I pumped iron (translation: 8 pound dumbbells) and I whisked my exhilerated (translation: sweaty) self and my son off to a friend’s house for a quick playdate. My friend was also going to watch Luke for me while I went to work for two hours. I arrived at her house, ready to chat, play, and change out of my work-out attire.

We marveled at our three year-old children’s ability to play by themselves and then I excused myself to the bathroom to change for work. And that’s when I discovered that yes, I had indeed packed a skirt, a shirt, and shoes for work, but I had neglected to pack—a bra.

Now, mind you, I cannot go bra-less….EVER….unless I want to kill myself and gross out everyone else. And I teach high school now, so the thought of bouncing around in front of all of my students makes me want to quit my job rather than face them without proper support.

So I wore my sports bra. My disgusting, wet, sweaty, smelly, flatten-your-boobs-into-a-uni-boob sports bra is what I wore underneath my conservative teaching outfit.

It sure was a lovely afternoon. I couldn’t wait to get home.

We count in the kitchen, in the center of our house. For some reason, when I join in the game, it’s much more fun for them. I count to thirty, slowly, so that I can tidy up my counters in the meantime. And then I follow their giggles and their, “Mama, come find us!” because they can’t, no matter how much you tell them that THAT’S how the game works, be quiet in their hiding places.

Usually, they hide together. And even though they’ve hidden in my closet (and behind the piano and on the side of the couch and underneath Annabel’s desk) over and over again, each time I find them they scream with such delight and pride, expressions on their grinning faces saying, “How DID you ever find me here?”

It’s even funnier when it’s my turn to hide. I decided to lay on top of Luke’s bed, in full sight. They looked in his closet, underneath his window seat (a.k.a. the “manhut”), and walked right past me. Ten minutes and half a snooze later, they bounded on top of me, shrieking that I’d found the best hiding place ever. Covered with their sweaty little bodies and their sloppy kisses, I again took my turn to count and let them seek out the hiding place to end all hiding places.

Not surprising, they both hid on top of Luke’s bed.

They played a game yesterday called “Messy House,” which should seem familiar to Annabel after these last few busy weeks in our hurried household.

Last night, she beamed at the dinner table. “I have a new prayer to say before we eat,” she announced.

Apparently, they’ve learned a prayer at PUBLIC school and have been reciting it each morning. I was about to jump onto my “separation of church and state” high horse and high-tail it to the school when Annabel began to speak.

“Congratulations, to the flag, of the United States of America…”

I didn’t hear the rest of her butchery of the Pledge of Allegiance. I was too busy trying not to laugh as she held her hand over her heart and instructed her little brother to wait to dig into his quesadilla until she finished “the prayer.”

Yes, she sure is learning.

Objective: Prevent parents from going soft while relaxing at the beach.

Strategy #1: Maintain whiney voice. Even if we’ve spent the entire day happily playing with new toys and games, revert to whiney voice at the slightest provocation. Do not allow parents to pretend you’re merely speaking in a funny accent. Refuse any cheese they offer you to go with “your whine.”

Strategy #2: Reserve your earliest wake up hour for the morning after your parents have consumed an entire bottle of rum with their friends. Do not allow them to pacify you with tv even if they explain how yummy the Pina Coladas were and that they didn’t realize that they’d had that much to drink.

Strategy #3: Be afraid of the waves all week. Weep and wail every time your mother steps more than ankle deep in the water. Then, just when they trust you not to go into the water at all, dash madly forward into the largest wave you can find and almost drown.

Strategy #4: Eat nothing. Your parents will relax the rules a little while you’re on vacation and even try to bribe you with junk food during the long car rides. But be strong! Refuse all nourishment and complain that your stomach hurts. Actual vomit and fever are especially useful for promoting parental concern and stress during the vacation.

Strategy #5: Climb on the furniture. Your parents will probably allow you to jump on the sofa and beds of the rented condo, so your job is to aim higher. Target the least sturdy item in the house, probably a book shelf, and climb on up. Bonus points for turning the two breakable decorative items into soccer balls. Wee!

Strategy #6: Do not play nicely with any other children. This one can be hard if you’re the same age and gender, so establish ground rules and territories early. Do not share your own toys and demand that the other child hand over his/her toys every 15 minutes. Argue over who gets the red shovel. Do not listen to the other set of parents or your own when directed to share. Take care to stomp on and shove the smaller children who are around whenever you are exiting and entering a room. Bonus points will be awarded for making the baby cry.

Strategy #7: Speaking of babies, be sure to wake them up whenever they’re napping. Bonus points for waking a baby not related to you.

Strategy #8: Refuse to sleep in your own bed. Get lost when looking for your parents’ bed in the middle of the night, barge in on your parents’ friends when they are hugging each other very tightly in their bed and then ask a lot of questions in a loud voice.

Strategy #9: Select random moments to snuggle against your parents and say something sweet or funny like, “You need to go to grown-up practice school to learn to juggle crayons.”

Strategy #10: Finally, reserve your best smiles and most photogenic moments for when the camera’s memory card is full.

One ditty that delights my daughter over and over again is from Bedtime for Frances. She sings along as I read, “A is for apple pie, b is for bear. C is for crocodile combing his hair….T is for tiger, U is for underwear down in the dryer!” For some reason, a song with “underwear” in it is a big hit at our house.

Two nights ago, we were reading a much-loved copy of Bread and Jam for Frances, its pages worn thin and its cover somewhat cracked with use and love. Now we’ve read this book hundreds of times, seriously. And I think it’s probably the longest Frances book out there. And we had friends coming over for dinner who showed up early. And course, Annabel did not let me skip any of the songs in the text.

I heard my husband making small talk with our guests and beginning the first pour of wine while I finished reading to Annabel. We turned to the last page, the one on which Frances and Albert are discussing the contents of their school lunches. Frances’s lunch is all laid out on a doily, by the way, which sure makes my attempt at including a napkin in Annabel’s lunch box seem lame. Anyway, I’m about to close the book and kiss Annabel goodnight and rush off to our guests, when Annabel notices something.

“Mama,” she asks, “Why is Albert not wearing a shirt to school?”

And sure enough, she’s right. Frances is in a dress and Albert is pictured in a pair of purple shorts. And yes, they are fictional characters and badgers to boot, but we’d never noticed before that Frances is dressed for success and Albert looks like he just rolled off the couch five minutes before school started.

“Well,” I began, “I guess that’s what boy badgers wear to school.”

My response sounded idiotic to both of us, and we ended up in a cuddle of giggles with each other, wondering together why on earth Albert wouldn’t put on a shirt before he left the house. My company sat on our couch, perhaps thinking I was rude or hopefully understanding that I am indeed a mother, while I enjoyed my daughter’s bedtime.

Moreso, I enjoyed the fact that children really do notice more things that we adults tend to gloss over as unimportant and ordinary. You know, like songs about underwear and half-naked classmates and doilies, too.

So instead, for now, I’ll try humor. My mom sent me an old Erma Bombeck article entitled, “Nothing to Worry About,” which is written from the point of view of “Donald,” who is off to kindergarten. I don’t have the copyright ability to publish this whole column, but I thought I’d quote my favorite lines from the end of her heartwarming column:

“I’m just a little kid but maybe I’m smarter than I think I am. At least I know better than to tell a 5 year-old with a loose tooth who has never been out of the yard by himself before that he has ‘nothing to worry about.’”

As always, I’ve been focusing on the wrong’s person’s emotional reactions. Perhaps I should be shutting up my own worries and look to my daughter for more direction.

Sometime in the last two months, I’ve lost my sweet baby. While she’s a complete charmer out and about in the world,  when in our own home,  I’m convinced that my husband and I are struggling on a daily basis, beginning most days at 5 am, to raise a feral raccoon. Allow me and my friends at Raccoon Tracker and Wikipedia to demonstrate:

Point #1: Raccoons (and Addy) have five fingers and toes. Their long, dexterous fingers enable them to open latches, untie knots, turn doorknobs, and open jars. I knew we were in trouble on the day I watched Addy at 11 months take the lid off of a marker. Since then, there’s not a cabinet, drawer, or closet that Addy’s hasn’t found a way to get into.

Point #2: Raccoons (and Addy) are omnivorous and eat a variety of foods, including frogs, fish, amphibians, shellfish, birds, eggs, mice, carrion, berries, nuts, vegetation, salamanders, insects, berries, corn, cat food, and human garbage. I would argue that the only reason Addy doesn’t eat some of the above items is that we’ve managed to keep her away from them. So far. Evidently, the best way to discourage raccoons (and Addy) is to keep trash in a secured enclosure. We’ve baby gated ours.

Point #3: Raccoons (and Addy) exhibit a behavior called “dabbling” where they dunk their food in water. Evidently raccoons (and Addy) aren’t really washing their food, they just like how it feels to splash something around in the water.  I have high hopes though that Addy is just practicing for her future career as a forensic scientist by testing out splatter patterns on our kitchen table, couch, and floor.

Point #4: Raccoons (and Addy) are well known for their curiosity and mischievousness. If you’re holding a cup, Addy wants whatever’s inside of it. If you’re leaving the room, Addy’s coming with you. If she can figure out a way to climb on top of a table, she will. I could go on and on, but I’ll let you image a raccoon leaving the wreckage of an overturned trashcan behind her and you’ll get the picture.

Point #5: Raccoons (and Addy) are territorial. Yesterday, when I picked Addy up from daycare, she proceeded to whack the heck out of her sister, who had come to greet me, shrieking, “NO!” She can easily push Penny, who has at least 10lbs on her, out of my lap. What’s Addy’s is Addy’s and what’s yours is also Addy’s, it turns out.

Point #6: Raccoons (and Addy) who do not demonstrate a fear toward humans are likely not rabid but have instead adapted to regular contact to humans. It’s been 14 months and I would say that Addy’s adapted to us. It’s our ability to adapt to living with a raccoon that is less assured.

What “creature” lives in your house?

My day was no less auspicious than let’s say, my 21st birthday, except that yesterday I realized that I am just as close to age 50 as to age 20. Oh, and there were no jagermeister shots bought for me by my frat boy boyfriend and his cronies.

Yesterday morning, I was greeted by my two children’s morning breath kisses, and after they put in their individual demands for breakfast, they suddenly remembered it was my birthday. I was treated to more kisses (Luke’s lips now covered with maple syrup) and to an excited scramble for presents.

I should start by saying that I suggested to Antony, my husband, that he take the kids shopping at the dollar store for my birthday, after last year’s GORGEOUS gift from Annabel of fake diamond jewelry from K-mart. “Just have them pick out something small for a dollar,” I told him, figuring I’d get a candle or a roll of purple crepe paper.

And yes, I did receive not just one, but two candles, which are always lovely around the house. But that’s not all, oh no, that is not all.

Presented one by one, I received from my children: a blue plastic spatula, a mini cheese grater, two jumbo chip clips, a butterfly picture, a piece of spin art (that Annabel made in June at art camp, and has been shoved in her drawer ever since), a card that sings, “My Girl,” and my personal favorite, $1.61 in change.

The money first came with a “Mama, you can buy yourself something!” and of course, I pictured a tube of Wet ‘n Wild lipgloss, or perhaps a can of Campbell’s chicken noodle soup.

But then, I started to receive suggestions for what to do with my $1.61. “Mama, how about a swingset for our backyard?” Luke suggested.

“Wouldn’t that be more for YOU?” I asked.

Annabel, ever the smarty pants, countered, “Well, YOU could fit on the swings if you want to.”

Luke also suggested that I buy him a cell phone (he’s 3!) and Annabel wants to buy a dog or if I won’t agree to that, at least a new stuffed animal dog. For her.

$1.61 just doesn’t go as far as it used to.

And if you think it couldn’t get any better than that, I also celebrated my birthday by attending Annabel’s Meet-the-Teacher Day and taking Luke to a dermatology appointment.

Of course, all is not lost. I did play on the beach with my kids and our friends in the afternoon, eat tacos for dinner with our family, make wishes on my birthday cake, and share a bottle of red wine with my husband after the kids were asleep. I was out and about all day among my children, dear friends, fellow parents, a dermatologist whom I adore, and my thoughtful spouse. All in all, it was a perfect birthday for this Leo mama.

Is it that my three year-old son pulled down his pants and peed on my FRONT yard, while my neighbors and the passengers of two passing cars gawked openly?

Or that my husband and I couldn’t stop laughing, and I almost wet my own pants?

You be the judge.

We've replaced the actual bay leaves with rice for hours of fun!

Ever wondered what to do with those annoying packaging peanuts? Why not let your 3 year old create an attractive mantel display?

Penny loves writing her list of things I should buy her on this.

It only looks like a pen. It's really a nifty devise that functions as a shot and a lipstick tube on whatever the occasion.

I gotta agree with the kids on the coolness of this one. As much as they play with it, you would think there'd be a higher food to mouth ration by now.

It looks like a binocular case to us; to Penny, it's a "slip sock." She uses it to go swimming.

This blanket helps every manner of imaginary friends go to sleep, but never my daughters.

This is the top of my elliptical, and you'll note that there are some actual toys here. Penny has placed all of these items 6 feet in the air, well out of her sister's (and her own) reach. I keep waiting for her to realize the flaw in her logic...

What are your kids’ favorite toys?