populated by litterbugs runs into the bay and yields a soupy mix of all kinds of detritus that belongs in a landfill.
The boys ran off to play in a little pool left by the tide. We watched their heads bob and play as they explored as boys often do. But when they came back, they reeked of swamp. S explained that they found a catfish skeleton in the pool. W said the algae on his face was splashed on there and promised he didn't put his face in the water. E had some brownish stain on his pants. T had a cut on his leg. "Where did you get that?"
Shrug. "A bed."
"A bed?!"
"Yah, there was a mattress in that pool."
Oh, hooray. Our kids went swimming with trash. We're a long way from Kauai, Toto.
Showing posts with label Kids in Public. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Kids in Public. Show all posts
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Monday, June 28, 2010
I'm here. Mostly.
I know the vacation is over. Two pieces of indisputable evidence:
1. I am in my own bed and room.
2. There is a Mt. Everest of laundry to do.
The harder question: was the vacation a success? Shall we define success?
Everyone made it home. Despite overwhelming temptation, I managed not to abandon my children at a rest stop in Florida. I resisted the urge to duct tape their snarky, argumentative, nasty little selves up to the luggage rack.
On the flip side, it will be a new decade before the kids ever see the Wii again. Dessert will be a distant memory. Computer? Off limits until they're old enough to drive. Punishment or vengeance? A little of both, I admit. Vacations with kids just aren't really vacations. And I was mad, Mad MAD that they were ruining mine.
The other thing, the thing I just couldn't reconcile, is the memory I have of my childhood vacations. My sister and I, and sometimes my grandparents, rode in the station wagon for HOURS.
This morning, I mapquested some of the trips we took:
Home to Zion Canyon (new roads have been built, by the way) 6:49
Home to Yellowstone National Park 15:30
Home to Lake Tahoe 7:51
Home to Crater Lake 12:22
I know, can you BELIEVE my parents took us all those places, and more? What were they thinking? The kicker is, that once we got to those places, we hiked, explored, picnicked, read every historic plaque, stopped at every informational booth, and ate anywhere. There was NO MacDonald's on our trip. Potty stops came when the car needed gas. DVD's were futuristic sci-fi. Once I was about 11 or 12, I had my own camera and a Walkman, which helped pass the time. I remember being hot and complaining on a hike from the bottom of the Grand Canyon. But EVERYONE complains while hiking from the bottom of the Grand Canyon.
I remember taking a picture next to a sign that said "Caution: do not proceed unless you have adequate supplies of food and water" AND THEN PROCEEDING.
In Yellowstone, my dad took us fishing, and I got stuck up to my ankles in mud and a fishing hook entangled in my hair and attacked by ferocious vampire mosquitoes. NO COMPLAINING ALLOWED.
In New Mexico (Arizona?), my parents found this crazy expensive, crazy fancy five star restaurant called the Tack Room. I still remember it. We were told to behave or die, and I remember trying so hard to be grown up and polite. Maybe we weren't, it's hard to visualize what we looked like from an adult perspective, but I will say it wasn't because we weren't trying.
What I don't remember is trying to gouge out my sister's eyes in the back seat. Or plopping down on the sidewalk and refusing to take another step. Or screaming at the top of my lungs in the car. Or constantly whining about being bored. Or being rude and disrespectful to my parents. Or refusing to sleep in the hotel room. Or visibly crying that the restaurant had nothing on the menu that any human could eat.
I mean, maybe I'm wrong and my memory is as full of self-righteousness now as it was when I was a kid. Maybe I was a constant brat who fought non-stop with my sister, threatening to go to the death (or at least to the pain.) Maybe my parents sat up there in the front seats of the car contemplating a sudden swerve into oncoming traffic to end the misery of the vacation. Maybe every summer, my parents shook their heads, and said "maybe this year, they'll behave." And every year they planned the trip with optimism and enthusiasm only to have their best intentions squelched by uncooperative children. Every year.
Maybe that's how it was. Or not.
But that is how it is for me. Every spring, I suggest to M that the kids are a year older, and that we can't put our travel goals on hold for the next 14 years of our lives, and that this year will be different. And we should plan a great vacation. And then every summer on that hard-won vacation, I not only have to referee the death match between the kids, but have to listen to M shouting over the din, "I TOLD YOU SO!"
But, now we're home. The kids are happy to retreat to their own rooms, their Legos, their books. They are happy-ish to have 'regular' food and their pool, and their routine, and their lives. They are fighting, of course, but I have the recourse to send them to their rooms to achieve a temporary cease fire. I could, theoretically, retreat to my own office and post to my own blog in peace and quiet, except that the field of battle has moved down to the space immediately behind my right ear. They have armed themselves with Chinese checkers cannonballs and playing card missiles. The war rages on. It is now a civil war on domestic territory. There will be no casualties in a quiet restaurant or a neighboring hotel room. I am hostage.
There's no place like home.
1. I am in my own bed and room.
2. There is a Mt. Everest of laundry to do.
The harder question: was the vacation a success? Shall we define success?
Everyone made it home. Despite overwhelming temptation, I managed not to abandon my children at a rest stop in Florida. I resisted the urge to duct tape their snarky, argumentative, nasty little selves up to the luggage rack.
On the flip side, it will be a new decade before the kids ever see the Wii again. Dessert will be a distant memory. Computer? Off limits until they're old enough to drive. Punishment or vengeance? A little of both, I admit. Vacations with kids just aren't really vacations. And I was mad, Mad MAD that they were ruining mine.
The other thing, the thing I just couldn't reconcile, is the memory I have of my childhood vacations. My sister and I, and sometimes my grandparents, rode in the station wagon for HOURS.
This morning, I mapquested some of the trips we took:
Home to Zion Canyon (new roads have been built, by the way) 6:49
Home to Yellowstone National Park 15:30
Home to Lake Tahoe 7:51
Home to Crater Lake 12:22
I know, can you BELIEVE my parents took us all those places, and more? What were they thinking? The kicker is, that once we got to those places, we hiked, explored, picnicked, read every historic plaque, stopped at every informational booth, and ate anywhere. There was NO MacDonald's on our trip. Potty stops came when the car needed gas. DVD's were futuristic sci-fi. Once I was about 11 or 12, I had my own camera and a Walkman, which helped pass the time. I remember being hot and complaining on a hike from the bottom of the Grand Canyon. But EVERYONE complains while hiking from the bottom of the Grand Canyon.
I remember taking a picture next to a sign that said "Caution: do not proceed unless you have adequate supplies of food and water" AND THEN PROCEEDING.
In Yellowstone, my dad took us fishing, and I got stuck up to my ankles in mud and a fishing hook entangled in my hair and attacked by ferocious vampire mosquitoes. NO COMPLAINING ALLOWED.
In New Mexico (Arizona?), my parents found this crazy expensive, crazy fancy five star restaurant called the Tack Room. I still remember it. We were told to behave or die, and I remember trying so hard to be grown up and polite. Maybe we weren't, it's hard to visualize what we looked like from an adult perspective, but I will say it wasn't because we weren't trying.
What I don't remember is trying to gouge out my sister's eyes in the back seat. Or plopping down on the sidewalk and refusing to take another step. Or screaming at the top of my lungs in the car. Or constantly whining about being bored. Or being rude and disrespectful to my parents. Or refusing to sleep in the hotel room. Or visibly crying that the restaurant had nothing on the menu that any human could eat.
I mean, maybe I'm wrong and my memory is as full of self-righteousness now as it was when I was a kid. Maybe I was a constant brat who fought non-stop with my sister, threatening to go to the death (or at least to the pain.) Maybe my parents sat up there in the front seats of the car contemplating a sudden swerve into oncoming traffic to end the misery of the vacation. Maybe every summer, my parents shook their heads, and said "maybe this year, they'll behave." And every year they planned the trip with optimism and enthusiasm only to have their best intentions squelched by uncooperative children. Every year.
Maybe that's how it was. Or not.
But that is how it is for me. Every spring, I suggest to M that the kids are a year older, and that we can't put our travel goals on hold for the next 14 years of our lives, and that this year will be different. And we should plan a great vacation. And then every summer on that hard-won vacation, I not only have to referee the death match between the kids, but have to listen to M shouting over the din, "I TOLD YOU SO!"
But, now we're home. The kids are happy to retreat to their own rooms, their Legos, their books. They are happy-ish to have 'regular' food and their pool, and their routine, and their lives. They are fighting, of course, but I have the recourse to send them to their rooms to achieve a temporary cease fire. I could, theoretically, retreat to my own office and post to my own blog in peace and quiet, except that the field of battle has moved down to the space immediately behind my right ear. They have armed themselves with Chinese checkers cannonballs and playing card missiles. The war rages on. It is now a civil war on domestic territory. There will be no casualties in a quiet restaurant or a neighboring hotel room. I am hostage.
There's no place like home.
Monday, June 7, 2010
Let's do THAT again
You know how when you watch something weird on TV, you think, "that's weird. Why would any one spend their time on that? Like rhythmic gymnastics? Or synchronised swimming? OK. The effect is cool, but wtf?"
Those women spent hours in sequined, ride-up swimsuits with noseplugs and swimcaps so they could tread water at the same time? Wha?
This is how I feel about family vacations. We spent hours planning, cajoling, begging, bribing, rewarding, so we could take the kids to see stuff we hope they'll like/learn from/enjoy. Wha?
The trip to New York began with hours on the Internet and Google Maps. How far from here to here? How long can we spend there? What is the rating for this attraction? Is this age appropriate? Is this too far to walk? M spent time poring over the subway map. Which train? Which transfer? How long to get there? Yankees tickets or Mets? Afternoon or evening? Weather forecast? Seat map? Seat costs? Subway? Cab?
Suicide or Homicide? Both?
While, from an objective point of view, my kids were well behaved on the entire trip, the amount of energy required to generate that result was completely ridiculous. In the same way humans can tread water without sequined suits and lipstick, can't children just enjoy zoos and restaurants and cool museums? Why did we need to rehearse, explain, map out, and BEG (LITERALLY BEG!?!) for cooperation?
Would I, on my own have gone to see the Museum of Natural History? (Well, subtract for the moment that would I, on my own, have gone to NYC?) No. Would I have gone to the petri dish of a hands-on technology center? No. Would I have gone to places that guaranteed hot dog/chicken fingers/ mac and cheese on the menu? No. Can my kids appreciate that while this trip is a family endeavor, it also represents a great deal of sacrifice on the part of the parents?
Hell, no.
So, here M and I are. In our sparkly leotards, dragging a foil ribbon on a stick behind us. Practicing a somersaults. Twirling, spinning, dancing like little gymnasts. Trying desperately to entertain our children and open their eyes to the world.
And they're too busy punching each other's nuts in the hotel room to notice.
Those women spent hours in sequined, ride-up swimsuits with noseplugs and swimcaps so they could tread water at the same time? Wha?
This is how I feel about family vacations. We spent hours planning, cajoling, begging, bribing, rewarding, so we could take the kids to see stuff we hope they'll like/learn from/enjoy. Wha?
The trip to New York began with hours on the Internet and Google Maps. How far from here to here? How long can we spend there? What is the rating for this attraction? Is this age appropriate? Is this too far to walk? M spent time poring over the subway map. Which train? Which transfer? How long to get there? Yankees tickets or Mets? Afternoon or evening? Weather forecast? Seat map? Seat costs? Subway? Cab?
Suicide or Homicide? Both?
While, from an objective point of view, my kids were well behaved on the entire trip, the amount of energy required to generate that result was completely ridiculous. In the same way humans can tread water without sequined suits and lipstick, can't children just enjoy zoos and restaurants and cool museums? Why did we need to rehearse, explain, map out, and BEG (LITERALLY BEG!?!) for cooperation?
Would I, on my own have gone to see the Museum of Natural History? (Well, subtract for the moment that would I, on my own, have gone to NYC?) No. Would I have gone to the petri dish of a hands-on technology center? No. Would I have gone to places that guaranteed hot dog/chicken fingers/ mac and cheese on the menu? No. Can my kids appreciate that while this trip is a family endeavor, it also represents a great deal of sacrifice on the part of the parents?
Hell, no.
So, here M and I are. In our sparkly leotards, dragging a foil ribbon on a stick behind us. Practicing a somersaults. Twirling, spinning, dancing like little gymnasts. Trying desperately to entertain our children and open their eyes to the world.
And they're too busy punching each other's nuts in the hotel room to notice.
Monday, January 18, 2010
Finally, math I can do!
Kids babysitting kids is my favorite thing. It appears to defy all logic, and yet it represents prism-like simplistic beauty. I have taken my kids and friends' kids in all permutations and combinations these past few weeks, and I have come to some mathematical conclusions.
Theorem #1:
Having one of my children at a time is enjoyable.
Theorem #2:
Having two of my children at a time is not enjoyable.
Theorem #3:
Having one of my friend's children, and none of mine is enjoyable.
Theorem #4:
Having two of my friend's children, and none of mine is not enjoyable.
Theorem #5:
Having two of my friend's children and two of mine is very enjoyable.
Theorem #6:
Having one of my friend's children and two of mine is enjoyable.
Ergo, having four children is much easier than having three (they compete for one another's attention.) Having three children is easier than two, especially when those two are mine. Having one child is the easiest of all. Which affirms the egos of all those only children out there, and confirms the argument of every first born who claims that his/her sibling ruined everything.
Peer babysitting, the foursome combination, is by far the best. The faces and toys are new. The games are more fun, and the refereeing is minimal. I can poke my head in, demand all murder stop, and then leave them be for another half hour. With the twosome combination, the bickering is relentless, the arguing is petty, and the nerves are jangled, at best. The twosome of other people's children is tricky when navigating the rules of punishment. I am reluctant to punish other people's children, but often feel compelled when they are demolishing my house. And of course, the children I know tend to be charming and funny and bright and lovely when I am with them in an individual setting. (I qualify that statement because I am sure there are god-awful kids out there who are not fun to be with at any time. Thankfully, I don't know any of those.)
So, if any of my friends are interested in the geometry of peer babysitting, let me know. I am willing to use my children as guinea pigs for testing your own theorems!
Theorem #1:
Having one of my children at a time is enjoyable.
Theorem #2:
Having two of my children at a time is not enjoyable.
Theorem #3:
Having one of my friend's children, and none of mine is enjoyable.
Theorem #4:
Having two of my friend's children, and none of mine is not enjoyable.
Theorem #5:
Having two of my friend's children and two of mine is very enjoyable.
Theorem #6:
Having one of my friend's children and two of mine is enjoyable.
Ergo, having four children is much easier than having three (they compete for one another's attention.) Having three children is easier than two, especially when those two are mine. Having one child is the easiest of all. Which affirms the egos of all those only children out there, and confirms the argument of every first born who claims that his/her sibling ruined everything.
Peer babysitting, the foursome combination, is by far the best. The faces and toys are new. The games are more fun, and the refereeing is minimal. I can poke my head in, demand all murder stop, and then leave them be for another half hour. With the twosome combination, the bickering is relentless, the arguing is petty, and the nerves are jangled, at best. The twosome of other people's children is tricky when navigating the rules of punishment. I am reluctant to punish other people's children, but often feel compelled when they are demolishing my house. And of course, the children I know tend to be charming and funny and bright and lovely when I am with them in an individual setting. (I qualify that statement because I am sure there are god-awful kids out there who are not fun to be with at any time. Thankfully, I don't know any of those.)
So, if any of my friends are interested in the geometry of peer babysitting, let me know. I am willing to use my children as guinea pigs for testing your own theorems!
Friday, October 16, 2009
Learning Opportunities
How mortifying would it be to be the mother of Falcon, the balloon boy? That right there is MY worst nightmare. A kid's prank gone horribly public on a slow news day?
Falcon absolutely should have gone MIA when Ms. Snowe decided to take her day in the spotlight last week. But, no, the only thing that happened yesterday was a presidential visit to New Orleans, which the whole country has forgotten about anyway, and so was riveted to CNN footage of a giant mylar balloon drifting across the countryside with a kid or not in it.
We happened to be at a layover in Dallas when we first espied the Identified Flying Object on CNN. The kids heard the story, and of course, I told them that the young boy had failed to follow his parents' instructions about NOT TOUCHING THE BALLOON, and had touched it anyway, and now had the police, the Air Force, and every other government agency in the country looking for him and how he was going to be in big, Big, BIG trouble when they found him.
Thankfully, God decided not to call my bluff, and the kid was found alive in a box in his garage. Otherwise of course, I would have had to say the kid was following directions and that some one bad had taken him out of the front yard, which would undo the months of coaching my kids to the out of doors to play.
Of course, I put myself in these parents' positions. But only relatively, because this family is freakish from the get-go. Who keeps a mini UFO in the backyard and goes on Wife Swap anyway? Which of those is stranger? But, I can imagine freaking out over my missing kid, imagining the silver poof whisking him into the lower atmosphere, calling everyone short of the Marines, and demanding his return. S would do this to me. And laugh his ass off, too.
As I was trapped in my own silver aircraft yesterday, after hour long delays, and cramped conditions and a total S meltdown over the inflight beverage service, I was kind of thinking about sneaking off into a refrigerator box for a day or two. Happily, no one would call in the Feds or the Marines. They'd turn on the TV and wait for me to come on in. Unless some one needed a snack or clean underwear, or their homework, or a shoe tied, or ....
In any event, it was gratifying to hear S and E keep asking me questions about the "boy who didn't follow instructions." This woman next to me was laughing when I said that President Obama would be very unhappy that his advisers had to interrupt his trip to tell him there was an interstate incident going on because of this one naughty little boy. I said that the President knows when something like this goes on live TV, and that he would be very very angry. Both boys got very serious. Obama would know? Yes, he would. And don't ever forget it.
Falcon absolutely should have gone MIA when Ms. Snowe decided to take her day in the spotlight last week. But, no, the only thing that happened yesterday was a presidential visit to New Orleans, which the whole country has forgotten about anyway, and so was riveted to CNN footage of a giant mylar balloon drifting across the countryside with a kid or not in it.
We happened to be at a layover in Dallas when we first espied the Identified Flying Object on CNN. The kids heard the story, and of course, I told them that the young boy had failed to follow his parents' instructions about NOT TOUCHING THE BALLOON, and had touched it anyway, and now had the police, the Air Force, and every other government agency in the country looking for him and how he was going to be in big, Big, BIG trouble when they found him.
Thankfully, God decided not to call my bluff, and the kid was found alive in a box in his garage. Otherwise of course, I would have had to say the kid was following directions and that some one bad had taken him out of the front yard, which would undo the months of coaching my kids to the out of doors to play.
Of course, I put myself in these parents' positions. But only relatively, because this family is freakish from the get-go. Who keeps a mini UFO in the backyard and goes on Wife Swap anyway? Which of those is stranger? But, I can imagine freaking out over my missing kid, imagining the silver poof whisking him into the lower atmosphere, calling everyone short of the Marines, and demanding his return. S would do this to me. And laugh his ass off, too.
As I was trapped in my own silver aircraft yesterday, after hour long delays, and cramped conditions and a total S meltdown over the inflight beverage service, I was kind of thinking about sneaking off into a refrigerator box for a day or two. Happily, no one would call in the Feds or the Marines. They'd turn on the TV and wait for me to come on in. Unless some one needed a snack or clean underwear, or their homework, or a shoe tied, or ....
In any event, it was gratifying to hear S and E keep asking me questions about the "boy who didn't follow instructions." This woman next to me was laughing when I said that President Obama would be very unhappy that his advisers had to interrupt his trip to tell him there was an interstate incident going on because of this one naughty little boy. I said that the President knows when something like this goes on live TV, and that he would be very very angry. Both boys got very serious. Obama would know? Yes, he would. And don't ever forget it.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Another Year, Another Party
So, I survived my pukers and poopers, and I think I'm ready to blog again...
Fall brings with it many traditions--football, school, gross germs, and of course, birthday parties. I know that my friends aren't going to be offended by this post because (haha!) I exacted revenge and invited them to E's party. But, I get ahead of myself.
First and foremost, yesterday was my baby's 7th birthday. And I totally forgot. He woke up and asked me what treats I was bringing to school, and instead of playing cool, I said, "treats? Why am I bringing treats today?" And in mid-question mark, mid syllable, it dawned on me. And like in the movies, everything turned to slow motion, and the word t--r---eeeeeee---aaaaa--tttt escaped from my mouth before I could shut it. So, I raced down to the grocery, snapped up some M&M cookies (thankfully, E has pre-baked taste) and delivered them to school in time for festivities.
Crap. Apparently the statute of limitations is 7 years. Seven years before I no longer go into full fledged crazy lady mode for my kids' birthdays.
I used to plan weeks in advance, order custom made invitations and monogrammed napkins, plan menus, and elevate my little celebrity to royal status. But, this year, I got crazy with the High Holy Days, I am looking ahead to our trip to Phoenix next week, and I didn't have a coinciding influx of family to gauge the countdown. And poor E's birthday totally snuck up on me. Also, S had Monday off of school, so my whole week was thrown off. And his birthday party is the week AFTER his actual birthday, which is a new development. And. And. I suck.
But, this brings me to the subject of birthday parties. Which I loathe. In Mobile, the parents don't drop the kids off and leave. Nooo, we get to stay and attempt to "visit" while being crawled on, interrupted by kids begging for tokens, listening to screaming kids and ringing, beeping arcade games. Whatever indoor playplace hell has become birthday central is my own personal misery. All I can think about is the Ebola (wearing microscopic party hats to be festive) leaving the giant slides, the arcade games, the museum exhibits and crawling on to my body, and infecting me with something snotty, achy, painy, and gross. Shiver.
Plus, it is a universal competition among parents to see who can sugar up the kids to the highest level and then send them home--totally amped on cake, frosting, and other sticky carbs--to break off into nuclear family unit torture sessions.
And, of course, birthday parties invariably coincide with soccer games, other birthday parties, Northwestern football games, my nap time, music lessons, baseball playoffs, my other nap time, or something else I'd rather be doing. (Which of course, is ANYTHING)
So, in short, I'd like to say that E's birthday party is this weekend. If you would like to come share in the "festivities" let me know. I'd be happy to invite you.
Fall brings with it many traditions--football, school, gross germs, and of course, birthday parties. I know that my friends aren't going to be offended by this post because (haha!) I exacted revenge and invited them to E's party. But, I get ahead of myself.
First and foremost, yesterday was my baby's 7th birthday. And I totally forgot. He woke up and asked me what treats I was bringing to school, and instead of playing cool, I said, "treats? Why am I bringing treats today?" And in mid-question mark, mid syllable, it dawned on me. And like in the movies, everything turned to slow motion, and the word t--r---eeeeeee---aaaaa--tttt escaped from my mouth before I could shut it. So, I raced down to the grocery, snapped up some M&M cookies (thankfully, E has pre-baked taste) and delivered them to school in time for festivities.
Crap. Apparently the statute of limitations is 7 years. Seven years before I no longer go into full fledged crazy lady mode for my kids' birthdays.
I used to plan weeks in advance, order custom made invitations and monogrammed napkins, plan menus, and elevate my little celebrity to royal status. But, this year, I got crazy with the High Holy Days, I am looking ahead to our trip to Phoenix next week, and I didn't have a coinciding influx of family to gauge the countdown. And poor E's birthday totally snuck up on me. Also, S had Monday off of school, so my whole week was thrown off. And his birthday party is the week AFTER his actual birthday, which is a new development. And. And. I suck.
But, this brings me to the subject of birthday parties. Which I loathe. In Mobile, the parents don't drop the kids off and leave. Nooo, we get to stay and attempt to "visit" while being crawled on, interrupted by kids begging for tokens, listening to screaming kids and ringing, beeping arcade games. Whatever indoor playplace hell has become birthday central is my own personal misery. All I can think about is the Ebola (wearing microscopic party hats to be festive) leaving the giant slides, the arcade games, the museum exhibits and crawling on to my body, and infecting me with something snotty, achy, painy, and gross. Shiver.
Plus, it is a universal competition among parents to see who can sugar up the kids to the highest level and then send them home--totally amped on cake, frosting, and other sticky carbs--to break off into nuclear family unit torture sessions.
And, of course, birthday parties invariably coincide with soccer games, other birthday parties, Northwestern football games, my nap time, music lessons, baseball playoffs, my other nap time, or something else I'd rather be doing. (Which of course, is ANYTHING)
So, in short, I'd like to say that E's birthday party is this weekend. If you would like to come share in the "festivities" let me know. I'd be happy to invite you.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
NEW! NEW! NEW! Parenting Made Easy!
I have another parenting tool that is impossible to live without! YOU will wonder how you ever survived without The Difficult Discussion System: Discs 1 through 100.
My discs cover difficult conversations for every age, every situation. They are all labeled with keywords to help you identify the conversation you need to have quickly and easily. Each conversation is customizable, easy to use, and reusable for siblings. Also available for download on itunes.
A sample disc would be #27. "Going to the Grocery Store."
Soothing female CD voice: "OK, kids. Mom needs to go grocery shopping. Everyone needs to get in the car."
(Moaning and groaning in background.)
SFCDV: "If everyone behaves, keeps their hands/feet/bodies to themselves, uses kind and respectful tones of voices, listens to me, follows directions, does not nag/complain/whine/kvetch/throw any fits of any kind, doesn't touch anything, uses his/her inside voice, and cooperates fully, there might be a special treat at the end. (Bakugan, Pokemon cards, Barbie outfit, piece of made in China crap that is currently all the rage among children your demographic.)
(Slight hmms of interest in the background)
SFCDV: "If children cooperate at this juncture, select track 6. If children continue to complain, select track 8"
Track 6: "I am so glad you guys decided to have a positive attitude and join me on this chore. I know it is not fun to run errands, but this family requires work as well as fun, and I am glad you are helping with the work so that we all may have some fun." (Cheerful kiddie music plays now.)
Track 8: "It is so disappointing to me that you kids have decided to have a negative attitude. I don't think that we will be able to pick out a treat at the end of our shopping errand. I know that it is not fun to run errands, but this family requires work as well as fun, and you have made a choice that takes away some of our fun together. Now, we are still going to the grocery store, but if you continue to complain, I will have to take away other privileges, and we will all be able to have even less fun. So, you have a chance now to turn your attitudes around before you have further punishments." (Soothing new age music plays)
I think this sample demonstrates the universality of certain conversations every parent has OVER AND OVER. It simply makes no sense for every parent to repeat him/herself every time the grocery store errand, for example, arises. The calm voice, scripted by child development professionals, prevents frustrated parents from cursing, swearing, idly threatening, or losing their tempers. Thus, children are raised with consistent discipline, and do not have to be yelled at by enraged parents. Frustration on all sides is eased. Additionally, the new age music for the negative reaction tracks is scientifically proven to soothe, relax, and enhance compliance in children. Parents no longer have to sigh exasperatedly, freak out, claw at their hair, or in any way endure the stress of parenting! Simply get into the car, fasten your child's seat belts, and play the track appropriate to your situation. The Difficult Discussions CD System will handle everything from there! It's that easy.
Other conversations addressed with the DDCD System include:
"It's Time for Bed"
"Have you done your homework?"
"Pet responsibilities, parts I and II"
"Respecting our siblings--physical behaviours"
"Respecting our siblings--verbal behaviours"
"Candy is not a snack"
"Chores help the house go 'round"
"He did it--personal accountability"
And the bonus tracks:
"Dinner is its own reward: negotiating how many bites before dessert"
"Because I said so: No means no."
So, save yourself from rehashing the same conversations over and OVER. Buy the Difficult Discussions CD System now. Have better behaving children tomorrow! Only 10 payments of $59.95! A bargain at twice the price! Do peace of mind and stress free parenting really have a cost?
*Manufacturer assumes no responsibility for children who firecracker live animals or play with fire. DDCD Systems makes no guarantee for your child's behaviour. Use only as directed. Parental supervision required.
My discs cover difficult conversations for every age, every situation. They are all labeled with keywords to help you identify the conversation you need to have quickly and easily. Each conversation is customizable, easy to use, and reusable for siblings. Also available for download on itunes.
A sample disc would be #27. "Going to the Grocery Store."
Soothing female CD voice: "OK, kids. Mom needs to go grocery shopping. Everyone needs to get in the car."
(Moaning and groaning in background.)
SFCDV: "If everyone behaves, keeps their hands/feet/bodies to themselves, uses kind and respectful tones of voices, listens to me, follows directions, does not nag/complain/whine/kvetch/throw any fits of any kind, doesn't touch anything, uses his/her inside voice, and cooperates fully, there might be a special treat at the end. (Bakugan, Pokemon cards, Barbie outfit, piece of made in China crap that is currently all the rage among children your demographic.)
(Slight hmms of interest in the background)
SFCDV: "If children cooperate at this juncture, select track 6. If children continue to complain, select track 8"
Track 6: "I am so glad you guys decided to have a positive attitude and join me on this chore. I know it is not fun to run errands, but this family requires work as well as fun, and I am glad you are helping with the work so that we all may have some fun." (Cheerful kiddie music plays now.)
Track 8: "It is so disappointing to me that you kids have decided to have a negative attitude. I don't think that we will be able to pick out a treat at the end of our shopping errand. I know that it is not fun to run errands, but this family requires work as well as fun, and you have made a choice that takes away some of our fun together. Now, we are still going to the grocery store, but if you continue to complain, I will have to take away other privileges, and we will all be able to have even less fun. So, you have a chance now to turn your attitudes around before you have further punishments." (Soothing new age music plays)
I think this sample demonstrates the universality of certain conversations every parent has OVER AND OVER. It simply makes no sense for every parent to repeat him/herself every time the grocery store errand, for example, arises. The calm voice, scripted by child development professionals, prevents frustrated parents from cursing, swearing, idly threatening, or losing their tempers. Thus, children are raised with consistent discipline, and do not have to be yelled at by enraged parents. Frustration on all sides is eased. Additionally, the new age music for the negative reaction tracks is scientifically proven to soothe, relax, and enhance compliance in children. Parents no longer have to sigh exasperatedly, freak out, claw at their hair, or in any way endure the stress of parenting! Simply get into the car, fasten your child's seat belts, and play the track appropriate to your situation. The Difficult Discussions CD System will handle everything from there! It's that easy.
Other conversations addressed with the DDCD System include:
"It's Time for Bed"
"Have you done your homework?"
"Pet responsibilities, parts I and II"
"Respecting our siblings--physical behaviours"
"Respecting our siblings--verbal behaviours"
"Candy is not a snack"
"Chores help the house go 'round"
"He did it--personal accountability"
And the bonus tracks:
"Dinner is its own reward: negotiating how many bites before dessert"
"Because I said so: No means no."
So, save yourself from rehashing the same conversations over and OVER. Buy the Difficult Discussions CD System now. Have better behaving children tomorrow! Only 10 payments of $59.95! A bargain at twice the price! Do peace of mind and stress free parenting really have a cost?
*Manufacturer assumes no responsibility for children who firecracker live animals or play with fire. DDCD Systems makes no guarantee for your child's behaviour. Use only as directed. Parental supervision required.
Monday, August 3, 2009
Travel Plans
Sometimes the travel gods are with you, even when the weather gods are against you. We were delayed in Gulfport for 2 rum and cokes (that's an hour and a half in non-traveling-with-kid time). Then we had to race like maniacs to catch our connection in Dallas. We ran on to the plane, and promptly sat on the tarmac for 45 minutes. (That's eternity in measuring by alcohol time.) We arrived in San Diego about an hour late in what was not the worst, certainly not the best, day of travel we've ever had.
The kids managed to stay awake, despite extreme fatigue, the lateness of the hour, and a dose of Benadryl. When we got to SD, S was literally staggering down the jetway. He groggily offered up his hand to be held...to a total stranger. He was beat. So was e. But they managed to stay awake, jibber jabbering with their aunt the whole hour long drive back to grandma and grandpa's house. How is that humanly possible? It was past midnight in their time zone. I was holding up my eyelids with toothpicks.
In the navigation process from SD back to Orange County, grandpa made a wrong turn, and the accidental f bomb crossed his lips.
"Don't worry," assures E, "we watch fuck stuff all the time."
Vacation is under way.
The kids managed to stay awake, despite extreme fatigue, the lateness of the hour, and a dose of Benadryl. When we got to SD, S was literally staggering down the jetway. He groggily offered up his hand to be held...to a total stranger. He was beat. So was e. But they managed to stay awake, jibber jabbering with their aunt the whole hour long drive back to grandma and grandpa's house. How is that humanly possible? It was past midnight in their time zone. I was holding up my eyelids with toothpicks.
In the navigation process from SD back to Orange County, grandpa made a wrong turn, and the accidental f bomb crossed his lips.
"Don't worry," assures E, "we watch fuck stuff all the time."
Vacation is under way.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
What's Your Mantra?
I read an article yesterday outlining how to survive--even enjoy--your family road trip. I find survival probable, however, I am still skeptical of enjoyment. It seems to me, that when we were young, and we took many family road trips, that the only way to survive was to sleep. Nowadays, kids have the DVD player, and the handheld game players, and even (as the article suggested) iphones to load up with things to do, that I can't imagine that survival is that hard. After all, how many hours can a family drive in a day? Maybe 8 or 10? My kids could easily go zombie in front of an electronic babysitter for that long.
MT and I drove for only 4 hours last week each way. The way up was easy--DVD, stop at Chic Fil A to get the antsy pants out, and we were there. No problem. For whatever reason (mostly I think logistical) we didn't put out the DVD on the way home. I thought for sure that after S's restless night of kicking me in bed, and the late bedtime, and the early rising, combined with a full 4 hour walk around the zoo in the heat, that four kids would get into the backseat of the car and pass out.
Wrong.
Those kids talked, played games, fought, hassled, complained, wrestled stuffed animals, listened to music, and asked incessant questions the whole way home. At the last exit, S started getting really restless. I said "shit" as I was changing lanes to exit the highway for the last little stretch home, and S started repeating it. Like a mantra, "shit shit shit shit shit shit" until the other 3 joined him. By the time we pulled into the driveway, the kids had established a harmonious little round, and I thought MT was going to pee herself from laughter. I guess it takes only four hours of being constantly peppered with questions to go insane. Has anyone talked to Dick Cheney about this enhanced travel technique?
MT and I drove for only 4 hours last week each way. The way up was easy--DVD, stop at Chic Fil A to get the antsy pants out, and we were there. No problem. For whatever reason (mostly I think logistical) we didn't put out the DVD on the way home. I thought for sure that after S's restless night of kicking me in bed, and the late bedtime, and the early rising, combined with a full 4 hour walk around the zoo in the heat, that four kids would get into the backseat of the car and pass out.
Wrong.
Those kids talked, played games, fought, hassled, complained, wrestled stuffed animals, listened to music, and asked incessant questions the whole way home. At the last exit, S started getting really restless. I said "shit" as I was changing lanes to exit the highway for the last little stretch home, and S started repeating it. Like a mantra, "shit shit shit shit shit shit" until the other 3 joined him. By the time we pulled into the driveway, the kids had established a harmonious little round, and I thought MT was going to pee herself from laughter. I guess it takes only four hours of being constantly peppered with questions to go insane. Has anyone talked to Dick Cheney about this enhanced travel technique?
Monday, July 13, 2009
All or Nothing
It seems as though I would skip a week of posting if my life were incredibly boring...as if I had nothing to post about except for laundry and whining kids. In fact, I was surprised to find the reverse to be true. There has been so much activity chez nous these days, that I don't even know what happened to the last week!
Aside from my Bejeweled addiction, we have been to Birmingham for a few days. My girlfriend, MT and her two kids, my two kids, and I went for just an overnight trip. Which, as usual was a mixed bag. We took the kids to the Science Center and to the Birmingham Zoo. Both of which I thought were worthwhile destinations. The annoying part is that I kept having to remind the kids that we were on this vacation FOR THEM. It's as though the whiners think I dragged them to the zoo because I was dying to see the lemur exhibit and do my King Julien from Madagascar voice. (Which, of course, I kind of was, but certainly would have been content to do my voice from, say a spa whirlpool somewhere). This was also the first time that I have ever traveled with some one from outside our family. That element of the trip was really successful. I want to give full props to my friend MT. She was, as usual, fantastically organized, and tolerated my (as usual) slight lack thereof. She is earnest in disciplining her kids so that they do not run around like wild things. She is also comfortable giving my kids a stern talking to, which is helpful when parents are outnumbered by kids 2 to 1. She was a great sport while navigating the insanity that is the inner highway loop around Birmingham. And, this is no surprise, is a great martini partner.
In fact, as I was lying in my bed at 3:30 in the morning--sleeping S seemed to be able to locate my kidneys with his feet with consistency--I was thinking how great the trip would have been with a non-kid-friendly destination. Like a casino. Or spa. Or tropical beach with cabana boys. MT would be a great tropical beach with cabana boy travel companion. Maybe next trip, we can convince the hubbies that a girls' trip to Biloxi, Point Clear, or St. Croix is absolutely essential. I promise not to complain about the heat, the walking distance, the food, the sleeping arrangements, shower arrangements, sibling issues, the long car ride, the fading batteries in the hand held game, the reflection of the DVD player screen, or anything else that kids find interfering in their vacation enjoyment.
If MT comes with me on a girls' trip, I promise to shut up, drink my margarita, and not get lost. Now THAT sounds like a vacation...
Thanks, MT for a fun trip despite the kids, and here's hoping for a grown up one soon. Cheers!
Aside from my Bejeweled addiction, we have been to Birmingham for a few days. My girlfriend, MT and her two kids, my two kids, and I went for just an overnight trip. Which, as usual was a mixed bag. We took the kids to the Science Center and to the Birmingham Zoo. Both of which I thought were worthwhile destinations. The annoying part is that I kept having to remind the kids that we were on this vacation FOR THEM. It's as though the whiners think I dragged them to the zoo because I was dying to see the lemur exhibit and do my King Julien from Madagascar voice. (Which, of course, I kind of was, but certainly would have been content to do my voice from, say a spa whirlpool somewhere). This was also the first time that I have ever traveled with some one from outside our family. That element of the trip was really successful. I want to give full props to my friend MT. She was, as usual, fantastically organized, and tolerated my (as usual) slight lack thereof. She is earnest in disciplining her kids so that they do not run around like wild things. She is also comfortable giving my kids a stern talking to, which is helpful when parents are outnumbered by kids 2 to 1. She was a great sport while navigating the insanity that is the inner highway loop around Birmingham. And, this is no surprise, is a great martini partner.
In fact, as I was lying in my bed at 3:30 in the morning--sleeping S seemed to be able to locate my kidneys with his feet with consistency--I was thinking how great the trip would have been with a non-kid-friendly destination. Like a casino. Or spa. Or tropical beach with cabana boys. MT would be a great tropical beach with cabana boy travel companion. Maybe next trip, we can convince the hubbies that a girls' trip to Biloxi, Point Clear, or St. Croix is absolutely essential. I promise not to complain about the heat, the walking distance, the food, the sleeping arrangements, shower arrangements, sibling issues, the long car ride, the fading batteries in the hand held game, the reflection of the DVD player screen, or anything else that kids find interfering in their vacation enjoyment.
If MT comes with me on a girls' trip, I promise to shut up, drink my margarita, and not get lost. Now THAT sounds like a vacation...
Thanks, MT for a fun trip despite the kids, and here's hoping for a grown up one soon. Cheers!
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Tempting Fate
Short post today, as I have not been home most of the day:
1. Went to Target without kids. You know how batters in the on-deck circle swing bats with weighted doughnuts on them, so that when they're up, the bat is light in their hands? It's like that and grocery shopping with the kids. You go with them only to appreciate how much easier it is when you get to go without them. M pushed one cart and I pushed the second, and there was no whining, no begging to leave, no one begging for some sort of glow in the dark sugary cereal. So, so, so much better of an experience.
2. Went out to lunch at a new place. We shared a gourmet pizza of dubious healthfulness, had a lovely, ice cold beer, came home and...napped. The beer really helped--there was none of that senseless suggestive eyebrow raising (husbands, we see it, we just choose to ignore it), we craved that nap before the kids had to be picked up from camp. We ran upstairs, quick as newlyweds, stripped off our khakis, and dove under the covers. We snuggled down in the cool, clean sheets, and...slept. For 45 whole minutes. It was indulgent and magical.
3. We have E's friend over for a sleepover tonight. The three boys play so nicely together. In fact, this is one of my favorite friend playdates because this friend has three siblings and is so used to treating them nicely that he includes S in all of their playtime. It's wonderful. Not quiet, per se, but undemanding.
I'm sure karma is going to come kick me in the butt for this, but what a pleasant day. (Dare I speak it aloud?)
1. Went to Target without kids. You know how batters in the on-deck circle swing bats with weighted doughnuts on them, so that when they're up, the bat is light in their hands? It's like that and grocery shopping with the kids. You go with them only to appreciate how much easier it is when you get to go without them. M pushed one cart and I pushed the second, and there was no whining, no begging to leave, no one begging for some sort of glow in the dark sugary cereal. So, so, so much better of an experience.
2. Went out to lunch at a new place. We shared a gourmet pizza of dubious healthfulness, had a lovely, ice cold beer, came home and...napped. The beer really helped--there was none of that senseless suggestive eyebrow raising (husbands, we see it, we just choose to ignore it), we craved that nap before the kids had to be picked up from camp. We ran upstairs, quick as newlyweds, stripped off our khakis, and dove under the covers. We snuggled down in the cool, clean sheets, and...slept. For 45 whole minutes. It was indulgent and magical.
3. We have E's friend over for a sleepover tonight. The three boys play so nicely together. In fact, this is one of my favorite friend playdates because this friend has three siblings and is so used to treating them nicely that he includes S in all of their playtime. It's wonderful. Not quiet, per se, but undemanding.
I'm sure karma is going to come kick me in the butt for this, but what a pleasant day. (Dare I speak it aloud?)
Friday, June 19, 2009
The Greatest Meh on Earth
Come one, come all, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls to see the Greatest Show On Earth (TM)!
Meh.
Last night, we took the kids to the circus. Not just any circus, but the Ringling Bros. and Barnum and Bailey Circus....The Original Greatest Show On Earth (TM). Home to the most prestigious clown college in the U.S. The CIRCUS.
Meh.
Granted, the boys were tired from swimming all day. But I accidentally bought front row seats and we were "circus celebrities" and got to sit IN the main ring for the most of the first act. I could see the clown's crazy eyebrows. CIRCUS CELEBRITIES.
Meh.
During the tiger bit, S fell asleep. E had a faraway glazed look in his eyes, and it wasn't enthrallment. The motorcycle in the steel globe bit barely registered on their cool radar.
Meh.
M, who is bitterly opposed to clowns, reported only that he found it exactly how he imagined a circus to be. He wasn't bored, exactly, just mostly unimpressed (except for the motorcycle thing). The tigers WERE beautiful, but he just saw some at the zoo a couple of weeks ago.
Meh.
Me? I love the circus. I love the idea of performers from all over the world, living together in caravans, traveling the country and sharing their talents with one and all. I like the idea of the woman and her 8 cute white ponies having this special bond with her animals, and spending her days nurturing, rehearsing and loving them. I love the risk, however mitigated by lawyers, that still remains: the man alone with 12 tigers and a skewer of raw meat, 8 motorcyclists in a teeny cage at 40 miles an hour, a woman spinning by her hair.
But.
I concede this: the circus is a throwback. It is what remains of a simpler time, a simpler audience, a simpler world. It represents a time when the world's performers were assembled andwe went to see them, rather than now when we sit on our couches and the world is brought to us. We are jaded, and worldly, and easily unimpressed. We have seen BiggerLouderFaster already. We have been Supersized.
So, indeed, in the several occasions I've seen Cirque du Soleil, I have seen superior aerialists, gymnasts and freaky flexible people. I have been to the world's finest zoos and seen tigers and elephants (and there are many even luckier people who have seen the animals roaming free in Africa while on safari.) I've actually even seen an elephant paint a picture before.
Apparently, I am not the only one who feels this way: the bottom tier of half of the Mobile Civic Arena was not even filled. Concessions were a fortune. The experience felt Disney-fied, and overly rehearsed. Maybe even a bit tired. Some of the clowns put in a lackluster performance.
But then I think, surely, these people dreamed of being in the circus. They clearly trained for it for most of their lives. I know that there are institutes in China where young children with an aptitude for gymnastics train for hours a day. Certainly, those clowns who studied at the clown college and competed against other would-be clowns had this singular goal in mind: they must have WANTED to arrive in the circus. They must still experience the thrill of riding around the ring on an elephant or performing feats of strength and balance upon a horse, or while hanging from the ceiling. If not, then what? Is the circus a relic? It is a nostalgic remnant of times past? Are we just Wall-E-esque consumers lined up to buy overpriced sno cones and watch the circus like a tv show, idly wishing we would change the channel, if only there were a remote control?
Meh.
Last night, we took the kids to the circus. Not just any circus, but the Ringling Bros. and Barnum and Bailey Circus....The Original Greatest Show On Earth (TM). Home to the most prestigious clown college in the U.S. The CIRCUS.
Meh.
Granted, the boys were tired from swimming all day. But I accidentally bought front row seats and we were "circus celebrities" and got to sit IN the main ring for the most of the first act. I could see the clown's crazy eyebrows. CIRCUS CELEBRITIES.
Meh.
During the tiger bit, S fell asleep. E had a faraway glazed look in his eyes, and it wasn't enthrallment. The motorcycle in the steel globe bit barely registered on their cool radar.
Meh.
M, who is bitterly opposed to clowns, reported only that he found it exactly how he imagined a circus to be. He wasn't bored, exactly, just mostly unimpressed (except for the motorcycle thing). The tigers WERE beautiful, but he just saw some at the zoo a couple of weeks ago.
Meh.
Me? I love the circus. I love the idea of performers from all over the world, living together in caravans, traveling the country and sharing their talents with one and all. I like the idea of the woman and her 8 cute white ponies having this special bond with her animals, and spending her days nurturing, rehearsing and loving them. I love the risk, however mitigated by lawyers, that still remains: the man alone with 12 tigers and a skewer of raw meat, 8 motorcyclists in a teeny cage at 40 miles an hour, a woman spinning by her hair.
But.
I concede this: the circus is a throwback. It is what remains of a simpler time, a simpler audience, a simpler world. It represents a time when the world's performers were assembled andwe went to see them, rather than now when we sit on our couches and the world is brought to us. We are jaded, and worldly, and easily unimpressed. We have seen BiggerLouderFaster already. We have been Supersized.
So, indeed, in the several occasions I've seen Cirque du Soleil, I have seen superior aerialists, gymnasts and freaky flexible people. I have been to the world's finest zoos and seen tigers and elephants (and there are many even luckier people who have seen the animals roaming free in Africa while on safari.) I've actually even seen an elephant paint a picture before.
Apparently, I am not the only one who feels this way: the bottom tier of half of the Mobile Civic Arena was not even filled. Concessions were a fortune. The experience felt Disney-fied, and overly rehearsed. Maybe even a bit tired. Some of the clowns put in a lackluster performance.
But then I think, surely, these people dreamed of being in the circus. They clearly trained for it for most of their lives. I know that there are institutes in China where young children with an aptitude for gymnastics train for hours a day. Certainly, those clowns who studied at the clown college and competed against other would-be clowns had this singular goal in mind: they must have WANTED to arrive in the circus. They must still experience the thrill of riding around the ring on an elephant or performing feats of strength and balance upon a horse, or while hanging from the ceiling. If not, then what? Is the circus a relic? It is a nostalgic remnant of times past? Are we just Wall-E-esque consumers lined up to buy overpriced sno cones and watch the circus like a tv show, idly wishing we would change the channel, if only there were a remote control?
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Little People
Sometimes it's hard to think of your children as independent creatures. Creatures with preferences, self-tuning biological clocks, creatures who form meaningful bonds and relationships with other small creatures.
I don't know why it's so easy to minimize your children's existential "being." Perhaps it's because we so painfully bear the responsibilities for their actions at this age (yes, that is the avalanche of applesauce jars that we started,) or because we feel so "in charge" of them. And, realistically, we are in charge. We dictate where they go, how they get there, what activities they participate in, where they go to school, and even what they wear. (I have previously documented my boys' style preference for hobo chic. But despite their own flair, they are choosing outfits based on clothes I bought for them.) Occasionally, we see our children from a different perspective, and a particular gesture or expression, or something reminds us that they are themselves. Miniature people, developing their own personalities. Shockingly, they may develop personalities that despite our best love and parenting are not compatible with our own. Weird to think that my boys, completely immersed in the things that M and I enjoy most (except for freakin' Disney Crap Live); completely immersed in our lives may not ever feel connected to those things.
Today, S's best friends in the world, his three girlfriends from school, came over to swim. He asked me every ten minutes if his friends were here yet. He was so excited that they were coming over--they weren't his brother's friend's siblings or anything; his very own best friends were coming to HIS house. He asked if we could go to Target to get the girls toys they might enjoy more than his Hot Wheels. He asked if we had snacks they all liked. He even asked if we had gotten rid of the peanut butter cookies Grandma had baked because of one friend's severe peanut allergy. I mean, this kid was on it--he was ready to be the host.
This whole preparation surprised me a bit. For one thing, he was incredibly thoughtful and accommodating to other people's needs and wants. For another, it was very well thought out. He had clearly been mulling these things over. Who knew?
Then, when the girls got here, he was so pleased. He brought the girls juice. He wanted to put the dog away when Clooney scared one of his friends.
It's not like he was perfectly behaved or anything: he didn't morph into Alex P. Keaton, uptight kid extraordinaire. He just was keenly aware of other people.
I know it's not in kids' natures to be aware of their parents' needs. Or wants. Or desperate desire to sleep past 6 AM. But I didn't even know they had the capacity to tend to other people in that way. It was sweet, and thoughtful, and made me look at S in a whole new light. And I understood why he and his three girlfriends are such good friends--they all treat each other like that. And in their own little way, are in a very grown up relationship. One that doesn't involve me at all--his own little independent friends.
I don't know why it's so easy to minimize your children's existential "being." Perhaps it's because we so painfully bear the responsibilities for their actions at this age (yes, that is the avalanche of applesauce jars that we started,) or because we feel so "in charge" of them. And, realistically, we are in charge. We dictate where they go, how they get there, what activities they participate in, where they go to school, and even what they wear. (I have previously documented my boys' style preference for hobo chic. But despite their own flair, they are choosing outfits based on clothes I bought for them.) Occasionally, we see our children from a different perspective, and a particular gesture or expression, or something reminds us that they are themselves. Miniature people, developing their own personalities. Shockingly, they may develop personalities that despite our best love and parenting are not compatible with our own. Weird to think that my boys, completely immersed in the things that M and I enjoy most (except for freakin' Disney Crap Live); completely immersed in our lives may not ever feel connected to those things.
Today, S's best friends in the world, his three girlfriends from school, came over to swim. He asked me every ten minutes if his friends were here yet. He was so excited that they were coming over--they weren't his brother's friend's siblings or anything; his very own best friends were coming to HIS house. He asked if we could go to Target to get the girls toys they might enjoy more than his Hot Wheels. He asked if we had snacks they all liked. He even asked if we had gotten rid of the peanut butter cookies Grandma had baked because of one friend's severe peanut allergy. I mean, this kid was on it--he was ready to be the host.
This whole preparation surprised me a bit. For one thing, he was incredibly thoughtful and accommodating to other people's needs and wants. For another, it was very well thought out. He had clearly been mulling these things over. Who knew?
Then, when the girls got here, he was so pleased. He brought the girls juice. He wanted to put the dog away when Clooney scared one of his friends.
It's not like he was perfectly behaved or anything: he didn't morph into Alex P. Keaton, uptight kid extraordinaire. He just was keenly aware of other people.
I know it's not in kids' natures to be aware of their parents' needs. Or wants. Or desperate desire to sleep past 6 AM. But I didn't even know they had the capacity to tend to other people in that way. It was sweet, and thoughtful, and made me look at S in a whole new light. And I understood why he and his three girlfriends are such good friends--they all treat each other like that. And in their own little way, are in a very grown up relationship. One that doesn't involve me at all--his own little independent friends.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
What shall we do, dahling?
Today, I dropped him off, and he so bravely went, all by himself. Clooney is getting his first grooming. Here is his "after" picture:
Trivial, yes. Beyond your caring, yes. But, it has been a very long weekend, and the preschool has decided rain is far too dangerous a weather phenomenon for S to endure away from the safety of his own home, so tedium reigns.
My friends have decided to go to the Petri dish indoor playplaces. There is something about the tangible humidity outdoors and the artificial cooling indoors that gives me the heebeejeebies about playplaces. Irrational, probably. But I am convinced some one (and it is usually me, not my children) will come home with Ebola from one of those places.
Meanwhile, S is FREAKING OUT because his giant Megablock tower won't stay together. Don't try to explain the basic tenets of engineering to this kid: big blocks on the bottom, little ones on the top. Forget it. If 27 giant blocks will not stack on top of a 1 knobbie little square, then damn the world. He's very stubborn. Although I give major props to him for playing nicely at the coffee shop this morning for an hour.
M worked and I did a puzzle, and S played ever so well with his little Wall-e set. It was civilized. Almost. Except for the SHM's*. Apparently, the club was closed today, dahling and so the coffee shop was over run with the SHMs in uniform. Uniform being issued, I suppose, at the club? They were there in matching Nike shorts and work out tops. Nike microfiber mock turtlenecks Nike sports bras. Nike socks. Nike visors (it's not sunny). Nike hair bands. Nike sunglasses. There are Thai children chained to sewing machines in sweatshops whose sole job is to outfit the SHMs. Then, of course, the SHMs have their cellies. Because, a good workout still leaves enough air in your lungs to maintain a SHOUTING conversation on your cellie. Now, when I work out, I am literally sucking wind. I can hardly get air, forget expelling it in coherent, loud conversation. About where to have lunch because the club is closed.
I only wish I were joking.
I could barely navigate my way out of the parking lot because of all the GIANT suburban assault vehicles in the parking lot. These women have enough space in their vehicles to carry no fewer than 8 passengers, and they can't be bothered to save the fuel or time to carpool more than their 1.8 children to school. That's another whole diatribe right there. So, I gingerly back out of the parking lot, and head home. Some of the SHMs are out exercising with their SHMs in-training. Little blond ponytailed teenagers in matching exercise outfits bedecked with ipods and visors. Good to know the next generation is on track.
I should have had decaf. Makes me less angry.
*Spring Hill Moms
Trivial, yes. Beyond your caring, yes. But, it has been a very long weekend, and the preschool has decided rain is far too dangerous a weather phenomenon for S to endure away from the safety of his own home, so tedium reigns.
My friends have decided to go to the Petri dish indoor playplaces. There is something about the tangible humidity outdoors and the artificial cooling indoors that gives me the heebeejeebies about playplaces. Irrational, probably. But I am convinced some one (and it is usually me, not my children) will come home with Ebola from one of those places.
Meanwhile, S is FREAKING OUT because his giant Megablock tower won't stay together. Don't try to explain the basic tenets of engineering to this kid: big blocks on the bottom, little ones on the top. Forget it. If 27 giant blocks will not stack on top of a 1 knobbie little square, then damn the world. He's very stubborn. Although I give major props to him for playing nicely at the coffee shop this morning for an hour.
M worked and I did a puzzle, and S played ever so well with his little Wall-e set. It was civilized. Almost. Except for the SHM's*. Apparently, the club was closed today, dahling and so the coffee shop was over run with the SHMs in uniform. Uniform being issued, I suppose, at the club? They were there in matching Nike shorts and work out tops. Nike microfiber mock turtlenecks Nike sports bras. Nike socks. Nike visors (it's not sunny). Nike hair bands. Nike sunglasses. There are Thai children chained to sewing machines in sweatshops whose sole job is to outfit the SHMs. Then, of course, the SHMs have their cellies. Because, a good workout still leaves enough air in your lungs to maintain a SHOUTING conversation on your cellie. Now, when I work out, I am literally sucking wind. I can hardly get air, forget expelling it in coherent, loud conversation. About where to have lunch because the club is closed.
I only wish I were joking.
I could barely navigate my way out of the parking lot because of all the GIANT suburban assault vehicles in the parking lot. These women have enough space in their vehicles to carry no fewer than 8 passengers, and they can't be bothered to save the fuel or time to carpool more than their 1.8 children to school. That's another whole diatribe right there. So, I gingerly back out of the parking lot, and head home. Some of the SHMs are out exercising with their SHMs in-training. Little blond ponytailed teenagers in matching exercise outfits bedecked with ipods and visors. Good to know the next generation is on track.
I should have had decaf. Makes me less angry.
*Spring Hill Moms
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Warp in the Time/Space Continuum
Did some one make weekends longer without telling me? Did I not get a memo somewhere? Yesterday, we took the kids to the exploreum and saw Fly Me To The Moon. First off, you are going to want to volunteer to be a test subject for Ebola before you go see this movie. The inanity. The predictable jokes. The Buzz Aldrin at the end, reminding us that it is a physical impossibility to have flies on a space mission. IT'S A MOVIE, BUZZ. IT'S PRETEND. Besides, he came off pretty well. He was the one who said, "don't kill the flies, they' re American after all." AMERICAN? Really, are we issuing passports to house pests these days? My cockroaches flashed me their Guatemalan papers yesterday, so I had to deport them. What the jingoistic heck is that crap? If they had been Canadian flies, would we have given them a bath in RAID and sent them home in tiny maple leaf caskets?
So, since you won't be seeing that movie any time soon, let me tell you more disappointing news about the exploreum. They are no longer going to feature a travelling exhibit. In place of the travelling show, there is going to be a permanent exhibit on the human body. Great. More filthy exhibits for the kids to climb on while learning the importance of washing their hands. The great paradox of hygiene instruction for the young.
E was hit especially hard by the news of the permanent exhibit. He ordered that we terminate our annual pass, because there will be no point in returning. He cried, he wailed, and while doing so, crashed into a light post on the street.
Meanwhile, there is just enough rain from T.S. Fay to make it too wet to go out. Mind you, there was an awful lot of hype for a little bit of rain. Granted, Florida got hit hard, and that's actual real storm damage. But Mobile is getting light rain. LIGHT RAIN, PEOPLE. So, we are inside. Again. Still. I am wondering how it can only be twenty minutes until 10. The day is moving like molasses. The arguing. The fighting. The mess. The need for entertainment...
Tomorrow, M, E and S will be gone to school by 9 AM. It will be quiet in this house and I have no errands. I will enjoy the silence.
My clock is not moving. Really. It's not.
Is there a leap to warp speed or something?
So, since you won't be seeing that movie any time soon, let me tell you more disappointing news about the exploreum. They are no longer going to feature a travelling exhibit. In place of the travelling show, there is going to be a permanent exhibit on the human body. Great. More filthy exhibits for the kids to climb on while learning the importance of washing their hands. The great paradox of hygiene instruction for the young.
E was hit especially hard by the news of the permanent exhibit. He ordered that we terminate our annual pass, because there will be no point in returning. He cried, he wailed, and while doing so, crashed into a light post on the street.
Meanwhile, there is just enough rain from T.S. Fay to make it too wet to go out. Mind you, there was an awful lot of hype for a little bit of rain. Granted, Florida got hit hard, and that's actual real storm damage. But Mobile is getting light rain. LIGHT RAIN, PEOPLE. So, we are inside. Again. Still. I am wondering how it can only be twenty minutes until 10. The day is moving like molasses. The arguing. The fighting. The mess. The need for entertainment...
Tomorrow, M, E and S will be gone to school by 9 AM. It will be quiet in this house and I have no errands. I will enjoy the silence.
My clock is not moving. Really. It's not.
Is there a leap to warp speed or something?
Saturday, August 23, 2008
Squirrel Food
Kids are funny. I think they are funniest when they don't mean to be at all. I am not really into Stooge humor. I don't like it when S flops or crashes into things for slapstick effect. His rubber face is slightly funnier, but that's usually when he's not trying. E, of course has a totally different humor. His is verbal and he is experimenting with riddles and puns. Puns are one of the staples of my humor, so I am happy to see him fostering this style. This week, though, S dropped a couple of funnies of his very own.
First he saw an obese woman. He leans over and says "That is a BIG, FAT woman." I said, "Honey, it's not polite to talk about some one's size. It would hurt her feelings." He responds with "Then she's a LITTLE, FAT woman." Ah, yes. The concrete thinker.
This morning, he brings me a squirrel turd. He says it is a teeny tiny acorn that he saw a little squirrel drop.
I NEVER share these kinds of stories, because it seems like they're never real. These are real. Promise.
J
First he saw an obese woman. He leans over and says "That is a BIG, FAT woman." I said, "Honey, it's not polite to talk about some one's size. It would hurt her feelings." He responds with "Then she's a LITTLE, FAT woman." Ah, yes. The concrete thinker.
This morning, he brings me a squirrel turd. He says it is a teeny tiny acorn that he saw a little squirrel drop.
I NEVER share these kinds of stories, because it seems like they're never real. These are real. Promise.
J
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
My Kids are Movie Stars
OK. Not exactly movie stars. They're not in ads, tv shows or motion pictures. Really, I try to keep their images private. But, nonetheless, I feel like they get rock star treatment. I often feel like the Anne Hathaway character in the Devil Wears Prada. I am the personal assistant to two huffy, demanding, and completely unreasonable bosses.
Carpool: honestly, there is less brou-ha-ha at the Oscars. Cars and SUVs, like limos line up for blocks. Edging moment by moment to the red carpet. There, a teacher (another of my child's personal assistants, no doubt) who drew short straw and got carpool duty this week, gathers my child and his things, opens his door, and fastens his belt for him. I pull away at limo speed, so as not to jostle my passenger. In the morning, I pull up, and teachers disguised as attendants open his door and escort him to the building. On rainy days, the attendants are armed with umbrellas so as not to get the VIP the least bit damp. Meanwhile, I go to the grocery store, the doctor's office, whatever, and am parked in Timbuktu, schlepping umbrella, handbag, grocery list, cart with bum wheel up to the entrance where some woman in polyester elasticized pants is too busy yakking on her cell phone to hold the door open for me, and it slams, pfump, in my face. Thanks.
Food: my children often get a separate dinner served to them. I try not to, but M and I occasionally have food that is spicy or unusual and the VIPs turn up their noses at it. Thus, chicken nugs and mac and cheese are nuked and served, sliced into convenient bite sized pieces and cooled to the most palatable temperature. Dip and drinks are brought as their royal highnesses sit perched atop their thrones.
Laundry & other services: Every week the laundry fairy has replenished their supply of clean clothes. Poof! I have removed all the ketchup, grease and grass stains, and their clothes are often pressed. Every morning, the cereal of their choice is in the pantry. Poof! Every afternoon, their favorite tv show is TIVO'd. Poof! Every weekend, M and I have researched one fun place or thing for us to go to or do. Poof! Playdate? Poof! Ride to playdate? Poof! Fixed toys? Poof! Haircuts? Bandaids? Song on the iPod? Poof Poof Poof!
Don't get me wrong. I have heard "thank you" on occasion. I have even heard the rare "cool." But it seems to me that being a kid is kind of awesome.
I need a new agent.
Carpool: honestly, there is less brou-ha-ha at the Oscars. Cars and SUVs, like limos line up for blocks. Edging moment by moment to the red carpet. There, a teacher (another of my child's personal assistants, no doubt) who drew short straw and got carpool duty this week, gathers my child and his things, opens his door, and fastens his belt for him. I pull away at limo speed, so as not to jostle my passenger. In the morning, I pull up, and teachers disguised as attendants open his door and escort him to the building. On rainy days, the attendants are armed with umbrellas so as not to get the VIP the least bit damp. Meanwhile, I go to the grocery store, the doctor's office, whatever, and am parked in Timbuktu, schlepping umbrella, handbag, grocery list, cart with bum wheel up to the entrance where some woman in polyester elasticized pants is too busy yakking on her cell phone to hold the door open for me, and it slams, pfump, in my face. Thanks.
Food: my children often get a separate dinner served to them. I try not to, but M and I occasionally have food that is spicy or unusual and the VIPs turn up their noses at it. Thus, chicken nugs and mac and cheese are nuked and served, sliced into convenient bite sized pieces and cooled to the most palatable temperature. Dip and drinks are brought as their royal highnesses sit perched atop their thrones.
Laundry & other services: Every week the laundry fairy has replenished their supply of clean clothes. Poof! I have removed all the ketchup, grease and grass stains, and their clothes are often pressed. Every morning, the cereal of their choice is in the pantry. Poof! Every afternoon, their favorite tv show is TIVO'd. Poof! Every weekend, M and I have researched one fun place or thing for us to go to or do. Poof! Playdate? Poof! Ride to playdate? Poof! Fixed toys? Poof! Haircuts? Bandaids? Song on the iPod? Poof Poof Poof!
Don't get me wrong. I have heard "thank you" on occasion. I have even heard the rare "cool." But it seems to me that being a kid is kind of awesome.
I need a new agent.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Cruel and Unusual
Good morning. This morning, the next door neighbor's gardener actually beat S to the wake-up call. I'm up and at 'em.
Yesterday, I enjoyed the rare trifecta of experiences not sanctioned by the Geneva Convention. Worse than water boarding. We've already studied the sleep deprivation techniques practiced by children. This adds to their torture repertoire.
After breakfast and treadmill (which kicked my butt):
I mentioned my Himalayan laundry piles earlier this week. Monday, I really got on that and did it ALL. Yesterday, I carried up a heaping basket of clean laundry and was sorting it on my bed. S reaches across said laundry basket, tries to get a sippy of milk, and takes down 16 ounces of Coke Zero (my preferred after-work out hydration). On my bed. Ew. On the white carpet, natch. On the dust ruffle. And, in order to completely send me over the edge, a big heap of CLEAN laundry. I cried. S cried. Cruel.
Lunch:
I discovered a new pet peeve. I was at a self-serve cafe yesterday, (in itself a peeve) and I was refilling S's drink, when a woman came up behind me and started filling her cup with ice. WAIT YOUR TURN. The ice will be there, the cup will be there. Your food won't be exactly waiting for you by the time you sit down. "Excuse me," I say. "It's okay," says she. Grr.
Now, I should mention that we (S & I) went to aforementioned cafe early in the lunch rush. S would not cooperate while dressing, so he wore flannel fighter jet pajamas, backwards bulldozer pajama shirt stained with yesterday morning's water coloring fiasco, uh, project and Crocs. He looked awesome. Especially when he decided he HAD to pee, stood up, ran across the cafe barefooted into the men's room. I grabbed the shoes and followed, too late. The people waiting in the self-serve line stared (another reason not to like self-serve--lots of witnesses with nothing else to do but stare at the crime you're about to commit.) S comes trotting out of the bathroom, barefoot (ew) announcing his successful urination. I chastise him using my "public mom" voice of sternness without threat and we retreat to the table. Unusual.
Last, and not to be overly dramatic or anything, but impossible to overstate--A person on hold with a physician's office awaiting a refill on psychotropic medications should not, and I mean should NEVER be subject to Barry Manilow's Copa Cabana as hold music. Ever.
Cruel and Unusual.
Yesterday, I enjoyed the rare trifecta of experiences not sanctioned by the Geneva Convention. Worse than water boarding. We've already studied the sleep deprivation techniques practiced by children. This adds to their torture repertoire.
After breakfast and treadmill (which kicked my butt):
I mentioned my Himalayan laundry piles earlier this week. Monday, I really got on that and did it ALL. Yesterday, I carried up a heaping basket of clean laundry and was sorting it on my bed. S reaches across said laundry basket, tries to get a sippy of milk, and takes down 16 ounces of Coke Zero (my preferred after-work out hydration). On my bed. Ew. On the white carpet, natch. On the dust ruffle. And, in order to completely send me over the edge, a big heap of CLEAN laundry. I cried. S cried. Cruel.
Lunch:
I discovered a new pet peeve. I was at a self-serve cafe yesterday, (in itself a peeve) and I was refilling S's drink, when a woman came up behind me and started filling her cup with ice. WAIT YOUR TURN. The ice will be there, the cup will be there. Your food won't be exactly waiting for you by the time you sit down. "Excuse me," I say. "It's okay," says she. Grr.
Now, I should mention that we (S & I) went to aforementioned cafe early in the lunch rush. S would not cooperate while dressing, so he wore flannel fighter jet pajamas, backwards bulldozer pajama shirt stained with yesterday morning's water coloring fiasco, uh, project and Crocs. He looked awesome. Especially when he decided he HAD to pee, stood up, ran across the cafe barefooted into the men's room. I grabbed the shoes and followed, too late. The people waiting in the self-serve line stared (another reason not to like self-serve--lots of witnesses with nothing else to do but stare at the crime you're about to commit.) S comes trotting out of the bathroom, barefoot (ew) announcing his successful urination. I chastise him using my "public mom" voice of sternness without threat and we retreat to the table. Unusual.
Last, and not to be overly dramatic or anything, but impossible to overstate--A person on hold with a physician's office awaiting a refill on psychotropic medications should not, and I mean should NEVER be subject to Barry Manilow's Copa Cabana as hold music. Ever.
Cruel and Unusual.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)