McCashew

thriller

2012-05-25T08:33:00.000-05:00

We dropped Steve off at the train this morning. That meant an early Friday morning departure. I treated the kids to Dunkin' before heading to school (awesome Mom that I am) and found myself in such a caffeinated good mood with the holiday weekend ahead that we had ourselves a little 80's dance party. "Thriller" came on and boy, did Caroline love the zombie arms I demonstrated for her. She laughed and "car danced" all the way until the voice at the end of the song. You know the one I mean. I turned around smiling to check on her and there she was, absolutely terrified, hands over her ears. I reassured her, it was OK, and the man was going to laugh and wouldn't that be funny? It wasn't. His laugh made her squirm in her seat and thankfully, Rick Springfield saved the day with "Jessie's Girl.

I was reminded of my own experience with "Thriller." Thanks to satellite radio I know that the song debuted in 1984, when I was six years old. I might have been the biggest six year old Michael Jackson fan. I used to scream when he came on the television, I would yell upstairs to my mother, "Mom, Michael Jackson is on, come quick!" I owned an LP of the Thriller album and I regularly danced to it in the living room or in my bedroom on my Fisher Price record player. When that music video came out, it was a very big deal. They were debuting it on MTV, but the local video store was renting it. I begged my parents, pleaded with them, to please rent it for me. They tried to talk me out of it, "it's scary!" I was undeterred. It was Michael, and I HAD to see it. They acquiesced. I watched approximately 30 seconds of it and hid my head in the sofa. I could hardly sleep that night, certain that the undead were lying there in the space between my bed and the wall, waiting for me to fall asleep so they could eat my brain.

I often say that Caroline is so very much like Steve, but where scary things are concerned, she is ALL Mommy.

signs

2012-05-23T08:04:00.000-05:00

Connor has learned from his big sister that the trick to bedtime is to be as cute as humanly possible with as little actual movement as you can muster. The children literally fade into the landscape of the house, blending perfectly with the couch or the pillows on our bed. This is how you get extra minutes added to your "awake time." I attended the funeral of perhaps my favorite patient of all time yesterday. I knew I would need a little extra strength, so I wore the bracelet my grandmother passed down to me for my confirmation. She was my sponsor. It is one of my most treasured possessions. Her father gave it to her when she made her confirmation. I still have the note she included in the box in her perfect penmanship, so that someday I might pass the bracelet and the note down to my own granddaughter. A photo would be perfect here, but I don't have one handy. It is a silver chain of roses with the stations of the cross on back of each bloom. It was a tub night yesterday. We divided and conquered. Caroline and Steve retreated downstairs, while I wrangled Connor into dinosaur pajamas. We read about Harold and his adventures with that purple crayon and "garbage out." While we snuggled together amongst pillows, he noticed my bracelet. "who give this to you?" "my grandmother, Granda's momma." "oh, that nice momma." I tried to tell my two year old how he was in a way named for her; eleaNOR and conNOR. He asked me to sing "my song," which apparently is "please don't take my sunshine away." We sang an extra round for grandma Eleanor, while his fingers fumbled with the roses and flipped them back and forth. The boy who could literally sit in his crib wide awake talking and singing for an hour or more went right to sleep. It's hard not to think of the possibilities of that other world; My patient, my bracelet, my grandmother, my boy, all connected for those few minutes.

Myrtle Beach, SC

2012-05-21T19:14:00.001-05:00

The whole McFam was lucky enough to spent some time together in South Caroline this past week.

The weather might have made us pale northerners stick out from the crowd a bit, but it was bike week, so there were plenty of other people getting looks from the people watchers. We had one solid beach day, but

we all agreed we did things we wouldn't have normally done.

We visited Alligator Adventure! Caroline says we saw "twenty" and Connor says we saw "two," but we really saw way too many to count. It wasn't just gators either. There were tigers and turtles and parrots and bats and SNAKES. I got over my intense fear of snakes and took Caroline into the Serpent Room where I nearly passed out at the sight of the Burmese Python... until we got to a window where I couldn't find the snake and then I was sure I kept spotting one slithering on the ground. Caroline wants me to share the story of the Tiger Feeding, where she saw a tiger "eat his hot dog without taking the wrapper off (in actuality it was a huge chicken bone) and then puke it all up, and then eat it again." This was by far Kiki's favorite part of our time at Alligator Adventure. Here is Auntie with our favoite little lyle, lyle crocodile, a pile of juvenile American Alligators, the kids getting friendly with a safe to touch gator, and Con being Con.

A visit to the new Sky Wheel along the Boardwalk was a must. Both kids told us it was their favorite part of the trip when we snuggled in bed before Shel Silverstein last night. Caroline can't wait to bring her "I heart SkyWheel" sticker to show and tell this week.

No trip to Myrtle Beach would be complete without some golf, so we managed to fit in a quick round.

One pint sized traveler preferred The Muppet Movie and made her impatience known to one and ALL. As Auntie kerry said, she was just saying what all the grown ups want to say, but can't. "I WANT TO GET OFF, I DON'T WANT TO BE ON THE PLANE ANYMORE!"

The other enjoyed the actual flight so much that when we hit some pretty scary turbulance at one point causing a woman to scream, he laughed and said "Do it again!" He was so into the flight prep on the ramp at the airport that we even tried to say hello to a pilot. To the Douchey US Airways pilot who refused to acknowledge the little boy who said "Hi Pilot," ppppttthhhhh.

Aside from the laughs, the great memories, and spending time with some of our favorite people, this was by far my favorite moment. Connor insisted on pulling the kid's rolling bag all the way from the carousel when we arrived, all the way to check in, and then ALL the way through Logan to the car. by himself. People in the airport cautioned, "aren't there laws against that?" The men who braved seats behind and then in front of us offered to take him golfing with them, so long as he brought his own beer money. My least favorite moment would be when he took a nap on me during our layover in D.C. and pooped the most awful poop of forever that permeated the air around him and I swear to you I could smell it all the way from D.C. to Boston. Thanks to Little Keeks and Big Papa for their sweet southern hospitality.

size matters

2012-05-18T13:52:00.002-05:00

Caroline has been pretty true to size throughout her life. When she was six months old, the tags on her clothes were "6-12 months" and now that she is five years old, she is of course sporting size five dresses and jeans. She recently became aware of the size. I was in the middle of the dreaded seasonal switchover and her clothes were so jammed into her dresser we could barely close the drawers. Short sleeved tees pushed up against corduroy pants thanks to the unseasonablly warm temps in April, followed by 50 degree days in May. You go ahead and tell Caroline she can choose any dress she wants one day and then talk her into a sweater and wool socks the next. It wasn't pretty. I have to pat myself on the back that I seem to finally have a grip on how to handle the seasonal switch out. I cull through and keep a few wintery items and lots of layering pieces in the drawers and relegate anything too worn or ure to be too small to the donate or hand me down box. I place anything that has a prayer to still fit in the fall in the "saving it for next season box." For the first time, I had help with my task, and that is when she realized she is a size five. Anything that read "four" we put aside for hand me downs. Then the real fun began when we started hanging the cute dresses in the closet and emptying nantucket red skinny jeans and Bermudas into her drawer. Her wardrobe has a preppy nautical feel this season. As I typed this I realized that I just got a bunch of preppy nautical update for myself as well. Clearly, I was coveting my five year old's closet. All was well until one day Caroline refused to put on her pajamas. I couldn't figure out why. "they say four and I not four! I'm five!!!" I had a good laugh about that. She carefully checks the tags on anything she suspects might not be a size five. She cannot understand how she wears a size 12 shoe or how I wear my size since I'm 34. It has also come up when we encounter situations she previously had difficulty managing, like leaving the playground. I'll remind her that when it is time to go, we leave without antics or whining or sassing. "mommy, I was four then, I'm five now." I would hope I could use this to my advantage a la, "you are five now, not four," but it never seems to work that way.

clear

2012-05-10T20:55:00.001-05:00

A house around the block has been undergoing a big renovation for months. It's mostly happening inside, but I still drive the long way (often) to check it out. I'm the nosy neighbor lady who wants to count trucks, see what the painter will be painting next, imagining all the "new" happening within the walls. Today I really needed a run. It has been one of the most stressful weeks at work, which is you know, awesome. Lots and lots I could say about that, but I am going to do my best to just shut my mouth and cope. This means we are drinking wine tonight, lots and lots of teeth staining red wine. I got home and needed to clear my head. So I plugged in my ear buds, stretched my legs and took off for a jog. I headed by that house and as I ran past I saw the same green dumpster that has been in the driveway throughout the renovation. There were no commercial vans, no pick up trucks, just a white SUV in the driveway and that green dumpster. I glanced over, noticing some broken green wood beams sticking out and I gasped.

The swingset.

I had noticed it before, long forgotten, sagging to the right, pushed all the way to the tree line. In fact, I had always noticed it, the symbol of the family's childhood, abandoned there in the yard, falling apart, fading into the dense woods.

I thought of her instantly, the kind mother of the three now teenage kids who I see walk by with her little white dog in the afternoon. I imagined her standing at the door with her coffee, having gotten the kids off to school, staring at the empty expanse of her children's early life. I tried not to think of her walking past it to get to her car, having to see it sticking out when she returns home from errands. The memories she must have of those kids playing out there, the evidence that those days are just memories set to be carted off to the dump.

I started my run wanting to clear my head of all my work crazy. It didn't take more than 100 yards for me to think about other more important things.

collective sigh

2012-05-06T21:05:00.000-05:00

Just like that, the week ended, and we were all back together. At 9:30 PM Friday night. All of us still awake because once they knew he was coming home, nothing could keep the kids from being there to welcome him back. They didn't care if the flight had been delayed two hours. I set out making dinner and they stood at the counter stirring ramekins with salt and other seasonings. Who knew that could be so much fun?

Here is the sign Caroline taped up to the door for Steve to welcome him home. "I miss you Daddy."

Our little family apparently now includes a very tall princess with hair down to her toes. Funny, I haven't noticed a raven haired Rapunzel around here. Steve loved that she drew herself the same height as me and Connor as a teeny tiny boy. The pictures they draw at this age really give so much insight into how they view their world, themselves.

After happy hugs and many eye rubs, we got the kids to bed, and settled at the kitchen table with a glass of wine to detroy nearly an entire skillet of The Pioneer Woman's Cajun Chicken Pasta. Holy crap you guys, it was sinfully good. It was all we could do to put a small bit of it away for the next day. I can't wait to have an excuse to make it again.

We were all exhausted and there was such a sense of peaceful presence in the house that even Caroline slept until nearly seven both days this weekend. Both days. Unprecedented. There were few plans, just a committment to a mandatory all house nap on Saturday afternoon. We cooked out, the kids had their first taste of corn for the season and the enjoyable experience of melted butter and salt running down their hands.

It's back to the regular grind tomorrow for all of us, but I have to leave you with the image of Connor and the Hokie Pokie. We danced it together tonight and taught him how to point both fingers in the air during "you do the hokie pokie and you turn yorself around." He marched everywhere tonight with just those two fingers pointed very purposefully into the air, serious as ever, as hysterically literal and sweet as a little boy can be.

The last sleep of Operation Canadian Tuxedo

2012-05-03T22:30:00.005-05:00

Yes, it is upon us and we are so close to the end of this week that I almost want to click my heels together and call it a success, except it isn't quite over yet. Sure, tonight is the last sleep, but if I called it done now I'd be neglecting the morning rush, the work day, an ear recheck in the middle of the day (I have a perfect plan, which means it will get completely destroyed at approximately 8:02am), a daycare pick up, a meal, a post meal pandemonium, bedtime for at least one, and a welcome home meal for Steve. So really, I am quite far from the finish, so far that my previous near sigh of relief has been replaced with a sinking panic. It will be ok. We didn't come this far to fall on our faces now, but man. SO CLOSE.

Today was our rush day and I managed to propel myself out of bed ontime. I somehow hurt my neck on Saturday and it is STILL bothering me, and sort of clicking, and I need to turn my whole body to look left when driving. Nice. So sleep hasn't been so restful, but I am more annoyed than suffering. We got to Kiki's ontime and I walked into my meeting on time, so there's that. Work continues to be a challenge and today was one of those days, but I managed to get myself home in time to prep for the evening, pre label the cracker packets and juice boxes for lunches (I cannot tell you how much time this saves me!might make it a part of the daily routine before I grab the kids at school), and read a few chapters of that CRAZY book the rest of the world is reading. It is cray cray and I keep stopping myself saying "WHY! am I reading this?!" (often ALOUD) and then I go ahead and keep on reading.

I picked up the kids. They went screaming into the parking lot, refusing to be caught, and circled the car like wild animals. Normally, I'd lose it, but this week has brought great clarity. Caroline "pphtthh'd" at me as I hoisted her into the car and I close the door and gave her the death stare through the window. As we drove out of the lot, I calmly went through the brief history of time since pickup. "You tossed your sweater at me, you refused to wear your coat, you ran away from me in the parking lot, you "phhhttthh'd" me, and you are now whining. All of this in the three minutes since I got you from school. Let's put this behavior behind us and move on so we can enjoy the night." And it worked. I did not raise my voice. I did not lose my cool. It just worked and there was peace in the land. WIN! See, I did learn something this week!

I had one who asked for salad and one who asked for green beans at dinner and I couldn't bear one of them refusing their vegetable when the main course was Caroline's most favorite "pasta with butter." She ate two helpings of pasta (and most of Connor's!) and two servings of salad and then asked for more blue cheese dressing, which she licked off her fingers. Connor played in the sink again while the girls had an ABBA dance party. We took videos, but I lack the energy to go through that process.

The kids took a shower together. Connor was so upset that he didn't get to take a tub, I had to drag him into the bathroom from the corner he was cowering in, which I know won't win me any mother of the year awards. His sister, to her credit, put her arm around him and reassured him. We got him done fast and I gave her the go ahead to rinse her curl conditioner out while I dried and diapered him. While I toweled him off I told him how proud I was of his bravery and gave him a big high five. Caroline pulled on her pjs while I hung the towels and by the time I returned, Connor was in his pjs too, courtesy of big sister. For real, she got him dressed! If I had realized this was a possibility I would have done that sooner. Big Sister dressing Little Brother, could be a game changer!

I settled them into our bed with microwave popcorn and lemonade and while we had planned on an actual movie, the dance party had run long, and we had to settle for viewer's choice On Demand Disney Jr. They loved it. Throughout the show, "mommy, what you say in the da bathroom?" "I said you were brave!" "brave" another high five. That kid kills me.

Con went to bed and Caroline hung around while I typed up the last bit of my paperwork. With PBS "Royal Weddings" on in the background she fell asleep leaned up against me and I didn't move her until I had to leave to go get the laundry from the dryer. Sidenote: I should have flown through all the shows on the DVR that are just for me, but instead I watched a lot a PBS, a scary amount of WWII coverage on the Military channel (?!), and if I am being honest, all the current episodes of Dance Mom available, both the original and Miami. In fact, there are other odd things about how we did things this week that are so completely outside of the norm like the fact that we only played downstairs in the play area exactly once all week. I kept them busy upstairs with dance parties and fires and snacks and activities with scissors and those amazing Bananagrams tiles that they didn't even lament about not being able to make a horrific mess for mom, party of one, to clean up. I washed most of the dishes by hand. Why? I cleaned out several drawers in the kitchen and the medicine/beauty product shelf of the linen closet. Again, Why? I spent more time in our bed this week than in the entire month of May, but clearly that was because it was the comfiest place to be all by my lonesome when the kids went to bed.

It has been quite a journey this week, transformative in many ways for all of us, Steve included. I'm not sure what I am looking forward to more; Steve coming home, the meal I have planned for him, the glass of wine I will guzzle, or the swiftness with which I will be able to fall asleep knowing we are all under one roof.

Operation Canadian, oh whatever, is he home yet?

2012-05-02T21:06:00.004-05:00

Day Four here and we are really ready for Daddy to mosey on back from Canada ANY OL' TIME. We are managing surprisingly well, though every little task seems to take a lot longer without the extra pair of parental hands. Cleaning up from dinner and making lunches is like a march through an endless desert, but I've found some ways to get through that time. Fill the sink and let Connor "clean" the silverware, stir the water, and exclaim, "bubbles!" over and over. Write a sentence of Caroline's choosing on a piece of paper and pass over the Bananagram tiles. That girl went to town tonight hunting down letters to spell out "who took the ball." Thank you, Bananagrams.
It may have been our best morning yet to accomplish my goal of "relaxed, yet ontime." Thursday morning is the worst day in terms of morning rush, so we are ALL getting to bed a little early tonight in anticipation. I'm up waiting for the fire to die down enough to safely get to sleep without having nightmares of you know, the house burning down or my own personal worst fear in life, having to choose which one of them to save. So yeah, DIE fire DIE.

Oh, did I fail to mention that we had a fire tonight? I prepped that fire before I even went to get to them from school, sweeping out the hearth, crunching the paper under the stacked wood. I picked up some of those super long "S'more Stix" and a bag of Jet Puffed Marshmallows. After dinner (the crowd pleaser chicken tacos) we lit the fire and roasted marshmallows. I panicked the entire time that one of them would poke their eye out with the ridiculously pointy stick and I would get a big FAIL for this week. The kids loved it. We must have spent a good half hour enjoying the fire, roasting barely cooked marshmallows (they cannot yet appreciate a perfectly roasted melty marshmallow), and listening to quiet music. This means they each ate at least 6 marshmallows. Good God, what was I thinking. Thankfully, American Idol came on and I moved the television over to the living room and Caroline had herself a little dance party. That girl loves herself some American Idol, though she is a little peeved that Colton got voted off.

I captured one of the best photos of Caroline tonight. After a car ride that included the statement, "I am the mother and you are the five-year-old, that's why," it was nice to see her smiling and sitting so nicely. I can see her grown up self in this shot. What a beauty, inside and out.

Here is the actual roasting. LONG stix! I had the two we used cleaned and stored back in the original bag before I realized (and said outloud), "Oh God, this is exactly what Kiki would do." (Keeks, that's a compliment!)

Later, one down, one to go.

Two more sleeps.

Operation Canadian Tuxedo Day 3

2012-05-01T21:43:00.004-05:00

We slept in this morning. I think we all needed a little break and some extra snuggle time. When Steve called at 7 over the iPad, we hadn't done very much in the way of getting ready for the day. The kids loved seeing him, but are still way more impressed/excited by seeing themselves on the screen.

Steve sent some photos of the view from his company's office. He would want me to stress to you that this is not zoomed in at all. They are really this close to the Rogers Center and the CN Tower.

He headed over to the Rogers Center after his class got out to catch part of the Blue Jays game. Why wouldn't he?

The kids and I enjoyed breakfast for dinner; the waffle edition. They gorged. I gorged. There was lots of syrup and confectioner's sugar.

After dinner the kids enjoyed the other big surprise of the day; matching tool belts from IKEA. Seriously, adorable. You can sort of see it around Connor's waist. He was not so sure about the whole wearing the belt thing at first, but monkey see, monkey do. Once Caroline put hers on and I started siging, "Handy Caro," he was all in. Here they are "Handy Mannying" the doll highchair. Caroline got down on her knees and examined the underside of the tray and annouonced, "Yup, I thought so, we are to have to take this apart and start over. Sorry Buddy."

It also bears mentioning that Operation Canadian Tuxedo prompted this lovely photo snagged by my cous Kris on the T.

More fun Wednesday. Just three more sleeps.

Operation Canadian Tuxedo, Day Two

2012-04-30T20:31:00.001-05:00

As I predicted, I didn't have the best night's sleep last night. It wasn't the kids. The knowledge I am here alone with these two precious little lives always gets me as I try to close my eyes, even if I know Steve will be home later that night. I think we were all a little off and more than a little sleepy without Daddy.

Tonight the plan was the British Beer Company for dinner. Kids eat free Monday nights. Kiki and Papa graciously offered to accompany us. I haven't attempted a dinner out with the kids solo EVER because I am not that insane and completely aware of just how difficult they can be with TWO adults. Surely with THREE we had this in the bag right?

Wrong.

Connor at age two was far better behaved than his sister who yelled, lay down on the booth, hit me (!?), and in general did everything she possibly could to be distracting, disgusting (burping!). No serious eye contact, threat, or even the brief bathroom talking to made a dent in her atrocious and embarassing behavior. If I had been alone we would not have gotten past the chocolate milk, but with Kiki and Papa's assistance we made it work. They were increibly patient and understanding, but Caroline had been so terrible throughout that I offered to send along "proof of life" in the morning.

I was quick to point out on the ride home how proud Papa had been of Connor for being such a good boy, eating his whole meal, and behaving so well. He chirped the whole way back, "Connor good boy." I always find that this is the best strategy for dealing with this kind of bad behavior. If we talk about it all the way home, she cries and whines. If we instead focus on how well Connor did, she loses her mind because of good ol' sibling rivalry. Miss Claire from school gave me a good strategy too; wait a minute, let it sink in, let them reflect, and THEN talk about it. Sure enough, when I plopped her pajama'd body up on the counter at 7:15 for teeth brushing, she was apologetic and tearful and feeling so bad about how things had gone. When I asked her what was happening lately with this behaviour, she said her body had changed. What does that mean? Her ultimate punishment was listening to Connor in our bedroom snuggling and watching Handy Manny.

So Operation Canadian Tuxedo hit a bump on Day Two, but we are one day closer to Steve coming home. He's doing well and shared with me tonight that "it's like college." They spent the whole day in class, went to dinner, had a few drinks and are hunkering down to study for the night because there is a test in the morning. He is waking up at 5:30 to study. I repeat. He is waking up at 5:30 to study. Something tells me that this wasn't exactly the college experience he had at BC.

We're looking forward to some FaceTime in the morning with Daddy.

Operation Canadian Tuxedo - 1/2 Day One

2012-04-29T21:36:00.001-05:00

The week we have been dreading since Steve took his new position is upon us. He left this afternoon for a week of training in Canada. It was probably best that the kids and I weren't there when his car service came to collect him. The tears in the car as we drove off to Caroline's final hockey session were enough. The moment my feet released the brake on the car and we rolled back, Caro was in near hysterics. To his credit, Steve had handled it well; pulling them each aside to talk individually, reassuring them, and requesting that they both be good helpers.

As I said, we have been anticipating this week for over a month now. I've had time to plan and prepare a strategy. Enter "Operation Canadian Tuxedo." It's a plan of distraction and I'm okay with it. I think I'm actually one of the distractees as well.

Today was 1/2 Day One of the Operation which neither of the children can pronounce, yet. Not only did we leave the house on time for hockey, but I also managed to keep Connor safe while simultaneously getting Caroline's skates appropriately tight and tied. She had fallen asleep in the car on the ride over and when she grumpily hmmpphh'd me as I snapped her helmet straps, I questioned her about if she was just too tired. "No, I want to go on the ice!" Oh, ok then. Snap. Snap. Snap. She skated out there with such confidence, stick in hand (seriously, amazing), and had the best session of her entire three session season. She hopped on command, spun on whistle, skated fast, caught her coach during "catch the coach," and I swear to you when they tossed the pucks on the ice and she started kicking it with her skate blade, I nearly fell over. I thought this was the pinnacle of the lesson until I watch slack jawed as she passed a puck back and forth with her favorite High School Helper friend, good ol' #20. Connor cheered for her, yelling to her on the ice, not realizing the glass was in the way. His sister had a puck, what could ever be more cool, and she was his hero. And Steve missed it. It wasn't fair. When it was all over, I collected her from the ice and gave her the biggest high five and set out with the next challenge; removal of hockey equipment and exit strategy.

While I wrestled with tape on her socks, her coach came over and tapped her shoulder, "You did such a great job today, I'm so proud of you." I thanked him for all his efforts and commended him on the strides the kids have taken this session, "She is a joy, truly." And Steve missed it. And it still wasn't fair, but it doesn't change the amazing transformation we have seen since October. She could barely skate in the fall and she was out there today with a stick and a puck. Unreal. We'll see how she feels about going back when fall rolls around again.

My plan for the rest of the afternoon depended on the mood in the car on the way home and when she was energized and feeling good, we took option A and headed to the playground at the school she will attend next fall. We haven't been yet because it is across town (I know, all the way across town, ha!) and that made it all the more special. They raced around, held hands on the slide, and twirled together on the tire swing. If it had not been for a bathroom emergency, we would have been there until right before dinner, but we made a swift departure when "I don't have to go" turned into "I have to go right now!" She was so impressed that it only took a few minutes to get home, which I hope will only add to the allure of kindergarten.

I have some fun things planned for the time Steve is in Canada. I know that many people (hi Auntie) do this all the time and I reminded myself of that in all my panicked preparations. I don't think any of us are looking forward to this week, no matter how many fun little things I plan, but we are making the best of it to get us through. The week has to be about more than just surviving. We all deserve more than just getting by, Steve included.

(this is from tonight's goodnight facetime session)

I'll be detailing the results of Operation Canadian Tuxedo as we go. I hope you will join us, actual Canadian tux optional.

Magical fiblet

2012-04-26T10:06:00.000-05:00

I've been hastily marking off "morning stars" for the kids on a piece of scrap paper in the car. I open the garage, put the car in gear and scribble them off before we hightail it down the driveway and head to school to begin our days and more importantly, close the door firmly on the morning rush. They have been doing well, but the morning routine wears on me some days when they won't leave each other alone, or one of them refuses to stop whining, and I inevitably lose my temper. They can each max out with five stars, but the number is pretty arbitrary really. Did she get dressed without screaming? Did Connor put his shoes on? Did they treat each other nicely? Were they good listeners? Did they hop into the car without the entire neighborhood hearing we are GETTING IN THE CAR NOW?! Earlier this week, I added myself to the star list. If Mommy doesn't lose it, if there is not one single voice raise, or exasperated sigh, I get my star too. I don't think I will help myself to anything from the dollar bin target treat bag, but I'll feel better if I can get that star most days. The rides to and from school present other challenges. Like for instance Patriot's Day,when I looked back at my cherubs and tried to call a landscaper to mulch for us and he was treated to a free for all in the back seat that no evil eye via the rear view was going to fix. Seriously, did it ever work? For anyone? Some nights I happen to have the kids in the car when steve calls to say he is on his way home and on those days our calls are very short because one of them is touching the other one, or Connor is kicking his window, or Caroline is correcting something Connor said and he is screaming "no!" Caroline hates the ride home because it takes too long/15 minutes. Tonight we were talking about how it might rain tomorrow and "awww! I don't want it to rain!" Actual tears. I opted for silly and made several failed attempts to change the weather with "magic words and a pretend magic wand." Meltdown avoided. Then it was a red traffic light. "Awwww, why does it have to be red?!" Seriously? I took a deep breath and thought of the first thing that came to mind. "let's see if you can change the light from red to green. Focus as hard as you can on something green." I saw her skeptical eyebrow scrunch and then suddenly, "trees!" and I swear to you, that light turned green, and you would have thought she was capable of moving mountains with her brain she was so excited about her magic. She was all warmed up to try it again at the next one, but it was green when we got there. Sensing rising disappointment, I asked her, "have youu been thinking about green things this whole time? You must have been?" "I was! I really was." Those exasperated moments used to make me batty, setting up lectures about patience, and practicality and the rules of the road. Those little lectures go nowhere and this little magic fiblet was may more fun. Plus, I go tmy star, there was an executive decision from the backseat to use e star system for the ride home too. Stars, green things and magic powers, ah to be five.

babyproofing danger

2012-04-24T15:30:00.000-05:00

It was a forgotten glass. A glass of orange juice, reading books and watching Wallace and Grommit on Netflix, a regular Saturday morning at McCasa. Steve's call from the family room was different. It wasn't a "bring a towel, someone spilled" kind of call. Like all things like this, the slow motion set in and I turned the corner to find her tear filled face, foot in her father's hand. My instincts kicked in and we got her to the kitchen counter to get a better look. Top of her right foot and then suddenly, oh god, her left great toe. Neither one would stop bleeding long enough to assess. I got her into a chair, propped her feet onto the table, put a pillow behind her back. Elevate the feet above the heart. It sounded right. Pressure. Lots of pressure with stark white dampened Bounty towels.

(Insert non-helpful parenting failure dialogue here.)

Instead of all that self loathing and disappointment in myself, instead I'll tell you about all the googling I have done on wound care. How I am focused on keeping this wound clean and moist and headed in the direction of healing. I am surpremely disappointed in myself, but as everyone keeps pointing out, it was an accident. I still cannot figure how the glass got broken in the first place. Did it get broken and then she grazed by it with her feet? Scary pointy edges screaming at me from the kitchen counter. Your mind goes right to the what ifs and it isn't hard to imagine way worse scenarios. I thank god that it was her foot and not... well, let's just leave it at that. Stitches could have been a welcome alternative if she had been facing the other way.

(Gulp)

Lesson learned, we need a coffee table. We have been living without one intending to make the kid's play environment less dangerous. They are old enough to deal with a coffee table now and though I shiver at the thought of the addition of yet another clutter prone surface in the house, I know that ironically the coffee table that once threatened their lives (or at least their soft spots), could now save them (or at least prevent injury). I'd rather have them bump their heads on a table than lay them out on one to adminster first aid.

I hold Caro's precious little feet in my hands, carefully, gently removing band aids, cleaning, applying neosporin, fresh dressings. Little feet that could have been damaged severely. Little feet that still have so much to do, so much dancing, running, journeying. It's more than the feet. Things like this make you take inventory of lots of things and you become thankful for even the things in your life that madden you. Yeah, I'm open to some head bumps. Time to get my Pinterest on for the all important life saving table.

Monadnock

2012-04-23T19:46:00.001-05:00

Steve surprised me with a night away for my birthday this past weekend. He knew better to spring it on me the day of or even the night. He knew I would want/need to stock up on snacks and change out the towels for my parents and tidy up and wrap my head around being away for the night.

It started out on an unfortunate low note when a stray juice glass (MINE!) got broken and a certain five-year-old girl cut her left great toe and took a rather large chunk out of the top of her right foot. I was just about to hop into the shower when I heard the unmistakable fear call of "Kerri!" from the family room. We acted quickly, elevating legs above the heart, applying pressure, calling Kiki. No stitches, this time. Again, we creep closer and closer to the exciting "baby's first stitches." It was hard to pull ourselves away from her, but we did and she was fine, scratched up and not up to wearing shoes, but fine.

Here is some of what we saw while we enjoyed a little B&B near Keene, a gorgeous sunny day, some brewery pints, and an amazing dinner. A birthday to remember.

crow sandwich

2012-04-18T20:37:00.003-05:00

I had a bit of a temper tantrum at school last week when Connor was sent home for the second time in three days due to fever. The first call came Tuesday afternoon. I was sitting with a patient considering hospice services when the phone rang and my stomach went into my throat. I really should edit the name of school to "PANIC" or "Deep beaths" because either of those would be more appropriate considering the undeniable reactions that take place in my brain when school's name flashes on my screen.

The report from school was a 102 temp. I wrote in on my notebook. Circled it. Try to be calm and supportive while that number screams at you off your notepad, mocking you. We were almost done with our visit, just setting up things like equipment and admission time. When I got to school, he was asleep on his mat. He had fallen asleep on his teacher's shoulder during outside recess, unprecedented. Children had walked over him while he lay sleeping, seriously? He looked like a sad puppy.

Connor spent the next day with Kiki, where he talked non-stop, turned a drinking straw into a hockey stick and in general was the complete opposite of feverish sick toddler. So off to school he went on Thursday, and back I went early in the afternoon to collect him again, fever of 102.6.

He greeted me with, "mommy, I laying down." We scooped up the big sister and had a nice little quiet afternoon together. Seeing as how he had a temp again, he spent Friday with Kiki as well. Again, a perfectly healthy boy.

I went off a bit. I found an article about temperatures and shared it with the Director. I took issue with school using an under arm axillary temp and adding a degree, particularly when I took the temps at home the moment we walked in the door and found them to be 99 using a temporal (fever threshold for this type of thermometer is 100.4). Nowhere near close to the 102.6 reported and mysteriously lowered without intervention of any kind. I especially took issue when they took the temp immediately following nap time, hello sweaty warm from sleep and blanket heat arm pit temp. I voiced my displeasure, acknowledging their policies, but disagreeing. Conspriacy theories are a must in McCasa when these things happen. Playing the day care sick day game can be dangerous and you must be sure of your move or you will lose not just a day and half, but much much more. School after just a one day sick window is always marking them for thermometer selection.

While training for the arena, the Gamemakers watch the children, surverying them for any small sign of weakness. In these moments, I wish I could drop a silver parachute out of their sight with an amazing something to rescue him from persecution.

(I just finished the Hunger Games trilogy and briefly considered a whole big Hunger Games metaphor, but thought it would take away from the very real frustration I am feeling.)

Frustration over how just one groggy moment, any sign of lethargy, an indication of not being completely well and poof, they are on the phone. This also infuriates me because yes, he was "sick" yesterday, he cannot possibly just one day later be completely 110% better. It is just unrealistic and while I would love to keep him home with me until he is, let's be serious and honest, it isn't at all realistic. Thank goodness we have a Kiki around the corner.

I stewed, I considered (and am still considering) getting a temporal to "donate" because, enough. It just feels a bit too convenient to me and it's clear from a historical perspective that these fevers (while present) are grossly embellished. How does a child with a 102.6 temp, 101.6 minus that ridiculous degree somehow miraculously barely meet the fever threshold when we get home? It just doesnt sit well.

Then Saturday happened. We split up in the morning. Steve took Connor to get his haircut. Caroline and I hit the market and clinched an amazing tag sale find of at least one hundred tiny little people pieces from MY era of little people. You know the ones I am referring to don't you? As I was checking out at Stop and Shop, I got a frenzied call from Steve, Connor was shaking. He was warm. Medicine had been given, but he was getting warmer. Racing in the door and upstairs I found him snuggled with Steve in a blanket, with goop coming out of his left ear in copious, frightening amounts. A ruptured eardrum? Worse? We got the last appointment at the pedi for the afternoon and his color was gone, sickly eyes turned down. clinging to me, quiet, not running away. This was bad.

Diagnosis, double ear infection, and a pretty bad one she thinks. Goop likely leaking from his one working tube. Phew. Antibiotics. Bummer. Home. Rest. He slept until about 4 and then asked to go back to bed after eating practically nothing for dinner at 5:30. Limp in my arms, snuggling, quiet. His fever raged despite meds, reaching 103 and then some sending me into a near panic, but he was resting, not crying. I readied my evacuation plan to the closest hospital or urgent care, monitored, wringing my hands, googling. I let him be and the fever broke and he has been fine ever since.

Not a single ear pull. Not a wince, not an ow, not a "my ear hurts." Not a single hint this was happening. Poor Con. I'm feeling slightly guilty about my little temperature tirade with school, but I'm eating this crow sandwich in silence. Yes, he was actually sick after all, but their policy is still for the birds.

#

2012-04-10T06:00:00.000-05:00

At least once a week I accidentally pull up our old address in CT on my GPS. Our house number is the same as one of my office locations. I repeatedly push "cancel," but I'm usually too late and the route sits there for a moment, three hours away.

I am caught off guard every time it happens. I feel a pang. It isn't regret. It isn't sadness. It is more like an acknowledgement of how far we used to be from the streets I drive each day, how foreign all of this was just a short time ago. I stare at the route for a moment and then re-navigate to my office. Just like that, Connecticut is behind me again, and I'm cruising once again through the Pru tunnel. In 2001, we drove that tunnel every weekend to go from Brighton to the beach. I was always taken back by the startling view, the city right there above, beside, all around me. It was a different vantage point then my pedestrian view. I still get that home feeling when I drive the Pike through the city, or head north on 93 and pass the gas tank, or even down the street on Route 1 when I crest that hill and the city is silhouetted there in the distance against the clouds. That GPS makes me realize the journey we have taken, all that has happened, changed, and remains the same. It makes me nostalgic for what was, in some ways, an easier time. I set my course to a place most days I avoid going to if at all possible. It will happen again, in a week's time or less and I cannot help but think there must be some cosmic reason this address remains in "recent destinations" over two years later.

E.B.

2012-04-09T06:00:00.000-05:00

Peter Cottontail only half came to McCasa this year. As many of you might have seen on facebook, Caroline's behavior has been bordering on justifiable homicide. It leaves me wanting to tear the hair (she so thoughfully turned grey) out of my head. I hate screaming and if I am being honest, there has been a lot of screaming. The sass. The back talk. The sharp "No!" that seems to be her reply to every request. The whining.The crying on a dime. The bargaining. After behavior so bad on Saturday night, despite reminders that the Bunny was coming to her house, we did the unthinkable and placed her basket out of reach on top of the toaster with a note thanking her for the carrots and explaining that E.B. was very aware of the naughty behavior and that this basket was here, but she could only have it if Mommy and Daddy felt she had earned it. I know. It's the Easter Bunny. How can I use it against her? Well, I did and it was awful and hard and there were so many tears and I didn't cave. Connor, as I predicted, held out treasured basketball eggs filled with mini peanut butter cups. Also as predicted, Caroline refused, slumping on the couch a pile of sad Easter tears. Steve said the message would be completely lost on her, but it wasn't. She sat at the table for dinner. She behaved. She listened better than she had been, not that this is saying much. We deemed her behavior "basket appropriate" and she happily changed her clothes and ripped open the Color Wonder fingerpaint E.B. had brought them. The message had not been lost, but wow, we need to get this behavior under control.

We don't have photos of the tear-filled morning, but we do have these sweet moments.

permanent

2012-04-07T06:00:00.000-05:00

One morning this week Caroline pulled a piece of sidewalk chalk from the bin in the garage while I hustled them out to the car. Before I could stop her she drew a line on the garage floor. "NO!" Tears. We have reached the place I have been dreading when she fears the consequences of her mistakes and "making Mommy mad." I've been trying to be more invested in how I handle these things, to be sure to point out to her why Mommy is upset and not just focus on what she did. She really values my approval right now. I know it is important to show her there is more than just lectures.

As we rolled down the driveway, I took a deep breath and I knew exactly what to tell her. My mind drifted back to days spent playing with Play Doh in the basement, watching my brother occasionally sample its saltiness, and jumping each time the sump pump kicked on. I relayed the story of her Granda, the painter. His chosen medium was oil paint on canvas. He had plentiful tubes of green and blue for seascapes and he occasionally (and generously) would set me up with a canvas and his paints in the basement. When the canvases were gone, I used paper. When the paper was gone, I used the floor. I know. I told her how I hadn't considered the permanent nature of oil paint and what a mess it was for my parents. I emphasized how sad it made me to have made the wrong choice. There will forever be a stain marking this terrible mistep of my childhood on their basement floor. I reminded her that chalk can be swept away and not at all like that paint. I reminded her that all kids make mistakes and Mommy certainly made her fair share (ie cutting gum from her hair).

I am planning to show her the stain this weekend when we are at Nana and Granda's for Easter. It's a lesson in the permanence some mistakes have and a reminder to think before we do.

Greetings

2012-04-06T06:00:00.000-05:00

We know Caroline is awake when he hear someone crying softly in the morning. She is not a fan of the dark and the early morning winter darkness was a real challenge for her this year. Since we got the "Okay to Wake Clock" it has been a bit better, she knows when it is ok to leap out of bed and race into ours. Daylight savings has helped too. Still, some mornings I have to call out to her, "it's okay, come in." Since Steve took this new job, she is often retrieved from her bed still sleeping to help her wake up. She is not a morning person, but neither am I, especially without my customary "two snoozes." She loves to snuggle and the initial sadness of her day gives way to smiles and "love mommy. You make me so happy Mama." With her warm little body beside me, it is doubly hard to heft myself out of bed. By the time I emerge from the shower, towel wrapped on top of my head, Oil of Olay applied, she is the virtual opposite of that initial wake up.

Most mornings Connor is still asleep when I pull the cords on his shades. Do you recall this kid's non-sleeping early life that had me on the brink of a nervous breakdown? When I do gently rouse him, he is ready to jump out of his crib before his eyes are completely open. He lumbers to standing while squinting at me through half sleep. He gathers all four of his little loveys and holds his arms out to me and we start this day the way we ended the last; his head on my shoulder, the weight of his growing body in my arms. One recent morning, he woke before I could get to him and greeted me warmly. "I had good dreams." I'm pretty sure he doesn't really know what a good dream is, but he knows I ask him every morning, "did you have good dreams?"

They are challenging and I cheer for them when we FINALLY make it into the car and open the garage door. I'm proud of them, how they have adjusted, how they go with the flow and understand that "breakfast on the go" needs to happen sometimes. This is by far the hardest part of my entire day, but my mornings with these two are the things good dreams are made of.

arm clutching

2012-04-05T20:32:00.000-05:00

Bedtime. That window of blurry, frenzied time between endless games of hockey and an adults only episode of Breaking Bad on Netflix. From the moment we declare the play portion of the evening over and give the command to go upstairs, there is much grousing and belly aching. The tubs themselves go swimmingly (har!), happy giggles abound, squirty toys emptied into each other's faces. We divide and conquer and somehow the littlest one always wants Mommy. He kicks. I threaten to take away his story. He kicks again. I hold him down. The two of them race down the hall and pile onto the living room sofa where they argue about which books we will read. Requests for "Take Garbage Out" from Con can always be counted on. (That's Shel Silverstein's "Sarah Sylvia Cynthia Stout Would Not Take the Garbage Out.") Caroline wants George because she knows she can bamboozle me into reading more than one in the anthology. Protests come when the stories end and Connor is collected into my arms for the walk back down the hall to his bedroom. Caroline sneaks off downstairs with Steve for some quiet time making Cake Doodles on the iPad or catching American Idol. (She wants to be the next American Idol SO.BAD.)

There in his room, I wrap him in the blanket that has been his special one since as long as I can remember and he lays his head on my shoulder. I hold my breath in hopes that he is tired enough to accept his fate. This never lasts long and undoubtedly his head springs up and he is again studying my shirt or my necklace. I find he does better when I talk to him about his day and what he will do the next day. ("Tomorrow when you wake up Nana will be here!" "Granda?")Sometimes I sing him "you are my sunshine"/""in arms, mommy?" as he lays there on his back staring into my soul.

This time is a rarity. Our whirling, non-stop, hockey playing, energy machine sits quietly. He clings to my hand and holds it close to his body. His eyes wide, his calmness ovewhelming. When I start to close it down, he relents, pulling my arm closer, asking to touch my face, saying my name over and over. I used to do this to my father. I would convince him to come in to say goodnight to me and I would try to keep him there with me. I remember him laughing about, saying "okay, okay, okay" and pulling himself away. I know how he felt. The freedom of his night ahead, but the sweet kid in the bed who wants just one more moment with him. lt feels pretty good to be that person to my Con.

daycare pause

2012-04-04T07:00:00.000-05:00

I'm sure that most Moms with kids in preschool or daycare do this. I race to pick them up and thanks to the big windows into the classrooms, I can hang back and pause at the windows. I love to peek into their solo worlds. Who are they playing with? What are they playing with? Are they listening to the teacher? Most importantly, are they smiling?

I occasionally catch Connor gathering with the rest of the 2's around his teacher, all listening INTENTLY to a story. (How they get them ALL to sit down ALL at once?) I breeze by Caroline's room and watch her snuggling a baby or sharing the mouse to 1,2,3 Spanish with a friend. These tiny moments sustain me during the day when I wonder how they are doing.

When I got to school today, both of the kid's classrooms were outside on the playgrounds, or as Caroline says, "the play structures." I peeked out at the older kids and caught sight of Caroline's purple jacket racing along with a friend. I walked into Con's room, gathered up his belongings, reviewed his daily, and walked outside. I caught sight of his red jacket and followed it to the fence that seperates his play area from the preschool area. There at the fence line, I watched a red jacket and purple jacket meet face to face at the fence. I watched in slow motion as they clasped hands through the fence, completely unaware I was watching.

"It's ok buddy, I'm sure Mommy will be here soon."

and I was upon them and they looked up and smiled.

"See, I told you!"

That little moment at the fence is going to sustain my working hours for weeks.

clipped cash

2012-04-03T09:08:00.000-05:00

Have I turned into the crazy coupon lady?

It all started back in February when I was debating various Valentine's Day gifts for Steve. The holiday falls in a hard place for me; not long after the holidays, just after the kids' birthdays, and just two weeks before his own. I usually have something in mind for his birthday and this year was no different.

Boconi 'Leon Slim Mailbag' Messenger Bag

I knew I had a slam dunk birthday gift, but what of Valentine's Day? It is a bit of a challenge to come up with that in between holiday; something not too big, but still meaningful. After much debate, I opted for a Sunday subscription to the Boston Globe. Steve loves his Sunday Sports page. If we happen to be somewhere with access to the real live newspaper, he reads it cover to cover. Don't bother talking to him, he is reading the box score. His first edition arrived that weekend, right on schedule, tossed to the edge of the driveway. I have to admit that as much as that sports page is for him, I pour through the rest. That first Sunday, I breezed through the Arts and Real Estate and there, cradled in the middle, were the circulars, wrapped in the funnies. I couldn't just throw them away, I thought, "let's just take a look."

I was skeptical. I've clipped some before only to have them sit somewhere ignored and forgetten until they expire and I trash them. I even forget to bring my extra bucks to CVS and that little machine in the store to check your card? I never remember until I am walking out after spending way more than I thought I would. I try to be as spendthrift as I can. I make out like a bandit on the consignment sales for the kids. I scroll through the Zulilly and Mini Social emails. I'm always on the hunt for a way to save us more dough and put more money into the fun pile. I do most of the shopping and I like it that way. I keep track of what we need, how much we have tucked into the closet, waiting to pounce on the Bounty Big Buy when it comes up again because I know we are frightfully low on paper towels. My job allows me some flexibility with where and when I shop and I know this gives me a tremendous edge. I am typically not flying through the market tossing things in just to get the hell out of there before this entire store plays witness to one of my children's untimely demise, because the sassing. Last weekend, I announced to Caroline that while she had a beautiful name, I was quite sure all of Stop and Shop was quite sick of hearing it being called out again and again and if I had to say her name again I was changing it to Brunhilda. It worked. I suppose even a five-year-old does not want to be called Brunhilda.

I've seen Extreme Couponing on TLC. I am decidely equaly parts impressed and disgusted to be honest. The savings, Wow! The shelf clearing greediness? Not so much. I clipped a few that first week and tucked them into an envelope, forcing myself to remember where I hid it the following Sunday when it was time to shop again. I outgrew my little envelope, more out of necessity of organization, than quantity. I'm sure I spent the first few weeks savings on my little Martha for Avery at Staples Binder. It's adorable and it has little pockets for everything. I think I might like couponing JUST to flex my organization skills.

I'd say I'm saving around $10-$15 dollars a week using my clipped coupons. I don't look online for additional ones and I haven't even looked up the match ups. I do it myself, comparing my circular to my binder and skipping a little bit when I find a particularly good thing. Since I only clip what I know we use regularly, I'm not worried that I am buying a ton of extra stuff that will just sit. I still tackle my circular the same way; first taking stock of what we have and buying as much of our weekly shopping from the sale items as possible. I haven't created a stock in the garage of a year's worth of Angel Soft, and I don't intend to.

What I have done is teach Caroline that the paper gives you free money each week, all you have to do it clip what you need and remember to bring it with you to the store. I took on the store with both kids solo last weekend and assigned her the task of "holding the coupons." She took her role very seriously and actually matched some of the coupons to the things we were buying. "Look Mommy, I have that one right here!" Yes, now just don't lose it. Sometimes I'll end up with extras that I am teaching her we share with the world. I bought Tide last week on sale at the store for a great deal with an extra 1.00 off. I somehow had a similar coupon in my pile and we left it for someone else to use. I don't need four bottles of 100oz Tide Detergent, but someone else might want to save an extra buck on theirs. As we made our way to the dairy section, also known to the kids as the "almost done" section, she caught sight of a girl pushing cups of Pirate's Booty on customers. She retrieved two cups for herself and Connor while I perused the milk. "Look Mom, a coupon!" She held it out for me, $1.00 of any size bag or multipack. "That is what Connor brings to school!" Far from being a crazy coupon lady, I think the message has been received.

weekday dining

2012-03-29T21:33:00.000-05:00

Along with everything else that has need modification and tweaking with this life transition, I have had to re-examine dinner as well. I'm a busy Mom who could very well use all the new responsibilities on my plate to give in to chicken nuggets and tots, but I don't like to. Steve always tells me he would be happy with chicken, rice and veggies every single night. For the record, he would actually be okay with boiled chicken, BARF. We DO have chicken, veggies and rice at least once a week, but I really pride myself on the variety of good food I present to my family each night. So I've had to dig deeper into my bag of dinner tricks.

We fancy up chicken tacos with all the fixings, we do a slow cooker meal, I use pre-made veggie packs from Whole Foods to make chicken stir fry. My latest and greatest find is the Lemon Pepper Pappardelle from Trader Joe's. I cook it in a large stock pot with enough salt to make it "salty as the sea" a la Mario Batalli, mix it with a bit of olive oil and toss in a box of frozen Green Giant Frozen Green Beans with Almonds. I eat or toss the almonds while I'm cooking. I serve it with an amazing salad and everyone wants seconds. I had to start buying TWO bags of this $1.99 delight at Trader's just to ensure I get a second plate. My only word of warning, serve it immediately, otherwise the pasta might get sticky.

In order to make my life even more streamlined, I'll be posting some of my new stand bys over on mcchow for my own reference, but why shouldn't YOU benefit from my streamlining too? Consider making one of these next week, I promise you won't be disappointed, your family will be well fed, and you will feel like a superstar.

Sesame Garlic Green Beans

Lemon Parsley Fish Cakes

Citrus Butter Salad

baggage

2012-03-28T09:01:00.001-05:00

Growing up, I was carted around in a pristine vehicle. If you have had the pleasure of meeting Granda/my father, this won't surprise you. The seats were always vacuumed, the floors had nary a wrapper, goldfish cracker, nor torn board book. If we were traveling far, we brought pillows and amusements, but they never stayed in the car long term. Looking back, I cannot recall if we were allowed to eat in the car? My instincts say no, at least not when we were children. I know we utilized the cup holders in later years, probably when we were capable of not spilling. This was how they avoided things like the "shamrock shake incident" of two weeks ago. A happy Connor guzzled away on his McCafe' beverage, tilting it ever back until, thanks to that new snazzy lid, the green goodness was spilled down his chin and onto his shirt, jacket, car seat, and yeah. It was a saint patty's day disaster, on the drive home from school. As two year olds, I'm sure my brother and I were never presented with a situation that might result in this mess. Granda would not have that. For years the only item in the car not directly related to driving or car care (the rogue ice scraper was likely a winter eye sore to him) was a lone baseball hat, kept in the back window or in the middle of the back seat. Hats rotated through; golf hats, northeastern hats, Boston college hats. He made his allegiances known. With the exception of that hat, you could step into that car and if you did not know him and his attention to detail, you might think he had just driven it off the showroom floor. The car of my youth in comparison to the car of my present, well, that difference amazes me on a daily basis. Even Steve scorns the trash, scraps of paper, rogue pens, and seemingly meaningless things left in the car. I drive for a living, my rolling office on the highway. It isn't dirty, I vacuum and wash it regularly, but the sheer magnitude of stuff residing in that small space is alarming. Dad, brace yourself, this next part might be hard to get through. I took inventory of my car the other day because the volume of stuff is starting to get to me. I keep justifying, well, I might need that, I can't possibly get rid if that booklet. Does that pen work? In the passenger seat pushed up against the center console are five books on "choosing hospice", two on making difficult decisions, and a binder of resource materials I got sick of carrying in my bag and relegated to the car binder. You never know when you might need applications for transportation, private pay resources, permission forms to share information for masshealth eligibility. On the floor rests a BC winter hat I had on during a snowstorm and two books on benefits for veterans that are too big to put in the binder that I haven't figured out where to put yet. In the passenger side door you'll find a bottle of hand soap, sanitizer, and a sesame street book for kids about grieving in both English and Spanish. The driver side door is full of whole foods napkins, plastic wrappers from forks, paper straws, green grocery rubber bands, and approximately 1,000 sandwich ziplocs bags from kid snacks because mommy is also known as "where I put my garbage." You will also find a nantucket nectar lemonade bottle and at least one travel mug. In the center is my command center; pens, pencils, my gps, cell charger, sirius radio remote control for when Dr. Laura says something so wrong I need to listen to it again to scream at her. Also stuffed inside the console are coupons for long overdue oil changes, scraps of paper with numbers to people I don't know, information about funeral services for patients, tragically sad lists of people to discharge from my care, and hastily written grocery lists for things like jelly beans and frozen corn. When you look over your shoulder at the back seat, please avert your eyes from the floor. It's a mess, but eating on the go is a way of life these days. The latest and greatest breakfast on the go is cinnamon life cereal, remember that? There is a blanket for each child (one soft and one silky), several books, a pair of sunglasses rests in each seat back. Most days there is a to go cup of milk beside each car seat that I forget about until I pick them up and have to exclaim, "don't drink the milk!!!" I'm often too late. I know. Lets not talk about the trunk, out of sight out of mind right? It's my office on wheels and I know where everything is, but what I wouldn't give to have a little less stuff and a little more of that could be brand new feel. It's the price I pay to have the luxury to make my own day, to drive to panera, to read the hunger games on my iPad between visits (can you even imagine this without my technology? A book, magazines, contact lists, ugh!), to stop at cvs, flyer in hand & coupons at the ready,and without a single short person with no attention span to distract me from my task. Yes, coupons. I am saving so much money with those lately.

memorable

2012-03-25T21:02:00.000-05:00

Our new motto seem to be "when faced with adversity, brace yourself and then just embrace it."

When Steve took his new job "in town," we hypothetically discussed bringing the kids into the city once a month. It sounded like a good idea in theory and wouldn't it be wonderful to share the culture and buzz of Boston with these short people?

On Friday, we did the unthinkable. We actually followed through on our plans. I raced through my day, packed a backpack (forgot to bring diapers and had to "borrow" from school), grabbed the kids at school where they practically jumped on me with cheers for "choo choo!", and we somehow made the train to the city at 4:20pm. Two kids with huge grins when the train started moving, sharing an apple, giggling at or hiding from well meaning strangers. The conductor was kind and gave them each a special ticket. The price of this experience was a measly $5.75. They shared a coloring book, reaching behind them into a ziploc of crayons hastily tossed together by a smart mom who brought TWO of each color. The things we learn over time. Caroline's excitement waned as we approached the city dramatically tardy due to a "track issue." Thanks MBTA.

We jumped from the train, passing people headed down the platform for trains home and amid that crowd was their father. When I felt we were at a close enough distance that one of them wouldn't end up in the gap between platform and train, I released them and there on the platform at South Station two kids raced to their father like they hadn't seen him in weeks. You know what, those downtrodden commuters smiled ear to ear. It was a sweet sight.

We stopped at Daddy's new office where Connor ironically played with the "easy button" on Steve's desk. We waved to Auntie K's office across the street. We walked along the Harborwalk by way of the Boston Harbor Hotel Rotunda, enormous flag flapping in the warm breeze. The kids screamed at the boats, waved to ducks, and took it all in. Connor rode on my shoulders and I had to hold his hands because he was leaning backwards to look straight up. Hooray, they were old enough! It was going to be worth it! PHEW!

We paused often and though this city was home to us both for so long so long ago, we DID feel like tourists and that was okay. We were seeing the city for the first time through them and it was so beautiful. We had planned to walk to the North End from South Station, a lengthy walk, but doable. After a long pause outside the Aquarium to peek on the seals, we doubted the kids' abilities to make it to the North End and to potentially wait for a table as time had ticked away rapidly on our pleasant walk. While we debated what to do, Connor chased pigeons, screaming fearlessly after them with a gusto we rarely see outside of home and familiarity. We did what any sensible family would do and treated the kids to Legal Seafood across from the Aquarium. Luckily, it was family friendly and they could seat us immediately. It might have been the best lobster roll ever because I shared it there with them, literally.

Of course, the evening ended with ice cream and another visit to the seals. We debated the train or a taxi back to Steve's car, but the kids made it. One made it all the way back to the train station down the street from our house where my car sat patiently waiting. Thank goodness, Connor had been asking me since we got on the train "where car go?", and there it was. Seeing as how HE was still wide awake, he accompanied me home. It was easier to rebuckle him into a new car than try driving seperately and have his screams of "Where Mommy go???" wake his snoring sister.

Was it worth it? Yes. Will we do it again? Absolutely. The Children's Museum has $1 Friday Nights. Sounds like a good idea for a April.