Wishful Thinking

     This year we had a neighborhood Easter Egg hunt.  Every house contributed eggs and we zoned off some front yards and divided the kids into 3 different age groups.  There were 13 kids from 5 different houses ages two to eight years old.  It was loud, it was crazy, it was chaotic, and it was fun.  These are the moments when I realize I am exactly where I want to be.
    
     I thought about it.  Seriously thought about it.  Last week when I bought a ticket for the $640 million lottery jackpot I allowed myself to dream about how I would spend that insane amount of money. 

     My dreams include a house in Hawaii.  This would be for vacations whenever we want to go.  No, I don't need to live in Hawaii.  Living in Hawaii means we get to look at the ocean as we drive to school each morning, come home and do homework, and then drive to all our extracuricular activities.  If we're not busy on the weekend we might be able to squeeze some time in at the beach.  (I know this because I already live 20 minutes from the beach and rarely visit.)  Vacationing in Hawaii seems the way to go.

    A house in Big Bear would also be fun so we could spend the winter playing in the snow and skiing.  No, I'm not dreaming any bigger.  My kids still have to go to school during the weekdays.  I just want to be able to drive up on a Friday, play Saturday, come home Sunday and be back to the grind Monday.  For some reason, driving 2 hours in my van seems more reasonable than involving airplane travel in this fantasy.  (I am ever the pragmatist.)

     I would buy a house in my neighborhood so my sister and brother could come for extended visits.  I understand they have a life and I would be willing to share custody of them with their other friends and family.  They can spend half the year in Washington D.C. or Florida as their mood suits, and half the year with me.  (I feel this is more than generous.)

     Lastly, although I would make minor renovations to my house, when seriously thinking about where I want to live I couldn't dream of being anywhere else. We have great  schools.  I have a nice house.  And I love my neighborhood.  When we bought our house in this new development, it turned out that all the other buyers were families with kids the same age.  I look forward to watching all our kids grow up together.

     When our neighborhood egg hunt was done yesterday, we all posed for a group shot.  I was with my family, our parents, and some great neighbors.  How many people can say they are exactly where they want to be?  The only way I could be more fortunate is if my sister lived right next door.  Start working on that for me Maggie!

Dinner with a two-headed monster

     We went out to dinner Thursday night and were having a nice night.  Then Dude announced that he was cold.  Hubs took his jacket off and gave it to Dude making him a very happy guy in his Daddy's jacket. 

     Unfortunately, a short while later Ball announced she was cold.  Hub's jacket was on loan and I didn't have anything so Hubs and I looked at each other wondering what we could do for Ball. 

     As I was throwing out ideas "Ball could sit on your lap Michael" (notice I offered his lap) Dude scooted over to Ball, took one arm out of the jacket and put it around Ball.  He told her to put her arm in the jacket and they could share.  And that is how I ended up at dinner with an adorable two-headed monster.

Windex On, Windex Off

      It's Spring Break time for the kids.  I have planned a couple of fun activities for the kids: 2 days at camp, a play date for the boy, and maybe a trip to SeaWorld before we're all back in school.  We will have fun.  

     I, however, am most looking forward to some serious spring cleaning.  My kids are getting enlisted because it's time they learn some basic survival skills.

1) Mirror and Window cleaning -  each will experience the miracle that is Windex and paper towels while removing their sloppy wet mouth and hand prints from glass surfaces in our house.

2) Washing walls - a bucket of soapy water and a small rag will become their new best friend as they remove grimy hand prints from assorted vertical locations.

3) Organization - shared areas like the art cabinet, kids' closets, and toy boxes will be restored to their former glory where a tool or toy could be found easily in minutes.

4) Dusting - I "Pledge" they will dust every horizontal surface in their bedroom; seriously dusted, as in pulling books off shelves and dusting behind them dusted.

5) Floors - At minimum, they will vacuum their own bedroom.  If a toy or two get sucked up, it's a valuable lesson and a removal of unnecessary crap from the house.  Win win!  If they're extra lucky, they get to clean some floors "Cinderella style" (down on their hands and knees with a rag).

     If all goes well this whole process should take less than three hours.  But I know my children, which is why I have allotted two whole days.  Now I'm wondering if I can build this up as a form of martial arts camp ala Mr. Miyagi - "Windex on, Windex off".  Just call me the Ninja Master.

locked and loaded

Bloody Ice Cream

     Yesterday was Ball's first day of spring break.  I sent her to gymnastics camp so she could run, play, do some art, have a snack, and tumble.  After camp Ball, the cousins, and grandma met us for lunch.  I arrived early, ordered everyone's meals, and then looked around for a table.  The only place for a group of six to sit was at the high tables with the high stools.  I wasn't thrilled with this option because 2 of the diners are only 4 and I was a little worried about how they would do, but I took it.

     Once everyone got seated everything was great.  I had apparently worried for no reason.  The girls were sitting well, happy about a fun morning, and enjoying their lunch.  We sat talking and relaxing as the girls all finished up their meal.  Then I started to clear our space and throw trash away.  When my back was turned was when I heard it. 

     My daughter screamed loudly and was standing on the ground, crying.  Standing on the ground?  Why was she on the ground instead of on her stool?  I knew immediately she had hurt herself.  I asked her to show me what hurt and she opened her mouth showing me the tip of her tongue which was bluish and bleeding.  She had fallen off the stool, hit her chin on the high table, and bit her tongue open.

     In full Mommy mode, I picked her up, walked over to Hub's water cup, took the lid off, and shook it to see if there was ice in it for her.  Of course there wasn't ice.  I had shaken an almost full water cup without a lid all over the side of my body soaking my right sleeve and Hubs.  But I could not be deterred.  I appropriated Hub's cup, carried Ball to the soda machine, filled the cup with ice, and handed it to Ball for immediate first aid.

     The ice started numbing her tongue and Ball was calming down.  As we walked outside I made my proclamation.  In order for Ball to properly heal, she needed ice cream.  Ball and I would go order Daddy's ice cream birthday cake and get ourselves a treat.  Considering the state of Ball's tongue, I considered this a necessity. 

     In the car ride to the ice cream shop I wondered if ice cream really was the best thing for a bitten tongue.  Would the cream introduce bacteria into an open wound?  Would this make her tongue worse?  Most importantly, would bloody ice cream taste good?  As I pulled into the parking lot of the ice cream shop pondering these thoughts I heard a familiar sound in the back seat; Ball snoring.  The answer to these questions would have to wait.

Etiquette 101

     When I got home from the bookstore yesterday, I pulled a book out of my bag, showed it to Hubs and announced "I have become my grandmother."  I was referring to a time years ago when my grandma gave my twin sister and me a Miss Manners book "To Marian and Margaret for Christmas and Birthday."  Neither of us asked for that particular "gift", but recently I have found myself wishing I had it.

     I was at dinner with my friends one night when I conceded that my daughter has awful table manners.  My hope was that my girlfriends would come to my rescue with tips and tricks to help me and my daughter.  Instead it was met with a resounding "mine too!" from all the moms at the table. The next half hour was a gripe session about our kids' poor table manners.  This time, my friends didn't have the answers.

     I really have been trying to teach Blondie table manners, but this is met with resistance.  Lately, dinners at our house have become a nagging session where Blondie seems to think we are picking on her.  I need something that will show Blondie that manners aren't something her father and I arbitrarily made up.

     Again I am reminded of my grandma who was a stickler for manners.  During meals with her we were instructed to get our elbows off the table, put our knife down after cutting our meat, put our utensils down while we chew our food etc.  But it's not these obscure rules that I'm trying to teach Blondie.  All I want is a meal where my sweet girl sits in her seat properly, drops crumbs on her plate instead of all over the floor, and uses a fork instead of her fingers.  A five course meal with with three different forks can be taught later.

     I remembered that our Parks and Recs department offered etiquette classes for 6+ year old children.  I've been holding this class over my daughter's head for months: "fix your manners or I'm sending you to manners class."  Finally, Hubs looked at me and said "sign her up."   I went online, but these classes are no longer available.  Then, I googled etiquette classes in OC.  The first three links were all dead ends - links to an era when people had disposable income.  The class I was dangling over Blondie's head is no longer an option.

     Now I'm forced to rethink my strategy because it looks like this dreaded job is falling to me.  In an unexpected turn of events I was at the local bookstore looking for a manners book for Blondie. I thought "my daughter responds well to books.  A book will show her that these are actual rules that exist in a world outside of Mom and Dad." 

     At bedtime I presented Blondie with her new book.  I saw the excitement in her eyes as she took in the cute pictures of girls on the front cover.  I watched as she skimmed the book's title.  I saw her entire inner dialogue:
a smart girl's guide "that's me! I'm smart!"
to "to what??? I'm so excited!"
manners her face visibly fell "manners???  My parents got me a book about manners???" 
(All of that was silent.)

Out loud Blondie said "ugh!"

I think I've found our first lesson from our new book: accepting gifts graciously.  And no, we can't exchange this "gift" for something else.

Playing House

     I have finally entered a phase in my life where I can grab a quick shower without the kids totally destroying the house.  This morning the scene downstairs was Ball playing with her dolls while Dude was looking for something to do.  Ball and Dude seemed amicable enough that I could risk leaving them alone for 10 minutes.  I silently prayed that whatever Dude found would be minimally destructive and I made a break for it.

     When I finished my shower I peeked downstairs,  I saw Ball in the corner and Dude holding a doll.  I asked Dude what he was doing and he said he was putting a diaper on the baby.  He picked the doll up by one foot, showed it to me, and slammed it back down on the ground.  Then he proceeded to put its cloth diaper on.
    
     Dude rarely plays with the girls.  He'll play in the same room as them, but this is a typical exchange:
Blondie: We're playing birthday party.  Dude, want to play?
Dude: Okay.  Pretend you guys go to the birthday party and I rolled over the people who weren't invited in my tank.
Or
Blondie: We're playing sleepover Dude.  Want to come?
Dude: I'll pack my blasters so I can shoot the bad guys if they come near our tent.

     Dude plays near his sisters, but not really with his sisters.  One might think this is natural because he is the lone boy outnumbered by girls.  However, even among his boy friends he'll only play with you if you're playing something he's into.  If you're playing Star Wars and he wants to play Ninjas, he'll go off by himself and play ninjas rather than adapt and play what you're into.  This is one of  Dude's "quirks".
      
     However, with all the dolls, the high chair, the bassinet, the strollers, and the toy kitchen I knew this was inevitable.  Ball and Dude were playing house.  It surprised me when it finally happened because Dude is not into dolls - at all.  Ball of course, was leading the charge, but Dude was pretty happily following. 

     Together they were diapering and dressing the baby for bed.  They laid the baby down  nicely for night time and sung her a song.  Then "Daddy" grabbed his gun, went to work, and joined the army to fight the bad guys.  That's our family for you.

The Carpet is Visable

     Saturday on Facebook my status read: "Marian is not coming out of the office until a respectable amount of the carpet is visible."  This may have seemed like hyperbole, but our office was a complete disaster.  (A tornado coming through probably would have helped matters.)  And as much as I would love to blame someone else, it was all my fault.

     I know in a lot of houses mail might get left on a counter for a few days, or the dining room table might get piled up with stuff that needs to be taken care of soon, but in my house there was an entire room devoted to "I'll get to it later".  The most unfortunate part was; that entire room is Hub's home office where he actually tries to work sometimes.  That wonderful man kept his complaining to a minimum (he deserves a medal).

     Now I have some great mom friends.  We swap stories about the fun and not so fun aspects of raising our kids.  We complain about getting the kids to school, preparing dinner, and housework.  We curse housework.  If not for housework, our lives would be almost perfect. 

     Usually when conversing with my friends at some point I will confess that my house is messier than most.  Being the understanding and gracious friends that they are, this confession is usually met with statments along the lines of:

"I'm sure it can't be that bad."  (I have photographic evidence to the contrary.)

"I can't even imagine how busy you are with 3 kids!"  (My kids are only signed up for 2 activities and I am terrible at showing up to those on a regular basis.)

"I can barely keep my house clean with my kids, I can't even imagine having to deal with all 3 kids." (most of my friends stopped at 2)

When these lines are said to me I smile and nod and happily move onto the next topic of conversation. 

     My friend's comments leave me wishing that any of those was the real reason that an entire room in my house turned into my dumping ground.  Instead the real culprits are laziness, procrastination, and an amazing ability to turn a blind eye.  Whenever stuff comes into my house it sits on my kitchen counter (lazy).  When it is time to clean my kitchen counter everything gets dumped in a pile on the office floor to be dealt with later (procrastination).  These piles grow, spilling out of baskets onto the floor making it difficult to even walk in the room.  The next time my kitchen counter needs cleaning I open the office door, brace myself, dump the new pile on top of the old, and run away (turning a blind eye).  And so it goes until:

(I am lucky my husband still lives with me after I did this to his office.)

         

     Suddenly, I realized that when I go back to school I am going to need this office too.  Uh oh!  The office has been in this state for so long that I am fairly certain I could have waited until June to remedy the problem.  I could have procrastinated - I'm really good at that.  But instead I decided to not be totally selfish and give my sweet, tolerant husband some time to himself in a nice, relaxing office - at least until I come in and take over with all my school books and homework.

           

Thanks for living with me Michael!