De-Lurk, Early and Often

Today is National Delurking Day.

So get with the program, peeps. Comment.

Early, often, politely or not.

There's a reason why Nike makes more money than God: Just do it.

Scroll through my posts; I'm sure you'll find something to say. It need not be something nice, although nice is...nice. The important thing is to join the party and add your voice to the mix.

Thanks ever so much!

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And There Was this Girl Named Rosa

Breathe. On a day like today, I need to remind myself to breathe.

On a day like today, I will repeatedly need to tether myself back to earth, to prevent myself from completely flipping out over the competing interests pinging around in my head.

On a day like today, I should keep a picture of my five treasures close at hand, to remind me what all this craziness is all about.

Because today, here is what life looks like:

To baseball or not to baseball? Competitive soccer? Which level? Which kid?

Our 7 year old is making her first confession tonight. I love this first sacrament -- I think its lovely and holy and, well, sacred. It's a big moment for her, and for us. She's not even nervous about it, or so she says. I'm nervous for her, so we've got the nerves thing covered. Oh, and "parents are encouraged to show their children a good example and go to confession as well." So maybe I'm not really so much nervous for her as for myself.

To Avatar, or not to Avatar? We are naturally suspicious people, especially when it comes to popular culture. Do we let the boys go see Avatar? Normally this would be a no-brainer: we wouldn't even consider it. But a friend has offered to take them, which has me thinking about my naturally suspicious self, and reconsidering my non-consideration of this movie. Always good to check those assumptions.

Our 9 year old is starting an art class today. Not such a biggee, right? Well, our 9 year old hates his 4th grade life these days, so this will hopefully be some kind of balm for his 4th grade wounds. He is crazy about art, loses himself in art, comes alive in art. I'm totally excited for him. It's a biggee.

Our van needed a bazillion dollars of repair this month. That just completely threw a wrench into our world. Actually, it threw an entire toolbox right at our heads. That's been a hoot. Still working out the details...still existing on cars that don't actually fit all of us. More hoots.

Oh, and our 11 year old has a basketball game tonight. Routine stuff, except: is it our turn for snack? Excellent question. Must find answer.

Work decisions. Many, many work decisions. What will or should our working life look like? How should we set up this whole self-employed thing so that it operates more smoothly? It's time to think about this: we've been self-employed for almost five years now. We can't be rushed.

Oh, and did I mention potty training? Yeah! With some actual success, though, so that's HUGE. Incredibly time-consuming stuff, this potty training deal. But off she went to daycare today in underwear. What do I care, someone else will be handling the accidents, and she gets one more day under her belt of being a big girl. It's all good, and exhausting.

And the conversations! Oh, the conversations: "No, junkies are not called that because they, as people, are junk." "No, homeless people are not, in and of themselves, scary; they're just poor. Some of them are sick, some are addicted, some are just dirty because they have no place to live. You can't always tell by looking at them. And there are plenty of very rich people who are scary as all hell get out."

Highlight, from the 5 year old: "Mom, did you know that a long time ago, black and brown people couldn't sit anywhere on a bus, but they had to sit in the back? And there was this girl, named Rosa, and she was really tired, and all the seats were taken, and she didn't want to stand up, so she sat down in the front, and she wasn't doing anything wrong at all, and the police arrested her? Did you know that mom?"

Logistics: How to feed seven people, and get them all where they need to be: 3:45-5:30 for one kid...5:30 to 7:00 for another kid...7:30-9:00 for another kid...throw in one 3 year old who morphs into Linda Blair past 5pm, and one trooper of a 5 year old who will do her best until she can't take it anymore and ends up openly weeping because she can't find her straw. Plus, we'll have to make sure four of them do their busywork homework.

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And on a different plane of existence: Yesterday, a dear friend of ours lost her mother to a long battle with cancer. I am overwhelmed with thinking about this loss and about what this day must be like for her. If you see this, my friend, please know that I am so honored to have been able to hear your stories from this past week, and that I hold them close to my heart. I met your mom just once, but was delighted with her, and enjoyed so much seeing her have fun with my girls. She was lucky to have you; I'm certain that you made this past week a blessing for her.

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So there is much in my mind today. A day like this, well, it's what life is all about, I guess. People growing up, people dying, people needing to be fed while all the rest is happening. Cars crapping out and children learning about civil rights. Little kids peeing in the potty and a child making confession for the first time. Bills that need to be paid and friends that are calling and emailing. Always, work to do to feed the family, and loved ones to stay present to.

I'm not a fan of the word intense. But find me another one that captures this day. This day, that finds me holding on by my fingertips and hoping I land in my own bed, underneath warm blankets, by sometime late tonight.

Breathe.

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Question to Ponder for Today

Why is it that commercials that advertise household cleaning and kitchen products frequently feature men with British accents? Are British men the best domestic role model for American housewives? Do British men really hit that target demographic?

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I Can Only Enforce the Rules If I'm Awake

We have been trying to rid our bed of little people.

By early every morning, we've got a minimum of two extra people in our bed, people who stretch, kick, move blankets, and enjoy lodging knees and elbows in inconvenient spaces.

It's super annoying.

But then, there's the cuddling, which I admit, I am a complete sucker for. Because I (and my spouse) are conflicted about the cuddling, the situation has gone on way too long. One of the downsides to this state of affairs is that we don't get good sleep. We are always half-awake and half-aware of which elbow might get away from its owner and whack us in the head.

We hit our limit recently, and laid down the law with the girls: "Starting tonight, if (and when) you come up to our bed, one of us will bring you back downstairs and put you back in your own bed."

There were questions. "What if I can't get back to sleep?" "Why can't I stay in your bed?" "What if my sister comes, but I don't?" "Don't you love me anymore?"

OK, we handled all the questions. We patted ourselves on the back for being proactive and for addressing the situation directly with the girls.

So why did I wake up with a bed full of girls?

My five year old reported the following: "Mommy, when I woke up last night, I came upstairs and asked you to bring me back to my bed and help me get back to sleep, but you were asleep and so went to daddy's side of the bed and I asked daddy to help me but he was asleep and you both stayed asleep and didn't hear me and no one answered me and I didn't know what to do, so I got in your bed and went to sleep."

Note to self: Stay awake so that you can get rid of the kids so that you can get a good night sleep.

Oy.

This is going to be harder than I thought.

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I Can't Believe I Fell for This

No, not a "Dear Sir or Madam" email from a Nigerian who politely seeks my assistance.

Here's what I fell for: "Hey mom, say the initials of International House of Pancakes, and then say 'ness.'"

Much hilarity ensued.

Gotcha, mom.

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Time for a Stretch

Thank you Viv for this award!

In return, I am charged with being grateful.

Wow.

Isn't that kind of antithetical to all the bitching and complaining I usually do?

Only some of it ends up on this blog, but the rest of my dissatisfaction with life is strewn liberally across my kitchen, where I spend so much of my time, and I'll have a job clearing it all to the side to find those gems of gratitude buried around here somewhere.

It is a well documented truth that the only motivation strong enough to make me clean my house is the threat of visitors. Now it seems the same is true of my head and heart: the only thing motivating me to clean them up today is the prospect of visitors to this blog. That plus the gauntlet thrown down by this Happy 101 Award.

So, thanks to Viv, I will now search my head and heart to find 10 things that I am grateful for, that make me happy. (I considered using spots 1-5 for each of my five kids. But that's a little bit of cheating right there, plus, they're driving me nuts, so it wouldn't have been incredibly heart felt. They are up too early, and they are clamoring for food, wii-time, and valentines print outs. The three little ones are giving me approximately -1 centimeter of space in which to move. Why is that the under 10 set does not understand the concept of personal space? Or perhaps they understand but do not care?)

OK, back to the task at hand. S-T-R-E-E-E-E-E-E-T-C-H!

1. I am grateful for my parents. They are really wonderful to my children and very supportive to Rick and me. They host sleepovers, take the kids to movies, do art with them, ride bicycles with them (bicycles they purchased!), and come to their sporting events. Plus, every year on my birthday, they renew my subscription to The New Yorker. Which is good because I spend so much time doing mind-numbingly mundane tasks that without a little high-brow content to read, I think my brain would have been mush a long, long time ago. Thanks for keeping me smart, mom and dad!

2. I am grateful for the very wide circle of friends Rick and I have. We have been showered with so many kindnesses, so much generosity, and so much plain old love, that no matter how stressful and difficult things may get while raising five children and working multiple jobs, I am forced to recognize that life is good, the world is full of beauty, and that people are truly wonderful. We are blessed.

3. I am grateful to the writers and actors of the show Friday Night Lights. They make me happy, after they rip my heart out with their story lines. What a great show.

4. I am grateful to the writer of the blog pantrymd.com. Check her out. She gave me the idea for kale chips, which my kids actually fight over. Kale. They can't get enough. That makes me incredibly happy, and gives me hope that these kids might just turn out to be successful, happy adults.

5. Coffee. Lots and lots of coffee.

6. I am grateful for the internet, just like Viv, because it connects me to so many people and interesting ideas, and because I love to blog. Stay-at-home-parenting can be so isolating. The internet gives us that white picket fence of yesteryear -- a place to lean and chat with neighbors. (Thank you to my friend Gabriele for that image!)

7. I am grateful for the jobs Rick and I have. Work is a good thing, especially given that we are both self-employed.

8. I am grateful for hot showers, and I don't get nearly enough of them.

9. I am grateful for sour dough french bread.

10. I am grateful to Viv, for giving me this exercise to do. My mind and heart really needed the workout.

As for the passing it on part. Funny, I always enjoy getting these awards and the invitations to write about something, but I am entirely uncomfortable with sending them. So I guess I will instead invite everyone to consider what makes them happy and do a little posty-posting about it. Take the Happy 101 image from the top of this post, and join the party.

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House Devils and Street Angels

I am pleased to say that I hear many wonderful reports about how well behaved my children are. Teachers, friends, random strangers smile and tell me what a beautiful family I have, how good they are, how pleasant.

They have never been in trouble at school for behavior-related problems. They are polite, respectful, kind and fun to talk to. Or so I've been told.

At home, there is another reality.

At home, they are evil to each other, and sometimes to me. Take today, for example. Since we got home, 34 minutes ago, I've heard yelling, screaming, crying, howling, door-slamming, stomping, whining, accusations and insults.

And there are multiple fronts: two are going at it in the dining room, one is running back and forth spewing venom and slamming doors, and one or two seem to be loudly proclaiming some injustice that the universe is guilty of.

If I could isolate the problem, I might be able to do something about it. Instead, I sit here blogging because I cannot be in three places at once, using my depleted motherly skills to negiotiate multiple peace settlements simultaneously. I am, for the moment, defeated.

On the one hand, I am thinking of starting my own 12-step group, YA: Yeller's Anonymous. "Hi, my name is Monica, and I'm a yeller."

On the other hand, how can a person be expected to spend any amount of time around the vitriole my children are subjecting each other and me to and NOT yell? I would talk in a calm, even, low-toned voice if anyone could hear me over the fray. This is not the case. The only way to be heard around here is to be louder than everyone else.

Am I really the grown up here? Am I the one in charge? What the hell am I doing wrong, then, because it appears that the natives have taken over and chaos is reigning.

A friend of mine once referred to the phenomena of having well-behaved children outside of the house and ill-behaved ones at home as having "House Devils" and "Street Angels."

That's great for the rest of the world, but right now, my future depends on my making a deal with the devil. Or rather, five devils.

Chances are very slim that I will emerge unscathed.

However, as Elasti-girl says in The Incredibles, "it's time to engage." Wish me luck: I'm going in.

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She's Good

The other day, my 3-year old daughter catapulted herself through the kitchen and collided with the doorjamb. Her head, her shoulder, her hip all hit, and hit hard.

I held my breath.

I waited.

She teetered, stunned, for a minute.

Time stood still.

Then she turned to me, flashed a 1000-kilowatt smile, put her hands up, palms forward and said: "I'm good!" She then dashed off to resume the catapulting.

Thank you, Pepsi Max.

Apparently, 3-year old girls can take anything too.


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I Can See the Finish Line. I Just Can't Get There.

I have been a mother for 4,111 days.

That's how many days I have been changing diapers. I would do the math to figure out how many diapers that translates into but (a) I would cry and (b) I would give all those environmentally-minded, population control people way too much ammo. (Just an aside: the water required to launder cloth diapers cancels out the landfill impact of disposables. Did you know that?)

My youngest is over 3, and there is no nice way to put this so I'll say it with asterisks: she is f***ing with me. She knows what she needs to do. She just refuses. She's got the physical control. She knows where the job needs to be done. She'll even sit there every so often. She claims to be a "big girl." She claims that she uses the potty. She is a great big huge flaming liar.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, she won't go to college in diapers, yadda yadda yadda. I don't even want her to go to the grocery store in diapers, and we're leaving as soon as I finish this post.

I am so ready to be done with this phase of parenting, I can almost smell the fresh air. I am so tired of the wrangling, the smell, the disposing, the managing, the cajoling, the training, the waiting, the rewards, the disappointment, the frustration, the patience required of the mother of one who is potty training.

And the child in question? What does SHE think of the whole subject. I think this photo sums it up quite well.


Further proof. She hates me.

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48 THINGS WE LOVE ABOUT DAD

1. He teaches us soccer moves. • 2. He read Little Women to me. • 3. He takes us to Fenton’s for ice cream. • 4. He’s the milkshake parent. • 5. He creates beautiful gardens. • 6. He takes us to In-n-Out. • 7. He makes us warm fires in the winter. • 8. He finds stuff for us at Thrift Town. • 9. He tells mommy she is beautiful. • 10. He wrestles with us.

11. He gave us Bob Dylan. • 12. He brings me ribs from T-Rex. • 13. Two words: Top Dog. • 14. He draws pictures with us when we are doing art and on the menus at Fatapples. • 15. He read Shakespeare to me when I was really little. • 16. He says sorry. • 17. He tells us he loves us every day. • 18. He carried all of us kids in the backpack when we were little and let us all drool down his back. • 19. He loves to take naps with us. • 20. He reads Always Room for One More and One Morning in Maine to us.


21. He likes to make us laugh. • 22. He read The Phantom Tollbooth and The Hobbit to us in the evenings on mom and dad’s bed. • 23. He makes us delicious paella and pizza. • 24. He goes on our field trips when he can. • 25. He takes me to play soccer at the park early in the morning before school. • 26. He makes mom yummy Old Fashioneds. • 27. He makes sure we always have the right soccer shoes. • 28. He writes poetry for us. • 29. He takes us on the train in Tilden Park. • 30. He reads and learns all he can about coaching youth soccer so that he can be the best possible coach for our teams.


31. When we were inconsolable babies, he would pack us into our car seats and drive around for as long as it would take for us to settle down. • 32. He likes to watch The Incredibles with us. • 33. He takes us to the lawnmower store (Urban Ore). • 34. He has an amazing collection of weird and funny faces. • 35. He (and mom) got us a Wii for Christmas. • 36. He makes “bonfires” in the back garden. • 37. He takes us to see professional soccer games. • 38. He’s a cuddler. • 39. He makes coffee for mom in the morning before she gets up. • 40. He makes sure all of the doors are locked every night.


41. He takes us to Albany Memorial Park. • 42. He makes sure mom remembers the whipped cream when she buys stuff to make hot chocolate for us. • 43. He takes us to the Botanical Gardens to find lizards. • 44. He’s the teeth brushing parent. • 45. He gave us lollipops with bugs in them. • 46. He gave us life. • 47. He brought us to his classroom while he was teaching and let us draw. • 48. He works hard each and every day to take care of us.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY DAD. WE LOVE YOU.

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Motivation

My son was invited to a friend's house earlier this week to play. He was reluctant to go. It wasn't that he didn't like the kid or the family -- he loves them. But he is my home-body, my stay-in-pajamas kid, my "I prefer my family" guy. I am happy to give him plenty of time and space to just "hang" on vacation, but I really wanted him to go because I knew he would have fun and because I thought it would be good for him to get out of the house after several lounge lizard days in a row.

I forced him.

He was unhappy with me, and called me the meanest.

Nothing I said could convince him that he would have a good time, not the possibility of a hike with a dog, nor the possibility of a visit to the California Academy of Sciences. Nothing.

But then, he found his own motivation: "OH YEAH! Last time I was with "Joey," we were trying to figure out the DNA of a booger! We can do that today, too!" And just like that, he was chomping at the bit to get over to his friend's house.

Whatever gets you off the couch, buddy.

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May we all find our own personal reasons for getting out in the world, spending time with friends, and discovering new things in 2010.

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