After being away for ten day, we slowly turned into our driveway and noticed that something looked wrong. What was different? Our house was still standing.
Then we noticed it: our mailbox was gone. Not just hanging at an odd angle as if it had one of its periodic close encounters with a snowplow or a car driven by a teenager who is good at hitting the gas but bad at holding the steering wheel. Completely decimated. The mailbox itself was nowhere in site, and the post was lying on the ground, snapped into multiple pieces.
Readers who grew up like me in towns where the mailperson brought the mail to your door may have a mistaken image. Least you imagine a series of cars careening off of the walls of our house, let me clarify that all of the mailboxes on our "rural route" are on one side, which is, or I should say was located across the street from us.
As we walked up to our house, we saw that our mailbox had been placed on our stoop. About an hour later our neighbor came over and explained that our mailbox had been hit by a car. Fortunately her husband got the license plate number.
The Big Giraffe went over to the police station later to deliver his report to a very understanding police officer, who was already familiar with what had happened. Why? Because he was the same police officer who had responded to the accident. Um...accident? When did the police get involved?
It turns out a woman turned around in our driveway and pulled out, while another car was driving down our street. Whether she didn't look before pulling out or he was speeding, he had to swerve to avoid a collision with her car. He instead ran over our mailbox, thick wood post and all. Not surprisingly, his car was damaged in the process.
In the meantime we have no mailbox which means we have no mail. Well...almost no mail. Our mailwoman did the mail on Monday because she saw that it contained the Big Giraffe's passport. However, she has not parked her car in the middle of her route, crossed the street, and marched down the snowy driveway since then. We need to not only get a new mailbox and post, but we need a 5 gallon bucket and sand to hold the post until the ground thaws enough to truly secure it. Fortunately the guy's insurance is paying for the mailbox, post, bucket, sand, and handyman installation. Don't laugh! We're not too handy around here. We had to get the handyman to install our last mailbox this time last year. I have no interest in digging a giant hole in the ground, and I can almost guarantee that the Big Giraffe doesn't either.
It's funny how our boring old mailbox is such a landmark. Neighbors I haven't seen in ages have stopped me to ask what happened to it. Someone named Balex Melliot may have even driven by my house by mistake. I mean it's not like I she hasn't been driving to our house for the last 8.5 years or anything!
A. Elliot's Lesson Learned: When something happens to your property when you're away, the story will never make sense no matter how many times it's told to you.
Well, better that the other car hit the mailbox and not each other, right? That would be a pleasant surprise, to find out that there was a horrible crash in your driveway...
With all the bad things going on the world right now, it's hard to complain about a bad day. However, it is still possible, and there are some rough parenting days. Maybe the trick is to look at them with a sense of humor...or a really good glass of wine. Seeing as I don't have any of the latter on-hand right now, unless you count the cooking wine, I'll go with humor.
Today I needed to take the boys to Boston for their ENT appointments. I dread these appointments. They usually take a minimum of three hours. First we have to wait for the audiology test, then have the test, then wait to see the doctor, then see the doctor. This doesn't even take into account just trying to find the building in the first place and then driving my CRV through narrow alleys that were probably barely wide enough for one person on horseback in the 18th century.
After a good swim this morning, I came home and brought out the golden bribe. That's right the bribe of all bribes: the portable DVD player. Normally I'm not the type of parent who packs toys and snacks for a doctor's appointment. First of all, I have no interest in doing it. Second, my kids would much rather play with germy office toys than anything I bring, so rather than fight it, I just try to remember to have them use a wipe on their hands when we leave. Before you groan, let me just say that my older son has not been sick at all this year. My younger one hasn't had more than a mild cough. His "sick days" have been for the two times I kept him home from school to go to playdates. My approach to germ management apparently works. Knock on wood big time!
Seeing as ENT appointments are horrific at best, I not only packed the DVD player, I packed lunch as well. Just as I finished up, I heard squeals coming from the bathroom. Hmm..two boys+fighting+laughing+overflowing toilet= squeals. In their defense, the toilet had been acting funny since yesterday. Whether it was a Leggo or a number 2, I know that at least one of them had something to do with it. Unfotunately I didn't have time to do much more than turn off the water and throw down a bunch of towels. Yeah, gross I know. What are blogs though if not true confessions? I shut the door so that the cats wouldn't get in the bathroom.
Off we went to Boston. After a number of traffic jams, pokes, threats, and counts to 3, we made it to Storrow Drive. All of a sudden I saw someone looking right at me. Yes, there was a cyclist riding along side my car. I was so startled I dropped an F bomb derivative. Yes, the boys learned a new vocabulary word today. They seemed impressed. Let's hope that their teachers are as well if they use it. I'm kidding. Let's hope they don't use it.
After getting majorly lost...three times, we made it. The hearing tests went well. Their exams went well. However, when I asked the doctor about OS's "phlegmy noises" he had a blank look on his face. You know, the throat clearing, aheming, coughing, and snorting that I presumed were the result of a serious medical problem? The doctor laughed. He did know exactly what I was talking about and apparently has had more than one parent of a boy come convinced that there surely is something wrong with their son. It was what I had suspected: a bad habit. Apparently my use of the term "gross boy noises" is not medically accurate.
Fortunately that was the boys last visit!! Their ear tubes are gone, and their ears are free of unnatural holes. The doctor in fact commented on how healthy they both were. I beamed with pride. Then I followed his gaze and realized he was eyeing YS who was under the chair, quite possibly licking the floor. Rats! I had hoped he wouldn't notice that. He laughed.
We dropped OS off at school, and then YS and I headed home..where we found our neighbor's dogs chasing cars in the streets. I parked the car in her driveway, and we got the dogs to follow us to her house. Phew. Time to sit down for a minute or two of relaxation. Or so I thought. A different neighbor called asking if she could come over. I furtively looked around my house as if she could see me...um my house was not at it's best. Outside of the boarded up bathroom quite possibly reeking of pee, I hadn't had time to run the dishwasher, wipe the the table or really put anything away. Two minutes later she was in my kitchen. Thankfully she didn't need to use my bathroom.
I did have a nice conversation with her. She didn't seem to care about the state of my house. Then it was time to pick up OS up for school because part of my big time bribe included taking him to NEADS to pet puppies. I almost never pick OS up from school. Apparently it showed. There is a rumor that someone named Balex Melliot may have held up the pick up line because she was confused about where her son was waiting. A teacher may have commented that it was obvious that her son usually takes the bus. I have no idea who this person is!
Playing with the puppies was fantastic! The boys had a great time...alright I probably had the best time of everyone! We came home, I made dinner and then realized that I never delt with the bathroom. Towels were thrown in the wash, the mop came out as did the Clorox. I was convinced that I had gotten stabbed in the foot but realized I had actually stepped on a Leggo in the kitchen. I almost had a repeat of today's word of the day. Since the newly clean but still wet bathroom is the one with the bathtub, I took YS upstairs for his first shower. He actually did pretty well. OS enjoyed his shower as well. Now if only they will fall asleep.
Alex Elliot's Mother-in-Law's Lesson Learned (as shared on Facebook): Now you don't have to worry about what they'll pick up from other kids or on the street. There are times when those are the only appropriate words, as long as they don't just fling them about randomly.
My 6 yr old came home from Catholic school with the F word and the C word. Wanted to know what they meant. I explained what they meant & how to use them in a sentence. They I explained that if any adult heard him use them, he would be in big trouble.
I learned all THOSE words from my dad before kindergarten. I figured letting mine get to first grade with minimal exposure was a step in the right direction.
Hey, all in all, it could have been WAAAAY worse, you know? Just think of all the ways that the little situations could have gone horribly wrong and you'll end up feeling like you've had a really accomplished day!
This past Thursday my younger son (YS) had a pajama day at preschool, or as we call it in our house a no underwear or commando day. When our older son (OS) was YS's age, he wasn't night time potty trained. The morning of the preschool pj day, he took off the overnight pull-up, put on underwear and put his pajama bottoms back on. YS however, has been night time trained for a while. Thus no need to remove a pull-up and no forced opportunity to add underwear.
When I dropped YS off at preschool, I explained to the teacher that Pajama Day was synonymous with No Underwear Day and that there was a pair of underwear in his backpack in case it was a problem. It of course wasn't. A former kindergarten teacher friend of mine told me that on any given day there's at least one student not wearing underwear. She also said something about the teachers, but I'll leave that to you.
Without revealing anyone's secrets, I will say that I opened up about this story to a lot of people, and in return I learned a lot about whether various people wear underwear at night...or during the day for that matter. The stories just kept on coming free throughout this weekend. The phrase "let it all air out" came up a lot.
As for what I do, well I may be a blogger but I'm not going to spill that secret! However, I'll leave you with an additional lesson learned.
A. Elliot's Relevant Lesson Learned: If you need to get a conversation going, discussing whether or not one should wear underwear to bed at night will do the trick.
A. Elliot's Unrelated Lesson Learned: If you decide to wax part of your face because your 6 year old lists you as one of the people he knows who has a mustache, be aware that doing so will hurt a lot.
Not surprisingly there's not exactly a lot of downhill skiing in Chicago or its suburbs. I didn't learn to ski until I was 14. After that, I went skiing with my youth group in Michigan once a year. Also not surprisingly there's not a lot of skiing in NYC. The Big Giraffe didn't learn how to ski until he was 27. The state of New York was offering a wonderful program called 1,2,3 Learn to Ski and we went skiing several times using it.
Also not suprisingly since New England offers many many places to ski, kids seem to learn to ski much younger here than where either one of us grew up. Because we are raising two little New Englanders, we thought that this might be a good time for our older son (OS) to learn to ski. In all honesty even at 14, I was aware of the very good possibility that I could break my arm. When you're little, you're much closer to ground when you fall and you're not as concerned about it. You also recover quicker. My younger son (YS) fell on the driveway this morning and bounced right back up to continue chasing his brother. If I fell on the driveway I would be writing this blog post from an ambulance.
We live right by a ski place that is offering relatively inexpensive ski lesson (relative being the key word since skiing itself is expensive) for kids ages 4-7. Here I thought I was starting 6 year old OS off early! We signed up OS and had him fitted for rental skis.
Yesterday was the first lesson. As soon as OS got off the bus, we headed over so we would have plenty of time. I was glad we did because the place was in a state of mass chaos. There was one person working to check people in and the line was pretty long.
All the rental equipment was well labeled with the kids' names. It was just a matter of finding where the said rental equipment was. However, there were employees standing around although oddly not at the check in, and we were able to find all of OS's items. In fact, we even had a little bit of extra time. No complaints from me on that!
When it was time for the lesson we wandered out to the ski school spot. OS was the only one who had never been skiing. He's only 6!!! I made a mental note to start YS next year since he'll be 4.5. They were broken up into groups based on ability. It was no big shocker that OS was in the group that started out by practing walking up and down a small slope in just their ski boots. Sacrasm aside, it was actually exactly what he needed and he was pleased with it. Then they had the kids put on just one ski and walk around like that.
I can't tell you how long they did that or what else they did for that matter because YS who had been pitching a fit the whole time about being there had now escalated to full fledged howls. We went into the ski lodge where I gave him the goldfish crackers and apple juice that I had brought with me. That quieted him for about a grand total of two minutes until he started up again that he wanted more goldfish crackers. My triathlon training buddy's kids had lessons in the slot before ours and was on her way out the door. She offered YS a cheese stick which he vehemently refused. I took it anyway and wouldn't you know 30 seconds later he wanted it.
A minute later he was in rare form again. I moved tables to talk with another mom I knew. OS flung himself on the floor in the path of people exiting the small snack bar line. I had to practically pry him off the floor. The tears and scowling continued for what seemed like forever. Finally he wedged himself under a table and was quiet. The other mom had left to go home at this point since her husband was out there with their son so I did want any good mommy blogger does and got on my Blackberry was giving silent thanks for the fact that YS was quiet. But why was he so quiet? Because he was eating popcorn that someone had dropped on the floor!!! I reminded myself that my kids are always doing stuff like that and neither one has missed any school this year! They appear to have immune systems of steel. Did I just jinx myself? Is there a huge case of diarrhea in the imminent future?
I dragged YS out for the end of his brother's ski lesson. Unfortunately you can't see the ski school from the lodge. We watched him ski about five feet down an incline. He was really enjoying it. YS then piped up that he had to go to the bathroom. One of the instructors said that she would take OS back to the lodge after the class. Unfortunately though she didn't and I found a teary eyed OS back outside holding a different teacher's hand who had no idea that I had taken YS to the bathroom. That was the only downer in the lesson but it was unfortunate that it happened at the end.
That was pretty much it. There was a slight incident involving a hot dog from the snack bar and some more tears and I definitely left the ski lodge feeling like I had spent an hour rolling down the hill but the important thing is that OS can't wait to go back. That and I promised myself two things 1) Bring snowpants for YS next time so that he won't be so cold outside 2) Bribe YS with popcorn! 3) Have a bottle of wine waiting for me at home.
A. Elliot's Lesson Learned: Kids ski lessons can be more exhausting for the parents than the kids.
Thanks, Heather! Tyler and Kendall's Mom, I'm also going to pick up underwear for the boys. They didn't have any and OS was cold. Kim said her kids always wear it when skiing.
I keep saying I need to take the girls to learn to ski (they're ancient by those standards - 5,6 and 8). But the closest place - and probably the same one you are using is about 45 minutes away. By the time school and homework is done, it's just too late. Maybe some weekend when we find some free time.
Back in November my aunt had offered to let us use her time share in New York City for the New Year. Not the whole year, silly, from December 30th - January 2 at the Manhattan Club which is located just north of Times Square! This was right around when Merlin got sick though and so while we really appreciated the offer, we couldn't accept it. A little while after he passed away though I called her to see if it was still available. Those of you who know me in real life, particularly those of you who actually saw me this week, will not be surprised to learn that it was.
We got there on Wednesday, and the boys were beyond excited. After we checked into the hotel, we met Suzanne, her husband and another friend for dinner. After rejecting the opportunity to wait an hour for two disparate tables at a pricey but excellent diner called the Brooklyn Diner, we went to a different diner. I took great delight in eating gyros since I enjoy them so much and they're hard to find around here. Afterward we went back to the hotel where I fell asleep; the boys did continue to stay up incredibly late. I think I had a slight fever that night, as I was coming down with a cold and sore throat.
The next day we made it to the Brooklyn Diner for breakfast. As expected, the food was great, but it ended up being $100 for the four of us! I do have to say that we had been warned that the portions were huge and that we should have the boys share. The upside is that we got three meals worth of food and didn't have to buy breakfast the next day! The Big Giraffe and I traded off working out at the otherwise empty gym and then took the boys to FAO Schwartz. Being New Year's Eve and being FAO Schwartz made it super crowded. The boys were overwhelmed. We had told them they could each get a small souvenir. It was all just too much for YS and he couldn't make a selection. We told him he could get something at the M&M store.
After getting a snack, we took the boys to Rockerfeller Center to see the Christmas Tree. The Big Giraffe and I were quite taken with it. The boys were quite taken with the pigeons eating soft pretzels and couldn't have cared less about the tree. In fact when the Big Giraffe was trying to take their picture in front of the tree OS wanted to know if he could get his picture taken with the pigeons instead! Sadly though I said no and am now regretting it.
We watched the ice skaters at Rockerfeller Center and even saw a marriage proposal there (or two brazen people willing to lie to get the ice to themselves)! Then we headed off to the M&M store. Given that it was just past 4pm on New Year's Eve in an area filled with a captive audience of cold pedestrians who had almost eight hours to wait for the ball to drop, we were surprised to find the store closed. YS was pretty upset, until we stopped in a dinky souvenir shop where he fell in love with a stuffed animal frog. It was actually nicer than a collection of stuffed animals, including a frog, sewed to a toy boat that we had passed at FAO Schwartz, and cost a lot less so everyone was happy.
Later on that evening we got together with Suzanne and hubby and 3 other friends for a New Year's Eve dinner at a Turkish restaurant. Those of you who know me will not be surprised that I ordered gyros again! The food was great, and the conversation was even better. The boys both enjoyed the food and drawing pictures on multi-colored post-it notes. They became ecstatic on our way out when a couple gave OS a really nice velvet hat with streamers that lit up and YS a light up necklace/noise maker. We then headed back to the hotel. Three of us fell asleep just before midnight. The Big Giraffe made a literal eleventh hour (and forty-five minute) attempt to walk outside of the hotel in sight of the ball, but could not get an elevator. He watched the ball drop on TV in the room, same as he used to when he lived in New York City.
After breakfast the next morning, we headed to the Museum of Natural History, which also happens to be the Big Giraffe's favorite museum in the world. All I can say is that it is one large museum! We were there for several hours and probably only saw about a third of it. The boys had a great time, particularly with the taxidermy, ocean section, and dinosaurs. I do wish I had listened to myself and left earlier instead of trying to milk their attention span for all that it was worth. Our departure included temper tantrums.
Suzanne's hubby and YS made deep dish pizzas for everyone while Suzanne and I went to an Israeli cafe to get real hot chocolates with actual melted pieces of chocolate added to steamed milk The boys watched Disney's cartoon Robin Hood...three times over the evening. During the third showing after dinner, a few of us went to Magnolia Bakery to pickup cupcakes. It shouldn't come as any surprise that I was up for a large part of the night with horrible stomach pains.
After a final breakfast with friends, we took the boys to see a gingerbread house exhibit made up of creations from several famous bakeries. I am sure they were beautiful when first crafted, but they did not stand up well to a couple of weeks in a hot and dry hotel lobby. I would even go so far as to say that the one the boys made last week with a gingerbread house kit from last year looked better. Then we hit the road.
OS is named after a friend of ours who passed away at 30 from colon cancer. We had originally planned on driving to northwest New Jersey on our way home to visit his parents. After hearing about an alleged blizzard hitting New England, the Big Giraffe conducted an extensive analysis of weather.com's hourly predictions throughout our route. He concluded that the trip to New Jersey should be fine and that the trip home was predicted to be equally bad no matter when and from where we attempted it. If weather.com was right, we could stop at a hotel on the route for one more night. I had planned ahead and brought an extra change of clothing for both boys and me.
We not only had a great time in New Jersey (hey, stop snickering, I lived in the Garden State for two years and I like it) but we found a gap between internet and reality. Yes, there was a lot of wind, but there was no traffic and no snow in New Jersey, New York, or Connecticut. Wind blew a light dusting of already fallen snow into the windshield a few times in the last half hour as we approached home, and there was slush coating the road in the two minutes from leaving the highway through pulling into our snowy but passable driveway. Maybe it was part of their New Year's resolution, but the cats didn't even pee on our beds when we were gone!
A. Elliot's Lesson Learned: Bringing extra clothes is a great way to ensure an easy road trip, and choosing New York City and seeing friends is a great way to ensure fun at the destination.
Sometimes there's nothing to do, but laugh, right? The Big Giraffe and I do not have the same last name. Here's the honest truth about it. It really annoys me when people call me Mrs. Giraffe although not as much as when they call me Mrs. Big Giraffe and use my husband's complete name. If your name is Susan would you want to be called Jane? Probably not. You would probably correct the person and explain that Susan wasn't your name.
That being said, there are places where I make allowances. One is the pediatrician's office because they see a gazillion kids a day. I also understand that my kids' teachers have enough of a challenge keeping track of 20-40 kids' names, without needing to worry about potentially doubling the number of last names. Of course in that case, I would actually prefer to be addressed by my first name anyway, when that is realistic.
Things do go in the other direction as well. The Big Giraffe is used to being called Mr. Elliot at the vet's office and when getting our cars serviced, for example. He does hear less Elliot than I do Giraffe, however, particularly at this key time of the year, when we get to play...drum roll please...the annual holiday card edition of "What's my Name?"
The rules of "What's my Name" are simple. Our family and friends send us Christmas cards addressed to some sort of representation of our family's identity, and the Big Giraffe and I look at the envelopes and laugh. For the mischievous amongst my readers, I want to be absolutely clear. I would far, far, far prefer to get properly addressed cards than to gain a gratuitous laugh at your expense. Please don't try to make up something funny for next year's cards. For the more nervous amongst my readers, I would rather get a humorously addressed card than no card. Please don't not send me a card because you are worried about offending.
For this year, however, I can share what we have learned from studying the results of "What's my Name" games played to date. We have noticed a correlation between the years that people know me and the tendency to completely screw up my name. If it's addressed correctly we know it's a newer friend (or one of the Big Giraffe's colleagues). Let's say you met me last week and for whatever reason wanted to send me a card. I can pretty much guarantee that you would address the envelope correctly. I don't know if it's the more you know me, the more you know that I'm married and I have kids and thus start to play around with my name or what. The second worst offenders appear to be friends from before I was married who have taken their husbands' last names. (The Big Giraffe keeps threatening to send next year's holiday cards addressed to their maiden names.) Unfortunately, the very worst offenders appear to be family!
This year has seen:
Mr. and Mrs. Big and Alex Giraffe
Mrs. Alex Giraffe (which would be appropriate if I had taken the Giraffe's last name, gotten divorced, and kept the Giraffe last name)
Mr. and Mrs. Big Giraffe
Mr. and Mrs. Big Elliot
Mr and Mrs. Big and Alex Elliot
The Elliot-Giraffe family (which is my preference)
Big, Alex, OS and YS (no last names)
So how on earth do you know how to address an envelope to friends with different names? Let's go back to Susan and Jane. It's is the responsibility of the person to tell you how they want to be addressed. After all you aren't a mind reader. That being said, most people will put the name they want to be called on their return address label. Tis the season to be looking at the return address labels on the cards you receive. Or if you're like me and have a neighbor who you know doesn't know your name, stick a return address label on a post it and give it to them.
And now for my favorite addressed envelope of the season: Alex Elliot and The Giraffes. Doesn't it sound like a rock band? I love it!
Mrs. Big Giraffe's A. Elliot's Lesson Learned: A giraffe by any other name still has a long neck.
I run into this when I address cards and I always try to get it right. This year I had to make my husband email one of his friends to find out if his new wife was taking his name.
I usually do the Elliot-Giraffe family, or I do Alex Elliot, Big Giraffe and Family (or and OS and YS).
We're having a different issue now, although we have that one, too - but now that C is becoming college-application age, many colleges are sending him materials, but some of them are having a horrid time with his rather simple, straightforward, British name. We never know who we have living with us these days! ;-)
Controlled Substances: Marijuana, Sudafed, and Garbage Bags
This past fall I needed to go buy Sudafed for my cold. It was either that or walk around feeling like my teeth were going to fly out of my mouth any moment and zoom across the room like a button popping off a pair of pants that are too tight. Apparently it had been a long time since I had bought Sudafed because I was surprised to learn it is now a controlled substance. I needed to go up to the pharmacy counter and show ID. I believe I may have also had to sign my life away. I know I had to sign something.
Don't get me wrong. I am not knocking the importance of these new laws. It isn't a significant inconvenience to keep an easily misused drug off of the street. Tonight though I discovered drugs aren't the only things sold in a pharmacy that create a risk for our society. Apparently so do garbage bags. That's right, garbage bags. We live in a town in which sanitation pickup is paid for by requiring residents to place refuse in specially designated town garbage bags. The Big Giraffe asked me to pick on a roll of garbage bags at the grocery store tonight. He's the one who usually buys them. I thought I could find them in the aisle with the other garbage bags, but Big Giraffe told me that I would need to ask a cashier for them. They're contraband! Alright, the town didn't really say that, but that's how they're treated.
Sure enough at the grocery store tonight I had to ask the cashier who then pulled them out from a drawer behind the counter. Unlike the Sudafed I didn't have to show ID or sign my life away. I'm sure that's coming though. The town will regulate controlled substances as strongly as necessary to keep garbage off the streets.
A. Elliot's Lesson Learned: Garbage bags are obviously dangerous.
in Belgium most drugs are over the counter drugs that need a prescription....one of the (multiple) reasons why we are high consumers of doctor visits.
some drugs can be bought freely and others can be bought without prescription but then the (mandatory) medical insurance doesn't pay part of the bill so the price difference makes you go to the doctor first.
what is sudafed anyway? never heard of it.
Oh and is there towns where you can put out garbage for free??? We have bags for green composable garbage, for plastic containers & bottles and cans and the most expensive bags are for the non recycled garbage. (carton is free and glass is free to put out). Garbage bags are very very expensive in Belgium...which makes us the best recyclers in the world.
Did we really light the last candles of Hannukah tonight? Is Christmas really next week? The holidays seemed to pop out of nowhere...as they do every year. Seriously have you ever had a year where you felt completely prepared and unrushed?
Our younger son (YS) finished his last day of school before break complete with a holiday party with terrible looking hair. Somehow I never got around to getting his hair cut and now and forever more all our photos will have a 3 year old Rod Stewart in them. Or perhaps they would if I had remembered to bring my camera. Mom of the Year over here. Fortunately one of the other moms took pictures for me.
We participated in a class gift for his teachers. Alright really I organized it because it was a lot easier for me to organize one and get them a gift card to get something that they will hopefully like than to try and come up with individual gifts that they would like. The room parents in my older son's class organized a class gift as well. Phew! That's all taken care of. Or is it?
I forgot about my nemisis: the bus driver. Before you assert that nemesis may be a strong word, let's review the history:
She was annoyed that I didn't know where OS was on the first day of school when he had been put on the wrong bus at school
She decided that he was no longer riding the bus home on Fridays because I picked him up for school for one Friday doctor's appointment
She was annoyed that I didn't know where OS was on the second occasion when he had been put on the wrong bus at school
She shot me dirty looks and muttered under her breath on the day that I went to school right after OS was picked up to do some volunteer work and arrived just behind the bus
She has been plain snarky several times
In all fairness, we haven't had an episode of snarkiness recently. In fact, lately she and I have gotten around remarkably well. She even asked me onto the bus last week with some questions about a new pickup who was supposed to be added to the route. Perhaps one day we will get together for coffee.
This made me start to think about the etiquette around gifts and bus drivers. Do I need to get her anything? I posed the question my moms group and people responded with suggestions of homemade baked goods which would be great if I were planning on doing any baking. That's not likely to happen. We made ginger bread cookies last week during a snow day and that for me was like the Mt. Everst of baking. It took hours by the time the cookies were made, cut, baked, decorated and the frosting dried. It has to be a pretty special person for me to do any baking. Plus with my luck she would get diarehhea from the cookies, and it would worsen our relationship. I think we will be going with a $5 gift card to Dunkin Donuts.
A. Elliot's Lesson Learned: Don't miss the bus and don't forget the bus driver.
I like to say that my aunt is a live copy of Our Bodies Ourselves. By that I don't mean that she is an open book. Rather, throughout the years she has given me honest information about what happens to our bodies as we age. She tells me all the obvious things like at 35 I'll have to get a mammogram, but she's also told me a lot of things that no one ever talks about like floaties in your eyes when you're in your 50's or your sphincter loosening as you get older. Maybe you flinched, but did you really know that loud gas was just a couple decades away? I always think of really old people.
The most recent life lesson learned was about eyebrows. Listen up because you're probably not going to hear about this from other moms on the soccer field. As you age, weird things start to happen with your eyebrows. There are two possible facets, and some people only experience one or experience both starting at different times. The first facet of funky eyebrow happening is getting white hairs in your eyebrows. Thankfully I have had yet to experience this one, although I will turn 34 next month...You may decide to just pluck them. Once one or two eyebrow hairs, right? Just hold that thought for a minute.
The second stage of strange eyebrow happenings is that your eyebrow hairs start to stick out. That's right out! Like an outie belly button. They may also be courser hence their ability to stick out. Again, you may just decide to pluck them.
So what's the problem? The answer is the torch of knowledge that my aunt has passed to me that I pass to you. At some point if you pluck all the white hairs and all the pipecleaner hairs, which of course may be tempting to do if they're a combo pack, you will either have no more eyebrows or you will have large bald spots. If you don't do something though you will look in the mirror one day and see Andy Rooney staring back at you.
So how to your solve this? First check out your eyebrows in the mirror on the back of the visor of the car or in a hotel because. Why in a hotel? Well most people blame the discomfort of travel for causing them not to look good in hotel mirrors. However, according to my aunt, the true cause is that hotel mirrors are great and picking up imperfections. When you start to notice eyebrow abnormalities, it's time to break down and spend the extra bucks on a makeup mirror. Then your real work begins.
Set up your mirror and grab a pair of nail scissors and an eyebrow pencil. Trim the spiky hairs and color in the white hairs if they bother you. As for myself, I spent a couple hours in the beauty salon getting highlights to hide my white hairs and had my eyebrows waxed so I thankfully no longer resemble Andy Rooney. Oddly enough though the hair dresser who's just 23 was complaining about these spiky eyebrow hairs that she's been getting. I told her about the makeup mirror and scissors.
I did learn one last, odd fact. Apparently barbers automatically trim men's eyebrows. In a way, however, that makes me even more perplexed. If barbers trim men's eyebrows, then what is the deal with Andy Rooney's eyebrows?
A. Elliot's Lesson Learned: A makeup mirror and scissors are necessities, not desired gifts. I would not find it amusing, Big Giraffe, to receive them for my birthday.
Back to accepting another's reality.No matter how honest and well meant, each of us has our own body, and they do not react in exactly the same way. One person's body reactions to aging is not necessarily another's, just as our experiences in life are not anothers. Accepting someone else's reality may result in confusion to ourselves. 34 is just an infant in eternity.
Yesterday I told the kids to go get socks. Of course this meant that they did everything except going to get socks. However, it is my favorite time of the year. I just love December. No it's not the festive holiday decorations, the food or the gifts. What good be better than gifts? Why good threats of course!
I headed over to them to remind them that Santa could see exactly what they were doing. He has elves everywhere! What I found though was my younger son (YS) with his shirt pulled up and his stuffed animal mouse* on his breast. My older son (OS) promptly informed his brother that he couldn't nurse his mouse. I thought he was going to state the obvious: YS is a boy. However, that's not what he said. He calmly informed YS that mice drink mouse milk not human milk.
"Mouse" is actually a large stuffed animal rat that we got from IKEA a couple weeks ago that YS has named "Mouse."
A. Elliot's Lesson Learned: Baby mice drink mouse milk.
Go Dog Go by PD Eastman. That's what went through my mind today as we waited at the bus stop (aka our driveway) for my older son's (OS) school bus. We had our large golden retriever. Then two neighbors stopped by with their dogs. All that was missing were the party hats and the tree. OS loved it and the kids on the bus had their little faces pressed against the windows as he boarded. Personally I think we should have had cake. Or at least I should have had cake. Maybe tomorrow. He asked this evening if there was going to be another dog party at the bus stop.
A. Elliot's Lesson Learned: It is important for dogs to stay, dog stay at the bus stop.
Tonight the Big Giraffe made gyros in the rotisserie. I absolutely love gyros and they're impossible to find around here. Good ones that is. I don't eat a lot of meat so that fact that I like gyros so much says a lot. A few years ago as a celebration for finishing organic chemistry for my post-BA program I decided to celebrate by feasting on a gyros. The BG was out of town so I ordered a carryout gyros platter for myself and one for the dog. Unfortunately the gyros was all beef and all gross as far as I was concerned so the dog got an extra big feast.
The gyros were cooking and smelling fantastic. I set the table and got the boys to wash their hands and sit down. They munched on carrot sticks while waiting. The gyros came out. Everyone really liked them. However, despite our feast, eating with the boys was like eating with a three ring circus or perhaps a bunch of cats. There were weird noises, funny voices, insults, temper tantrums, attempts to get up from the table, attempts to eat backwards so as to avoid eye contact with a sibling, tears, timeouts and singing. The last one would be from the BG when he decided to transport himself to another place and began singing Christopher Cross's Sailing. I was not impressed.
Once I brought the Big Giraffe back from never never land, he and I looked at each other in disbelief. What was wrong with our kids? It's not like we never eat together as a family. Then it dawned on me: it was the anticipation of the feast and the fact that it took longer to prepare than anticipated. As a result, we ate a little later. Then I had another realization: this is what Thanksgiving will be like. On second thought, Thanksgiving in the rotisserie may not be so great an idea.
A. Elliot's Lesson Learned: PB&J for the kids and a glass or two of wine for the BG and me may be critical to preparing for a Thanksgiving feast.
How are the holidays almost here?! Seriously weren't we just installing our air conditioners for the summer? Within our home, the holiday tradition seems to be that every year we do something different. We've had dinner here, eaten out, gone to friends, had friends come over here, gone to NYC and PA, and gone to Chicago.
This year we realized that Thanksgiving was quickly approaching and we had no idea what we wanted to do. I for one don't particularly like Thanksgiving Day food. Or perhaps I should say that I don't like the implication of Thanksgiving Day food. It's fine for one meal and maybe as a leftover meal the next day. However, that's about it. No matter how you disguise it, by Saturday you are eating dry, leftover turkey and soggy, leftover stuffing, possibly poorly disguised as a new dish. All the good foods, mainly the pies, are long gone. I suggested to the Big Giraffe that if we really wanted to celebrate family and good food, we should throw a couple frozen pizzas in the oven and serve them with a big bag of Halloween candy. I can guarantee given a choice between turkey and pumpkin pie or pizza and candy the boys would choose the latter. Frankly so would I.
I also get incredibly homesick on Thanksgiving. On top of it, as a college freshman, I developed viral meningitis when flying home to celebrate Thanksgiving. While I'm not a germophobe by any means, I have a really hard time flying around Thanksgiving. Even for those who haven't gotten sick, Thanksgiving is the busiest travel time of the year.
The question became how to make this holiday that I don't really enjoy a fun holiday for the kids? The BG agreed to be in charge of dinner this year. Okay. He made a dinner reservation for us. Fabulous...except that it could mean an argument with the boys who believe that major holidays should be celebrated by enjoying pajama days at home. Hmmm....an argument can be easily avoided if I am out of the house when they wake up. I decided that I wanted to do a 5k Turkey Trot on Thanksgiving morning. I specifically chose one where the proceeds go to a food pantry. Seems like that's in keeping with a holiday about food.
Yesterday my parents sent us up a rotisserie. I suggested to the Big Giraffe that this offered him additional options, such as cooking a small turkey or turkey breast in it! The BG immediately began perusing our new cookbooks, and he made a fabulous roast chicken tonight!
So, I'll be running, the boys will get to have a pajama day, and the BG will get to cook. Unfortunately the times don't quite work perfectly. Unless he is planning on making the dinner at 8 am, I will be home long before he begins his preparations, which means he and I may have an argument if he is not open to the insightful observations I like to share while he is cooking. He describes them as micromanagement. I don't want to fight during the holidays, so clearly I should nap while he's making dinner.
A. Elliot's Lesson Learned: Pajamas, rotisseries, and naps are all things for which one can be thankful.
I've never really understood why it's such a given that Thanksgiving and Christmas have with a fairly big certainty turkey on the menu.....that must get boring no?
we don't have thanksgiving but for Christmas we put anything on the menu that we feel like (and that's a bit festive): turkey, fish, wild, fondue, ......
I have always considered the car to be my friend. When I was growing up, many of my relatives lived anywhere from 2-4 hours away, one of our favorite summer vacation spots was an 8 hour drive, and even heading into Chicago was at around an hour from our North Shore suburb. The Big Giraffe apparently also spent many a day riding in the car. It never seemed like a big deal. I find many of my New England friends have a different perspective as to what makes something a long distance. No doubt the pervasive construction and the inability to "get theah from heah" stretch the miles. However, I know many people who consider a drive of two towns to be a roadtrip and others who consider family members far away if it takes more than a half hour to get to them.
Fortunately, our boys seem to have either inherited the roadtrip gene or gotten used to being strapped into a carseat. For the most part always been good in the car. Hmm...on second thought...Well, we did have a stint where I drove like a crazy lady by pulling over several times while driving on Route 9 because I had to repeatedly administer timeouts to stop OS from performing something called "Mommycise." Since that stage ended, things have been pretty peaceful. We have never really heard "Are we there yet?" In fact we prided ourselves on the fact that we could drive several hours in a row without DVDs or special kid CDs.
Recently though we've noticed a difference. To be specific, OS has started complaining about how long a trip is taking...after only twenty or thirty minutes. I couldn't figure out what the big deal is. Then I realized what the Big Giraffe and I were witnessing: the birth of a New Englander!
A. Elliot's Lesson Learned: The length of the drive is based on the perception of the passenger.
My girls complain about time spent in a car as well. In fact the other day, Meenie was telling me her trip from our home to the corn maze was like 2 hours long (it was, in reality 15 minutes). Einey piped in with, yeah well my trip to the ecotarium took alllll day (which you know, 30 minutes, all day, same thing, right?). I guess maybe that's our problem? They are born and bred nth generation New Englanders. It's in their blood.
We took our kids to Disney World a few years ago for a family reunion. They loved it and we had a fabulous time. Tonight they also had an experience on par with Disney World. My friend was supposed to sit for the kids tonight because I had School Council and the Big Giraffe had a soccer coach certification class. However, she got stuck in traffic. The boys were already in the their PJs when she suggested that she could meet me at the school so that I wouldn't be late for the meeting. The boys were thrilled to be able to go to school in their PJs at night. What could top that? How about me switching cars with her so that we didn't have to deal with moving the boys and moving the carseats.
A. Elliot's Lesson Learned: There are actually times where children are easy to please.
I have a serious problem with son's kindergarten curriculum. This week's class letter described how the kids had learned to draw turkeys. I was pretty impressed, since I was having trouble envisioning how I would draw turkey. Trying not to be too enthusiastic, I asked OS if he had drawn any pictures of turkeys today. OS looked surprised. I could see the wheels turning in his little mind. He had been so careful not to divulge any details of the day? How could I possibly have known about the turkey? He practically shrugged his shoulders in an "oh well" gesture and pulled out a drawing from his backpack.
It was really good! I practically puffed up my chest and strutted my feathers. I exclaimed over his drawing and praised it. Then I looked at it a little closer. What was on its head? Why did it have long brown curly hair? Was it a turkey in a Halloween costume? "No, Mommy. That's you as a turkey."
A. Elliot's Lesson Learned: Sometimes you are better off not knowing what your kids are doing in school.
Just hope that OS doesn't talk about home life in school. I've had many teachers say "don't believe what they tell you happens at school and I won't believe what they say happens at home".
I know I've written before about how impressed I am with my neti pot. I bought one last spring after it became the focus for more than 30 minutes of a book club meeting that I was hosting. I can't remember why we were discussing them but then again quite frankly I can't remember what book we were discussing either. I had heard of them before, but I had never seen one. The book club members who used them raved about them. They swore that I had walked by them numerous times but just never had noticed them. That is the mysterious way of the neti pot. Alright maybe I'm exaggerating slightly about the last part but lo and behold they really were in the cold medicine section of the pharmacy, and I must have walked by them several dozen times in my lifetime.
This Tuesday night happened to be book club. We read The Red Tent by Anita Diamant and had a really great conversation about it. It's one of the best books I've read in a while. Of course though there was a lot of laughing. The more I laughed the more I felt my voice give a little. It was probably from the laughing though, right? I mean we were laughing really hard. That's what I told myself on Wednesday too. I felt fine.
Thursday morning though my voice had begun to give out and by Thursday afternoon it was pretty much gone. I begun to refer to it as my sexy voice. Call me crazy, but the Big Giraffe didn't seem to find it very sexy. In fact, I noticed him edging away from me, when he was actually in the same room as me. I still felt alright though. I meticulously used my neti pot from Tuesday night through this morning. My voice is on its way back and, knock on wood, I have yet to develop a runny nose, cough or fever. I'm sure some of it is that I slept the sleep of someone with African Sleeping Sickness, but I give most of the credit to the neti pot.
Now of course I just have to remember to hide it again lest it become used as a toy teapot by the boys.
A. Elliot's Lesson Learned: I can't explain the mysteries of the neti pot, but it does work.
A while ago we converted our guest room into a playroom for the boys. However, we didn't have a place to put their games so most of them sat piled on the floor. We had been meaning to get a low bookcase for them, but we hadn't gotten around to it.
Lo and behold today we actually had a day without any commitments! We decided to go to IKEA and take a look at their selection.
As we approached, I had a flashback to the last time I went to IKEA. I was 22 and had just graduated from college. I was living in Hoboken, NJ. The Big Giraffe and I had just begun dating. He borrowed his mother's car and we went to the IKEA in Elizabeth, NJ. I had only been working for a few months and had carefully saved money to be able to buy new furniture. I picked out what I thought was the most beautiful dresser, nightstand and small vanity mirror.
I still remember eagerly anticipating the delivery. Much to my horror everything was in pieces. It took a lot longer than I would have ever imagined to put together. It looked great though when it was put together although the drawers never closed quite right and after a while my clothes made impressions in the bottom of the drawer. In fact, it was only a short while later that I realized that I had actually paid quite a bit of money for cheaply made furniture. I could have bought nicer furniture that was used. Later when OS began to do board breaking at Tae Kwon Do I joked that the boards he broke were just like the backs of all my IKEA furniture: pressed wood. Live and learn! Like I said, it did look nice.
However, in the years since I've wondered if my IKEA experience was just a fluke. Many people I know have bought furniture there, and they haven't had any problems with it. We bought a hutch from Crate and Barrel and the drawer closes funny on it. We decided to give Ikea another try.
After each of us feasted on their $1 meatball meal and $2 princess cake in the cafe, we headed to the section with bookshelves. How had 11 years passed by so quickly? It really seemed like yesterday I was a new college graduate buying furniture for my first apartment. Now I was holding two little boys' hands.
We found a decent looking bookshelf. Given how flat the package is, I'm guessing it's in at least two hundred different pieces. Hopefully this time though it will hold up well.
A. Elliot's Lesson Learned: Some things don't change with time.
Costumes, sugar high, glow sticks. What's there not to like about Halloween if you're a kid? Needless to say my kids had a terrific time. Unlike previous years, though we actually went trick or treating outside.
Much like the Dodo bird, sidewalks appear to be extinct in the fine Commonwealth of MA. Alright, there are some. Perhaps they are rather rare like the panda bear. While neither endangered nor extinct, other kids are also not to be found in our neighborhood. We have therefore taken the boys to the mall in past years for trick or treating. That way they can run around and not worry about getting hit by a car when they are the sole trick or treaters wandering the streets.
This year a friend invited us to go trick or treating in her neighborhood. Although there are only a few additional sidewalks, there are a lot more kids, thus discouraging all but the most overzealous Massholes from speeding. My two boys had a blast. My older son (OS) went running ahead with the big kids. They ran up to each door, trick or treated and then headed on to the next house while my younger son (YS) and his two year old friend toddled up to the original house.
This is more of an athletic endeavor than those of you from outside of New England might think. It's not flat here. (Yeah, I know it's not the Rockies either.) There are a lot of steeply sloped driveways. In fact I was more tired from the trick or treating than I was from yesterday morning's spinning class. Trick or treaters really earn their candy. Parents really earned their candy. Or didn't they? That's right they didn't because the system is broken! Broken I tell you!
I walked just as far as my kids yet no one offered me candy. Sure I wasn't wearing a costume, but with the humidity and touch of rain my hair poofed out making me look like the Bride of Frankenstein. I explained this all to my kids. It was a joint effort to get the candy therefore I was just as entitled to the candy as they were. They didn't even pause from eating their candy to look at me.
I have now drafed a new tax proposal for our house to be approved, ratified and signed by yours truly. There will now be a candy tax imposed. 40% of all candy earned from trick or treating will be handed over to me. And no this does not mean I get handed all the gross candy that no one wants. It's 40% of the good stuff.
Of course, every dentist will warn you that there are unfortunate consequences to eating too much candy, and sure enough OS did lose his second tooth this morning. In fairness, it actually was loose long before Halloween candy.
A. Elliot's Lesson Learned: Parents are entitled to 40% of the gross take on Halloween, not 40% of the gross candy.
I have definitely stumbled into a new stage of life: life with kids in school. I really like it. However, there have been some suprising transitions with it. Of course like other areas of parenting, these are areas that no one really seems to talk about.
Last week I dropped my younger son (YS) off at preschool. Then I went to go get dog food. As I pulled into the parking I chatted away with YS about the new dog food. Then I got out of the car and went to the back to get him out of his carseat. Only he wasn't there. Oh, yeah I had just dropped him off at preschool!
A couple days later I was talking with Sally HP on the phone when I paused in the middle of a story. I then confessed to her that I had been wondering what YS was up to and why he was so quiet. Yes, he was also at preschool that time.
Those stories probably aren't too unique. Certainly I remember reading a similar story in Chicken Soup for the Mother's Soul when I was pregnant with my older son (OS). This next event though I had never heard any parents talk about until I recently. Guess it's the next stage of peeing in your pants when you laugh hard after being pregnant.
I heard a recipe that same day for a baked apple that sounded good. Take an apple, slice it, then sprinkle on a little cinnamon and Splenda (or sugar) and bake it in the microwave for 3 minutes. It's really good! In fact it was so good that a short while later I decided to make myself a second apple. Unfortunately I didn't stop too consider that I had just eaten two whole apples in less than an hour before I jumped into my car to pick YS up from preschool. As I pulled into the pick up drop off line I had the world's worst gas. I could practically propel the car forward. No problem. I would just blame in on YS. Except that he wasn't in the car!!!!
I could see the teacher walking to me with YS to strap him in the car. Quickly I opened all the windows and began frantically waving my arms around to get some fresh air in the car. She probably thought I was a lunatic. Way too soon she arrived at my door and strapped YS into his carseat. She didn't say anything which brought me a sense of relief until Sally HP later said, "Well it's not like she's going to say "Did you sh*t your pants, Alex?". Hmm...good point.
Like I said though I have since found that other parents have passed gas and done other embarrassing things that they have previously blamed on their kids but then got caught in the act once their kids were in school.
A. Elliot's Lesson Learned: Everybody poops and everybody has gas. Just make sure that your kids are actually around when you let loose in public or be prepared to be embarrassed.
hmm weird....I don't think parents in Belgium have that transition so strongly for several reasons
1) most people work , stay-at-home moms are very rare (I don't know any in person myself). They do often work part-time (4 out of 5 days) because that's subsidized by our government. So all young parents I know have their kids for several days per week in daycare/kindergarden/ with a babysit or grandparents right from the start after pregnancy leave.
2) school starts here at the age of 2,5 years
the gas story made me think of an episode we had in France. We'd had eaten fabulous cheese in a restaurant and on our drive back home we stopped in a supermarket to look for it and buy it. It was in a fridge and we could not "smell" it yet. But after a while in the heat of the car we could truly start to appreciate its strong odor...and try not to pass away.
Then we stopped nearby Reims at a champagne farm/depot to buy some boxes of champagne for our entire family. The lady had to come close with a card to load the boxes in our trunck. Euh...yeah, we were just a tiny bit emberassed but simply looked the other way while she was loading.
Older Son (OS): YS, you're wearing a shirt with buttons! Younger Son (YS): No I'm not! (looks confused) OS: Yes, you are! You just can't see them because they're invisible. YS: (screams and takes off shirt)
Me: YS you need to walk down the stairs by yourself in the morning. You're getting too big for me to carry. YS: I not big, Mommy. I still little. I too little to play soccer. (We've been telling him that the age minimum for soccer is four).
Me: OS, are the kids nice on the school bus? OS: Yes, Mommy. Everyone's nice. Me: So there's no problems with spitting or pushing? OS: No. YS: What about kids running around on the bus. OS: (with a look of total annoyance and like I'm the world's biggest moron) Mommy, what did your listening ears just hear me say? Everyone is nice. What does that mean? It means that everyone is nice and no is running around, spitting or pushing!!!!
Me: YS, it's time to get ready for school. YS: I choose to stay at home. Me: That wasn't a choice option. Besides, your teacher will miss her little YS. YS: I am not her little YS! I your YS.
OS: YS, I'm eating Apple Jacks. YS: No you're not. OS: Yes I am. You just can't see then because they're invisible. YS: Mommy, I want Apple Jacks! Me: There are no Apple Jacks. YS: OS is eating Apple Jacks! Me: YS you can have Apple Jacks. Big Giraffe: (walks over with cupped hands holding nothing). Here's your Apple Jacks. OS: (looks impressed that we actually caught him at his own game.)
Last night was my older son's (OS) kindergarten curriculum night. At last we were going to find out what he does all day! Apparently he most have taken an oath to never reveal the daily happenings of his classroom because it's rare for him to divulge anything about his day.
The Big Giraffe and I went into his classroom and met his teachers. We saw all the artwork that the kids had done. We saw the books the kids read and the games they played. We saw the reading corner, the writing station and the pretend play station. We then listened to his head teacher explain what they do during a typical day.
As she finished speaking I came to an important realization: there is another student with OS's exact name. I know! We were in that other OS's classroom. Surely that is the only logical explanation because neither the Big Giraffe nor I had heard about 99% of the classroom or the typical day from OS.*
A. Elliot's Lesson Learned: Going to curriculum night can make you realize that your child really does have a separate life from you!
*Another mom over heard me remark on this to the Big Giraffe and said she too felt the same way about her son.
We often joke that "what happens in kindergarten stays in kindergarten". I'm sure if they told us they'd have to kill us. It's top secret.
I am getting better at piecing together random comments to figure out what happened at school. Sometimes it's really tough to let them find their own path.
i've been saying the same thing for the past 5 years... in preschool they'd tell me about this little boy who helped and didn't need to be told things twice, then they'd put my son in the car.
he's in 2nd grade now and they're still doing the switch.
I knew this day was coming. I just thought that he would be about 16. Not 3. How could my little 3 year old outsmart me?
After being surprised by my 3 year old a couple times this summer when out in public, I instituted the underwear laws in our household. Underwear has to be worn with shorts and to camp. When school started, the law was amended: underwear needs to be worn at school. Yes, you may go ahead and laugh. Know, though that I too laughed at friends who also had to develop underwear laws. That is until it was my own child!
The other law ruling our house is that if it's under 65 degrees, it's pants not shorts. This is because I got tired of assuring OS's teachers that no, he really wasn't cold. I decided to start the school year out right away with this rule. OS may not generally tell me about his day, but I do have a guarantee that if it's an enforced pants day I will hear about every other kid who got to wear shorts to school that day!
Today the pants police came out and demanded pants be worn. The boys reluctantly obeyed. I was surprised to discover later that YS was not wearing underwear. Don't ask.
Me: You know the rule on underwear. Underwear is mandatory for school and with shorts. YS: (triumphantly) Not school today. No shorts today. I wear pants.
Hmm...time for that law to be ammended. The Big Giraffe apparently wasn't aware of that law until a few moments ago when I told him about the post and he is now saying that the law should be struck down entirely and replaced with a law stating that underwear needs to be worn at all times. Welcome back from whatever planet you've been on this past summer and good luck on that one, Big Giraffe.
A. Elliot's Lesson Learned: It's a sad day when your 3 year old outsmarts you!
PTO President Today, Master of the Universe Tomorrow
I know I've basically disappeared from the blogosphere the past couple weeks. Everything is going really well, it's just been incredibly busy here not helped by the fact the Big Giraffe needed to strip my computer since it basically bit the dust. Yes, I know it's busy for all parents, but seriously I didn't expect my life to be this busy. Alright, foolishly I thought that having a child in full day kindergarten meant that I would have a little more free time. On second thought I take that back. Yes, I did indeed have more free time, I just also have much more things to do.
Last weekend was my last triathlon of this season. While I really enjoyed doing it, I was looking forward to it being over for a little bit. I was feeling a little burned out. While I'm still working out 5-6 days a week, it's not as intense and I'm not doing any double workouts. I ended my season on a good note. I relayed a fundraising triathlon as a runner and got my best running time in a 5K so I was pleased. It's only a couple more months until my training starts back up again.
I'm not sure exactly how this happened, but I went into a PTO meeting as the VP and came out the president. I'm still trying to figure that one out! Anyhow, it is going really well and all the positions got filled, some of them with multiple people. Everyone seems excited by it. I do confess though that this weekend there may have been a few tears shed over something called Muffin Monday* and Treat Tuesday that I completely didn't understand. Not to mention that fact that I was putting together a PowerPoint presentation on a topic and that I had only learned about a couple days ago myself!
Anyhow, like I said everything is good. While I wasn't planning on being president, it actually works into my grand plan nicely. PTO president today, Master of the Universe tomorrow. It's all about small steps!
A. Elliot's Lesson Learned: If you were president of your moms group, it is inevitable that you too will some day be PTO president.
This past weekend was FIRMMAN, the half Ironman that I relayed. Perhaps I should say the weekend I had my near death experience. I'm kidding. Well sort of anyway.
I arrived in Narragansett, RI late on Saturday night. Right away hotel patrons starting talking about how the waves were 12 feet high. What?! Tell me again why I was doing this?
The next morning my relay team and I arrived promptly at 5 AM when the transition area opened. I was amazed with how crowded it already was. Good thing we got there early because the swimming start was 3/4 of a mile away from the transition area. We had a "J" course as they call it. It didn't look exactly like a J to me, but I got why they call it that. Basically you swim from shore out to the first buoy, turn right, swim the majority of the course parallel to show, turn right around another buoy and swim into shore on a diagonal. When you finish you're right by the transition area.
I went walked down to the start with a bunch of athletes. I was already nervous about the waves. People were saying they were five footers. One woman told me to be careful when choosing which wave to dive under because if I misjudged another larger wave would hit me in the face when I surfaced.
I was the fourth heat: men 29+ and relays. The horn blew and off we went. I angled to the left of the buoy because of the current. I saw what I thought was the first big wave and dove under it only to be hit in the face with another much larger wave and dragged under it. Then it happened immediately again. By this point I had been dragged half way out between the shore and the first buoy. I seriously contemplated turning around and going back to shore. I felt like I couldn't get my breath and the waves just kept coming. I decided to just stop and try to get a grip. After calming down I decided that I would go out to the first buoy. There was a lifeguard on a kayak right there. If I made it to the first buoy and still felt like I couldn't make the swim, I would ask that person to take me into shore. If not, then I should be okay for the rest of the swim.
Swimming breaststroke I made it to the first buoy. My angling did work out perfectly and I arrived right next to the buoy. By then I was fine because the water was deep enough that the waves weren't breaking anymore. I was also swimming parallel to shore instead of into the waves. I couldn't breathe to my left because of the waves, but that was alright. The rest of the swim was great. Coming in was a little scary again because the waves were going right over me as soon as I hit shallower water. However, I took the advice of that woman and body surfed in. I finished with a group of swimmers two heats in front of me. I was really pleased with my race. I know I lost a lot of time in the beginning, but next year I'll know what to expect. Yes, my relay and I already decided to do it again next year. We're registering next month when registration opens.
I haven't gotten to the best part though. Because this was such a big race, they had all sorts of fun stuff for the athletes like massages and wetsuit strippers! I was very intrigued by the idea of the wetsuit strippers. Hey, you're talking to the person who accidentally had the half nude massage a few months ago. Of course I just had to take advantage of this free service that day I had never heard of.
After the swimmers ran over the timing mat with their wetsuits half down, they could lay down on a square of carpet and two guys would grab the top of your wetsuit and pull the whole thing right off of you. I love my new wetsuit, but I have a hard time getting it off my ankles. It all bunches up like a bad pair of rubber pantyhose. I too lay down on the carpet with my wetsuit half off and they yanked it right off of me. Now if only I could take these two guys two all my races....
I had a great time at the race. My teammates were amazing. They are such nice people too. I'm really looking forward to next year and also to Timberman because we're relaying that as well.
So what does a wetsuit have to do with a lemon tart? Oh yeah! Yesterday was my younger son"s (YS)first day of preschool. He was really excited about it until the moment the teacher came to the car. Then there was a lot scowling and some tears. Off he went. I got together with two of my friends who are always inviting me to lunch and I can never make it. We went out to a nice lunch. I had such a good time and enjoyed my lemon tart so much that I almost forgot to pick YS up from preschool! Yes, I am mother of the year. Thank you thank you. My son's first day and instead of anxiously checking the clock in anticipation of pickup, I'm gossiping and sharing desserts. He may have been the second to last kid to be picked up, but I did make it on time! He had a great time and can't wait to go back tomorrow. Good thing I didn't waste energy anxiously worrying about what he was doing, right? At least that's what I've been trying to tell myself!
Lest you think I'm living the life of leisure now that YS is in preschool for a grand total of five hours a week, the next few weeks are filled with various committee meetings and school commitment. Somehow I got sucked into a library expansion committee today as well.
A. Elliot's Lesson Learned: Wetsuit strippers and lemon tarts are two of the finer things in life!
I'm so excited for you! When I first started reading, I thought you meant you had to run 3/4 mile to the transition area after the swim, and I was wondering HOW you could have left that out! I'm looking forward to getting your expertise on swim training...maybe I'll stick to learning about long-distance swim :)
Alex and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day
My real life friends have heard this story. Wednesday was a truly terrible day right out of Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day by Judith Viorst. Well, the version where he's grown up and is a stay at home parent. Of course yes in the grand scheme of things compared to illness, death and destruction it was a great day! However, this is my blog and I can cry if I want to! Or tell you about how I literally cried. It actually is funny to look back on it and yes I did try to write this post on Wednesday, but oh yeah my computer crashed and lost it.
The day started off oddly. The boys were up when I got up to go spinning and I was running late. I got back and had plans to go to the RMV lest I be caught driving my "illegal" car and be thrown in the slammer. I've only been to the RMV once (that's what the DMV is called here) and apparently there was a blip in the universe that day because I had a wonderful experience there. There wasn't any line and I had my pick of parking spaces.
The RMV opened at 9. I put OS on the bus at 9 and then arrived at the RMV at 9:10. I had YS all set to go so that we went immediately from the bus stop to our car . I found the place without a problem. See, it really was going to be a good day! Until I couldn't find a single parking spot. I tried positive thinking. A spot would open a spot would open. It was 9:10 AM and apparently everyone and their dog were in there. A spot wasn't going open.
No sweat I would just go to a paid parking lot. I could already see the street parking wasn't going to be an option. Except all the paid parking lots were full or you had to be a court employee to use them. I finally found one four city blocks over and one city block down another street. It was really crowded too. That's when I started crying.
I finally did find a spot there. Suprisingly, looking back and considering the day's events, there was an old stroller in the Big Giraffe's car. Yes, it was his car because if I dared to drive mine the SWAT team would descend on it. Had I known that stroller was there, I would have gotten rid of it, but seeing as it was there it was quite handy. YS sat down in it and we headed to the elevator.
Except we couldn't find it. We wandered up and down and had no luck. I considered just collapsing the stroller and walking down the stairs with him. I finally saw a business woman there and asked her where the elevator was. Yes, it was over a curb and behind the stairs. It wasn't visible from the parking lot much less handicapped accessible. In fact I even walked straight by it while following her directions. She then personally escorted me to it.
Positive thinking positive thinking. We walked over to the RMV. We got in line. We waited and waited and waited. YS annouced he needed to poop. I wasn't going to get out of the line and YS has always had an obession with public bathrooms. Very recently it's been going number 2 in public bathrooms. Don't ask. Plus he had gone number 2 right before we left. I said not now.
I found out we waited in the wrong line. Argh!! Postive thinking. We got a number and waited in a new line. Positive thinking no longer worked and I fought back tears as I instant messaged and tweeted to pass the time. YS was busy playing peek a boo with a woman sitting behind us.
All of a sudden I smelled a terrible smell. I just knew that someone had sh*t their pants. Perfect! I looked around for the offender. Not seeing anyone I could positively identify as the offender I went back to waiting. Then I smelled it again. Seriously, what was wrong with people? Wait a minute...was it YS? I felt his clothed bottom. No lumps.
I cast a general dirty look at those around me. But yet the smell still persisted. As I looked around yet again, was there a turd under my bench?, I noticed that YS was lying on the bench with his feet up in the air and his legs pressed against the back of the bench. The legs of his shorts were bunched up. A terrible smell seemed to be wafting up from them. I peeked. I'm still not sure what happened but there was a giant tire track in his underwear. There was nothing to flush though. I don't know if he didn't wipe well before we left or if maybe a little something came out because I didn't take him to the bathroom when he asked. It will remain one of life's great enigmas. Maybe not, but I do know that a little bit of poop gives off a really big stink.
There was still no way I was getting out of line and besides YS was as happy as a clam. Of course I didn't have a change of clothes for him because I can't even remember when he last had an accident and I know I haven't carried a change of clothing for him in a long time. Fabulous. I told him to sit up and keep his legs together. The silver lining was that no one would sit near us and this was paritcularly good as there was an electronic ticker that kept on running ads for the H1N1 vaccine. It read "2 billion people are estimated to get H1N1 this year". Nice atmosphere all around.
We were finally called. Phew! I gave the woman the expired registration card and everything was all set to go. Except that it was cash only. Are you kidding me?! I was short a couple bucks. She was very nice and told me to go get cash from across the street and come back and see her. She wrote "no wait" on my card.
I never found the ATM across the street. A couple blocks later I did find an ATM. I tried not to cry. We went back and only had to wait a few minutes for the woman to finish up with another customer. Everything was all set. I found out that I didn't need to have gone myself ie I could have sent the Big Giraffe. We had thought that since the car is only registered in my name I had to be the one to do it. No, they only care about the money and having your current address. Seriously, that's what she told me. If my address changes, I can send someone else in with a Post It note with my new address. Yes, she did say that too.
We walked all the way back to car. I know cry me a river. Hey, there are no sidewalks where I live. 5 city blocks of walking is unusual here.
I couldn't find my car. I knew that I had gotten the elevator on the third floor, but I had walked around a couple floors. Where was my car? I finally found it between the 4th and 5th floor.
I got lost coming home. Great. I had been gone 3 hours at this point. I missed everything I had planned for the morning.
We came home and I had a cup of coffee and resolved to return to a zen-like state. Breathe in, breathe out. I remembered that I still had to take the jar of dog pee that was in the fridge to the vet. I got in my newly registered car with the jar o' pee and off and I went.
We walked into the vet's office and no one was there. But there were cars in the parking lot and I heard voices. I didn't want to just leave the pee. Maybe they were having a late lunch? I could hear laughing coming from a door marked "Private". I knocked on the door. Yeah, I walked into a staff meeting. I felt like an idiot standing there with my jar o' pee. A receptionist pointed out that the door was marked private and I shouldn't have knocked on it. Apparently the office was closed. But the front door was open...It was an oversight. The door was marked "Private".
We went home and I made a meal that I had promised to bring to a good friend who just had a baby. I made her a curry dish that we all like. I even went out and bought all the extra special ingredients that I never have. Like raisins. I put the decorative cilantro and cashews on the finished meal. It looked so pretty. I never buy decorative cilantro...or raisins. OMG raisins! Her husband is allergic to fruit! He's allergic to the meal that took me an hour to make! The tears began.
OS came home from school. After a while we headed out to drop off the meal and then headed for soccer along with the Big Giraffe's stinky sneakers that he had left at home. He's the soccer coach. The day was almost over. We would get through the practice and get home. Here's the grand finale of my truly terrible day.
I got to the field and saw the team with all of the moms I hung out with last season. That was no longer my team. We had switched teams so that the Big Giraffe could coach. I was doing my best to be friendly with the new moms on the team while watching the moms on my old team chat away together across the field. All of a sudden YS began to excitedly gesture. What was he so happy about? I turned my head and followed his gaze. It was his long lost friend...the outhouse. But wait, it gets better.
He just had to use it. He was all smiles. He immediately burst in to see if his old friends the orange and the coffee cup from last spring were still nestled deep inside the bowels of the outhouse. Why yes they were despite the fact that the town allegedly cleans the outhouse on a regular basis. But there was also a new friend. The plastic water bottle. YS quickly pointed it out. I told him to hurry up. Oh, no he couldn't do that. He had to go number 2. I drew the line. There was a spider web all across the seat plus YS has decided in his very recent obsession with going number 2 in public bathrooms that he no longer wants me to hold him. And sometimes he falls in a little. But you can't just fall a little in an outhouse...and you don't just hit water when you fall. Um, no. This was not going to happen. I told him I would just take him home. He had a fit. I wanted to move to Australia.
That is my truly terrible day. I think the worst part was how silly I felt about getting upset over everything. That made me realize how silly I felt about my day to day activities as a SAHM and question my decision to be at home. When I went through everything that had happened it wasn't like I was in a car accident or BG had lost his job or anything near that level. Yet I had cried several times. At the end of the day the big question was "did I make a mistake by staying at home?" and I couldn' t honestly say "no". In the end that's ultimately what made it a bad day.
A. Elliot's Lesson Learned: The silver lining on a bad day is that it makes a good blog post.
I can relate to this on so many levels. While I'm happy with my decision to stay at home now, it has been really hard to go from presenting in court and conducting important investigations to presenting at swim lessons and checking to make sure H wiped. I think it's hard when you're starting to be in the up-swing of the change cycle...your time is a'comin!
Oh Alex, it seems that everything that could have gone wrong did! I would have been in tears too. Some days just are like that and there's nothing to do but throw your hands up on the air and laugh.
Oh honey. These things would have happened whether you work outside the home or not. We all have bad days where the errands go awry and the kids poop their pants. (I wonder where that poop is? Under the bench??) It doesn't mean that you aren't supposed to be a SAHM. It just means that you had a bad day.
That said, I am totally laughing at the outhouse story!
I've had days like that too. Going to the RMV is never a pleasant experience as it is, but having your kid poop in line - horrible! My three-year-old loves to use public bathrooms too. Then, I'm like, "Don't touch anything!!!!"
A couple days ago Sally HP asked me if I would like to come over and make raspberry jam. After my success with the strawberry jam I had taken the boys raspberry picking, by which I mean that they filled their bellies with raspberries while I ended up filling their containers. In the end they I had picked 3 quarts of raspberries and I paid a dollar extra a container to get two additional quarts of berries the farm had picked. Two extra dollars or kids with belly aches? You tell me.
Last night I carefully packed my eight jam jars, my box of low sugar pectin, my bag of sugar and of course my frozen raspberries. I was looking forward to a fun evening. When I stopped at a red light I had visions of my jam with pretty red and green bows tied festively around each jar. The light turned green. I didn't even make it through the intersection before I saw the blue lights flashing in my review mirror. That's right I got pulled over!
There was a police car right behind me at the red light and while we were stopped he noticed the my registration sticker had expired...in June. Yeah I know! We'll leave the Big Giraffe out of this. Let's just say that I was under the impression that it had been renewed and leave it at that.
The policeman wanted to know where I was going. I said that I was going to make jam. He looked confused. "Jam? You mean like jelly?" I said yes and pointed to my carefully packed jelly jars. My friend and I had been planning this for a couple days. I swear he looked like he felt sorry for me. He then told me that usually he gives a $100 ticket and has the car towed on the spot. If I had a clean record, he would let me off with a warning. I swore I had a clean record. I had one ticket about 10 years ago that was thrown out. Ironically it was because I was driving my parents' car and the registration was expired!
The policeman expressed doubt that my record was really that clean. I pointed out that I was on my way to make jam for my big night out. He looked sympathetic. He wanted to know what type I was making. Have you ever seen The Breakfast Club? You know the part where Anthony Michael Hall starts talking about how he's in the physics club, the math club etc etc and everyone just looks at him like he's a pathetic loser and wishes he would stop talking? I am not proud to say that was me! I started mumbling how I picked the berries myself, but then they kids wouldn't stop eating them so I ended up picking theirs and then paying the extra two dollars to have a couple quarts more so I would have the berries I needed for the jam plus a quart to eat, and really freshly picked berries were freshly picked berries so I didn't think it mattered that technically I hadn't picked the final two quarts and the highlight of my day was finding the low sugar pectin at the grocery store because that's really hard to find around here....He gave me the same look that Anthony Michael Hall was given!
He received word that really my record was clean. He looked surprised but agreed with my comment about jam being my big night out. He told me that I can't drive my car until I register my car. I'm off to do it first thing this morning, right before I go to my PTO meeting. Really I'm not making that up either! PTO mom by day criminal by night! Let's hope there's no more problems because I have my dog's urine sample in the fridge and I need to get to the vet today.
A. Elliot's Lesson Learned: Being boring can save you money. In my case $600!
Happy 6th birthday, OS! I know it was a big day for you. It was your first day of kindergarten as well as your birthday not to mention your first bus ride and first experience with a school cafeteria. It's also the longest you've been away from me in a day.
I was impressed with the way you bounced right out of bed eager to start your day. You opened your presents, played for a while and then got ready for school after I promised you that you could use your new telescope to look for planets tonight. You were so excited, but fortunately happy enough to be cooperative despite the excitement. Your planet lunch back was packed in your back pack, and out the door we went. The school bus arrived and for a moment I thought I saw a flicker of hesitation pass over your eyes, but then you hopped right in with a big smile on your face. You were gone so quickly, that I was only able to catch the back of the bus on video.
I'm sure that as you get older you'll want to know how I felt when you went away for your first full day of school. Hey, you already ask me now how I felt when you went to preschool for the first time. I was really happy for you. It felt like I got to relive a small part of my wonderful kindergarten experience. I had hoped that you would get the message that kindergarten was something to be excited for because I was so excited for you. I think it actually worked!
Did I cry? No. I was just too happy for you. I was so proud of your eagerness. I did feel though throughout the day that I had left something behind the way I feel when I'm driving around without my wallet or my cell phone. Yeah that's a bad analogy but it's true. You can print that out and take it to your therapist when you're older!
I started checking the clock at around 1. Preschool used to end at 11:30, and even when you stayed for lunch you were done by 12:30. You were out until 1:30 for only one week of camp. This seemed a lot longer. I was worried that you would find being away for so long difficult. On the contrary, you took everything in stride. You were unfazed by the major bus snafu on the way home, and it didn't bother you that you didn't snack program. In fact, when we did "thumbs up" to express what we like about the day, your items were (in order)
The fact that you had a really good birthday
The fact that you got to ride the school bus
The fact that you enjoyed your first day of kindergarten
and the fact that you got to eat birthday cake
I don't think you would have handled things the same way one year ago. During the year you were five you showed a tremendous amount of growth. I was glad that you missed last year's kindergarten cut-off by one day. Don't get me wrong. I'm sure you could have gone to kindergarten and done fine, but you just didn't seem ready. Last year I would have cried when the bus pulled away. Since then you've blossomed with growing self-confidence and self-awareness while becoming more outgoing. If there's a problem, you're not afraid to ask for help. Last year I saw the potential. Yesterday I saw the reality. When you walked into your classroom for the day-before-school class meet-and-greet, you introduced yourself and your brother to every kid you saw and asked them for their names.
When I reflect back on today one phrase comes to mind: you are ready. Recently someone told me that they held their daughter back because they wanted to give her the gift of time. While the choice wasn't ours, you got the gift of time from our town. You have done wonderfully with that gift.
Happy birthday, OS! May all the stars and planets shine brightly for you.
Love, Mommy
A. Elliot's Lesson Learned: Children can grow a lot in a year.
Happy Birthday to your boy! What a day, so glad it went well. Here in Canada kindergarten is only half a day, I can't imagine sending them off for a full day right off, I would have been checking the clock too!
They really do. It's just amazing. I couldn't get over how much growth C would experience over each time he went away to sleep away camp when he got older.
Last month I found out about an open water swim race to benefit a local swim team. It looked like a lot of fun so I decided to register. Unfortunately because of the date, I couldn't find anyone to do it with me. I joked that I was going to be the oldest person in the race.
The official told me that there were older people there. I don't believe it; I think I had a good twenty years on most of the swimmers there! She also insisted that there was no geriatric category, but I noticed that she dug through her papers to pull out a separate sheet from the rest of the registered swimmers that had my name a few others written on it. Age was not my only distinction. My superhero disguise, as I like to refer to my wetsuit, was not exactly subtle. I had assumed that wetsuits would be illegal since this event was through United States Master Swimming, but it turns out that it's up to the event director's discretion. Because it was an open water event and the weather was unseasonably chilly for August, she had mercy on us, so I got to race in my new suit.
I did run into someone I met at the Sudbury Sprint. He was doing his race with his ten year old daughter. I had a nice time chatting with them. I also was pleased to see that he too was wearing a superhero outfit.
I unfortunately achieved a negative personal milestone: I appeared to everyone as a true mom. Did you ever see that episode of Saturday Night Live where they mock mom jeans? I always wondered how those women could not realize how uncool they were. Fast forward to this weekend. I showed up to the race with my Christmas socks, plastic bag and wetsuit. I was magically transformed from cool hip 33 year old to a mom. OMG! My friend was transformed into a true dad.
The realization that I looked uncool wasn't the worst part. It was that I didn't even care. You should have seen these twelve year old girls staring at my friend and me as we donned our wetsuits. They seemed particularly interested in the socks and ziplock bag. Fortunately my kids weren't there to be humiliated. I don't even want to know how much that would cost in therapy bills.
Not caring that I looked uncool also wasn't the worst part; it was that I felt old. They had us line up by event: .5 mile, 1 mile and 2 mile. Turns out I was right about the geriatric group. Sure they claimed that the groups were based on how long we were each going to swim, but one look at those in the 2 mile group with me made it clear that it was a cruel reference to the fact that a few of the competitors already have more mileage on our personal odometers. Alright, there were a couple of young people in the 2 mile event, but most of them were doing the lesser events leaving only the Magnificent 7, most of us old enough to even get that reference, to swim 2 miles.
Looking prehistoric wasn't my biggest problem; it was the lack of visibility. The course was a 1 mile triangle, marked by 3 orange buoys that would have been bright and shiny beacons in calm waters under clear sunlight. Unfortunately not only was the water choppy, but the rain and fog made it difficult to see. In fact, many swimmers couldn't even see the first buoy from the shore. We were told to aim for the beach across from us. You can see me in the picture wearing the black wetsuit, but you can't see a buoy. We started, and I reached the first buoy without a problem. I had a harder time seeing the next two buoys, but I was able to keep my bearings by glancing at the bright orange swim caps of those who were swimming 1 mile. Then I passed the third buoy, and restarted the course for the second mile, while the hordes of youth who were only swimming 1 mile left the water. Suddenly only the Magnificent 7 were left, and we were then separated by distance and fog. I couldn't see anyone else. It was no longer so easy to keep my bearings.
I started the second mile well, again reaching the first buoy without a problem. I then confidently continued toward where I assumed the second buoy was; I couldn't make it out in the fog. I was intercepted by a lifeguard in a kayak who informed me I was a quarter of a mile off course. Apparently I created my own event: the 2.5 mile swim. I had swum parallel to the shore instead of diagonally. Whoops! A quarter mile out of the way and a quarter of the way back on course. The guy who finished after me did something similar, and I heard quite a few people saying that they had a hard time finding the buoys.
Unfortunately, adding extra distance was not my biggest problem. What was worse was my wardrobe malfunction. Ever since I was a kid, my friends and I have always made fun of the people who improperly wear their swim caps. You know the ones who have it perched on their heads with their hair hanging out of it? The ones who make a swim cap look like a beret or a ballcap? They always seemed to be really old. Like 30. In all my years of swimming I have had never had a problem with my swim cap...until yesterday. A wave knocked it almost all the way off, so I finished the race with my swim cap perched on my head and a curtain of hair hanging down the front of my face. When I mused to the Big Giraffe later that "My swim cap looked dorky," he shook his head and gave me a sympathetic look as he said, "Well technically, the swim cap didn't look dorky. You did." Brave words from the couch, BG!
In the end, however, appearing uncool, not caring about it, being old, having trouble seeing, adding extra distance, and having a swim cap wardrobe malfunction weren't my biggest problems. What the worst problem out of the whole event was that all of the young swimmers in the shorter events finished all of the hot chocolate before the Magnificant 7 got to shore.
Despite the challenges, I had a great time, and I learned of several new swim events for next year.
A. Elliot's Lesson Learned: A hot drink can make up for dorkiness, age, and inconvenience.
Oh my goodness, Alex, you can DO 2.5 miles and you're feeling old? Think POWERFUL, woman! If the "oldsters" were doing the 2-mile swim, they ROCK. Wear that uncoolness proudly!
The boys and I were both very excited to spend the day in Boston with Suzanne today! Before heading into the city, we stopped by a coffee house to catch up with my poor triathlon training buddy who has the shingles and Sally HP. Since we were going to be spending about 40 minutes in the car, the boys and I visited the bathroom before we left. I'll confess that I was the one who really needed to go.
I made myself comfortable on the toilet and began to let my non-fat latte flow out of me. Just as I was midstream, my younger son (YS) turned off the bathroom lights. Picture Candyman, Friday the 13th, Nightmare on Elm Street all coming to life. At least that's what it sounded like in the bathroom as two terrified boys let loose blood curdling screams and began pounding on the door. I stood up and flipped back on the light switch...and sprinkled floor!
Yes, me! 3 year olds peeing on the floor is unpleasant but not unexpected. 33 year olds peeing on the floor is just down right disturbing. After cleaning up my mess, while explaning to YS that yes it indeed does become dark when you turn out the light, I held my head high and walked out of the bathroom. Sure the other patrons thought I was a crazy lady from all the screaming and pounding on the door. However, they didn't know that I was a crazy lady who peed on the floor. Hah! Double hah! Besides, at least I missed my pants because as much as I love Suzanne there's just no way I was going to spend the day in Boston wearing jeans that I had peed on.
A. Elliot's Lesson Learned: There are just aspects of parenthood that you can't possibly predict!
Sally HP was shocked to learn that not only had I never made jam, but I also had never seen jam been made nor knew anyone who had ever made jam growing up. "What about canning?" she asked.
My experience with canning has been eating the occasional can of Jolly Green Giant vegetables growing up. She was so surprised by what I said I had a second of doubt where I wondered if maybe I had misspoken about other people. I called a few childhood friends and they confirmed that they had never seen jam being made nor knew anything about canning. I'm from the North Shore suburbs of Chicago and while it certainly isn't a city, it is a lot more city like than where I currently live. For starters, the houses are much more spread apart here than where I grew up. Yes, my parents had a little vegetable garden, but it was small.
Anyhow, Sally HP ran a jam making class for our moms group last week. Of course what choice did I have but to go, right? Actually after listening to her talk about it, I was quite intrigued. I even made the Big Giraffe come strawberry picking with me. He lived in NYC until he was 30 and had never picked berries. Then again, I had never picked berries before I joined my moms group for all the above reasons and one other big one: I don't even know of a place you could go berry picking that was close to where I grew up.
The Big Giraffe absolutely hated it. Actually come to think of it, I didn't like strawberry picking either. It's hot, dirty and it kills your back. I don't think it helped that our younger son (YS) spotted an outhouse in the middle of the strawberry and suddenly needed to use it. That might have been the last straw for the Big Giraffe who ended up taking him. Plus you know who ended up doing all the berry picking, right? The Big Giraffe and I while two little boys stuffed their faces with strawberries until they were full and then whined to leave. I tried to convince BG that blueberry and raspberry picking are much more fun (it's true!) but he has retired his berry picking container so to speak. He said that future berry picking would involve him carefully selecting containers of berries from the grocery store.
Either way, I had my berries for jam making. Sally HP sent out a list of supplies needed and of course it appeared to be written in another language and of course I promptly forgot everything I needed. After attending my heated yoga class on the hottest day of the summer, I called her from store slightly dehydrated and totally confused about what I needed. I had managed to find the jam making section. I didn't even know such a section existed. They must have put it together while I was at yoga because surely I would have noticed it in all my years of shopping.
I got 8 oz glass preserving jars and pectin. I'll admit I had no idea what pectin was either. It's gelling agent, think gelatin. Apparently I was also supposed to bring a rack, for what?, and a large pot. Also, for you clueless jam makers out there, and believe me there's no judgement here, the recipe is on the back of the box of pectin.
I came back pleased with myself. BG looked really concerned and asked if I was alright. I was surprised I mean I knew I was all sweaty from yoga class, but I go every Monday so it's hardly a surprise. He tried again. Was I feeling OK with my choice to be a SAHM? Did I think it was time to go back to school. I had no idea what he was getting at. I mean yes, recently I have been thinking a lot about going back to school, but that's nothing new. Finally he looked at me and said two words: jam making. Oh.....he thought I was having a midlife crisis. So did a bunch of my other friends. I've had two conversations this week alone with friends over it!
Blame it on Sally HP. Anyhow, jam making was really easy. You mash up the berries, boil them with water, sugar, a little bit of butter and of course the pectin. Then you pore it into a jar and put the top on it. Then you put the jars in boiling water on top of the infamous rack to seal the lid although one veteran jam maker who was at the class had never done the last step since the heat from the jam alone seals the jar. I of course will do that last step because all I need from my already skeptical family is to give them diarerrea from my jam. I'm kidding! All that would happen is that you would get mold which you could just scrape off.
I was pleased with my jam. This holiday season I'll be able to give the gift of jam and as well as the gift of concern as the recipients wonder if I'm having a midlife crisis. Perhaps I should also enclose a phone card from them to use to call the BG about their concern.
A. Elliot's Lesson Learned: If you're in a jam for holiday gifts, try making jam; it's really easy.
I just made my very first batch of jam this week. I would never have tried it if my freezer hadn't died, leaving me with ten pounds of blueberries that had to be put in something quick.
Of course the irony is I spent about $50 in canning supplies to salvage $18 worth of berries. Oh well, the jam is pretty tasty.
Professional Mom of two cats, a dog, an ant farm, and oh yeah...two boys: a 6 year old and a 3 year old. Also found in my house is my husband who is known on this blog as The Big Giraffe.
For those of us who didn't get an instruction manual with our babies and for whom parenting hasn't always gone as planned. On a more serious note this blog is about supporting a woman's ability to make her own choices about parenting including the choice, for whatever reason, to bottle feed her babies formula.
I saw something about this on BG's Facebook page and wondered what happened. Sounds annoying. Glad that no one was hurt, though.