Little T's Bedtime Send Off

Little T has been in bed for a bit, but she just stumbled down to ask us this:

"How do people die when they don't even hurt themselves?"

I told her that that can happen when people are very, very, very old, and after they have lived a long time and had a great life.  Lame.

Rick told her that "it just happens sometimes," and that she didn't need to worry about it.

She seemed happy with both answers.

Then, Rick took her onto his lap, cuddled with her for a minute, and said: "Will you take care of me when I am old?"

She said no.

After a little back and forth, she flitted back up to bed.  From her room, she fired down the final salvo:

"I BET YOU'RE OLD RIGHT NOW!"

So she's thinking: "I'm four, and he's asking ME to take care of HIM.  He must be bonkers."

Plus, we all know how she feels about old people.

She's not the only game in town.  I think he'd better put his money on a different horse.

* * *

You know you have a big family when...

...you end up with the song Everything Is Broken, by Bob Dylan, running on an endless loop through your head when you (a) need to find something, (b) need to put something away, or (c) simply walk through your house.

It's either the big family thing or your house is actually a FEMA zone.

* * *

So Close

Day 29.

Each day in August, I have posted on this blog. It hasn't been nearly as difficult as I thought it would be. I guess I hadn't considered the endless fodder that my family generates on a daily basis.

But tonight, with 19 minutes left on the 29th day, I am absolutely wrenching myself away from my book in order to put this post up, so that on Thursday morning, I can say that I did it, I posted every day for one month.

I'm reading Unbroken, by Laura Hillenbrand. I only have a handful of pages left. Unable to put the book down, I've lost sleep and as a result, lost patience with my children. I've neglected my laundry, my house, my offspring. I told my 4 year old I would not read to her tonight, so intent on this book have I been. It has all been worth it.

A fabulous book.

And I leave you with that.

* * *

Really?

So one son came downstairs and announced that the other son, who was in the shower, was spitting on the ceiling.

What?

WHAT?

I went upstairs to investigate (because his father would probably have come on a little too strong, if you know what I mean) and the kid actually said to me: "I didn't do it on purpose!"

OK. I'm a listener. I'd like to listen to this. So I said to the bathroom door: "How, please tell me, do you spit on the ceiling by accident."

And the bathroom door said: "Well, I was just in here showering, and I'm bored, so I was spitting up into the air and seeing if I could catch it with my mouth!"

So I told the bathroom door. "OK, that's just gross, so don't do that, and if you're bored in the shower, that's a sign that it's time to get out. Now."

My walk back down the stairs and into the living room was full of questions. Well, one question really. Will this child actually one day be a fully functioning member of society?

Wow.

* * *

Update

There has been an update to The Cake.

"Mommy, I forgot, I also want a tree, and a monkey in the tree, swinging around with a banana in his mouth."

I thought I was off the hook when we were in The Despised New Safeway the other day and she said: "Oooo, mommy, I want THIS cake for my birthday!" I quickly agreed to that, since I thought it would save me some work, but then I heard her telling her sister about her two birthday cakes. Silly me, I thought she wanted to replace her girl-on-the-park-bench, monkey-in-the-tree cake, but really, she was just trying to get more cake.

Yeah, I can't make that girl-monkey cake happen. But I will give it a shot. I will make a reasonable facsimile thereof, and maybe my efforts will ensure that Little T will grow up to be a happy, contributing citizen and not an ax murderer.

Why else would I go to the trouble?

* * *

7 Quick Takes: Volume 36

Another Friday's come around,

We've made it here both safe and sound.

Glad you're here with me and mine,

Would you like a glass of wine?

I've had several, so up you catch!

And help me with a plan to hatch.

Find a way (or find some elves)

To make the children raise themselves.

So I can spend my days and nights

On silly fun and fancy flights.

On making life an endless game--

Oh wait--my kids already do the same!

Pull up a chair and share a toast

And visit our 7 Quick Takes host.

Visit the others playing along,

And may your weekend be a song.

~1~

Soccer season starts this weekend with a bang: three kids are in tournaments, which means we have 9 games minimum, and 12 if their teams all do well.

I think I will encourage Little T to take up knitting as a sport.

~2~

I just started a great new book: Unbroken, by Laura Hillenbrand. She also wrote Seabiscuit, although I have not read that. I'm only on page 25 and I am really enjoying it. The subtitle is: "A World War II Story of Survival, Resilience, and Redemption."

Usually, I read only fiction. But I've wanted to change that, and when a friend recommended this book to me the other day and put it directly into my hand to borrow, I was thrilled.

Have any of you read it? And/or: what's your favorite non-fiction book?

~3~

I am still adding to my list of movies to use during our new homeschooling year. My friend Nicole gave me another great idea today: Miracle. Thanks Nic!

Please, share your ideas for great family movies. They can be educational in nature, or pure fun, like the original Parent Trap. We will be watching one movie per school week on our crappy TV, and I'm hoping this will be a highlight of the year. And if anyone out there wants to buy me a flat screen TV, purely to enhance my kids' educational experience of course, I am totally open to that.

Also, let me know if you'd like to receive a copy of my List Of Super Awesome Movies For Homeschoolin' Families or For Peeps Who Just Like To Watch Movies, once it's finalized.

~4~

Another homeschooling milestone reached! Lady E ran into the garage today, where I was failing at yet another attempt at organizing chaos, and announced: "Mommy, Mommy! I finally learned how to arm fart!"

She even offered to give me a tutorial, complete with things she tried that failed. That's the beauty of education: sharing what we've learned with others.

I get a little teary just thinking about it.

~5~

There is a brand spankin' new Safeway in my neighborhood. It is gigantic. It is fancy. It has a sushi bar. It has a Starbucks. It has cafe seating. It's decor is all chocolate and mocha. It has hardwood-ish floors in the produce section. It has new disco mini-carts.

I hate it.

It's way too big and takes forever to get through. It's freezing in there. The dairy section is in a different zip code than the produce department. They now have 4,322 different kinds of cereal instead of 3,457. And their deli still takes a kajillion years to make a sandwich. (I know of what I speak: my first job, which I had for four years of high school was in a deli, and I know how to make a damn good sandwich fast. My fingers itch when I order sandwiches at the Safeway deli. Silly me, I though it might be different with a fancy new facility. Not true.)

A Facebook friend of mine put it best when she posted the other day: "I miss my ghetto Safeway." So do I, Carol; so do I.

I do kinda like the disco mini-carts, though.

~5~

Note to self: do not let practically 5 year old children take naps. You will pay dearly for it come 11pm.

And wouldn't you think a mother of five would have learned that by now? It turns out that sleep is seductive, both for the sleeper and for the beneficiary of a sleeping monkey-tornado.

~6~

"Foods" that irritate me: Hot Pockets. Pizza Rolls. Danimals. Lunchables. Smores-Flavored Pepperidge Farm Goldfish. Really?

Just because you can do it doesn't mean it's a good idea. Really.

~7~

A goofy photo for your Friday. I hope this makes you smile.

* * *

The Worst Kind

I am the worst kind of homemaker.

There are three kinds, you know.

There's the kind that is very good at organizing her (usually her) house, who knows how to arrange furniture for maximum visual appeal and comfort, and knows how to keep things running smoothly. This person places a high value on what she provides to her family and does it well.

There's the kind that isn't good at any of it, and doesn't care. She is able to live her life quite happily without the burden of paying attention to domestic issues. Either someone else does it for her, or it all goes undone, and that's just fine.

Then there's me. I place a very high value on having a well organized, efficient and comfortable household...and I can't for the life of me make it happen. I live in chaos while dreaming of order. I wade through laundry while hoping for tidy drawers. I step over shoes while wishing for empty floors. Dreaming, hoping, and wishing do not a happy household make. At least not all by themselves. That whole piece of knowing how to make it happen? That eludes me.

And that's a recipe for frustration right there.

What kind are you?

* * *

It Is Not Right

Family life is hard.

This post could go in about 100 different directions from that opening line, but today, at 10pm, when I am finally sitting down and everyone (almost) else is lying down, and I've got just enough Lagunitas Censored Rich Copper Ale down my throat, and just enough energy left to ponder the extremes of the day, the post will go here: It's hard to follow children down all the different paths and into all the different choices and through all the different things that happen to them.

• One kid dealt with jerks today, real assholes, to tell the truth. I don't usually curse on this blog, but tonight, there's no other way to describe the people my child had to deal with. All I could do was tell him how proud I am to have a kid who is not a jerk, not the kind of person other kids have to talk to their parents about.

• One kid dealt with mosquito bites. No biggee, you say? Well, the kid in question has an extreme reaction to them, so when a child has 8 bites, all about the diameter of grapefruits, swelling painfully, itching maddeningly, and when that child is weeping with pain and craziness, it's no small thing. It's hard to not be able to make a child feel better, even with medicine on board, topical remedies deployed, ice packs called into service, and everything else we could think of being thrown at the problem.

• One kid dealt with-- no, she made ME deal with repeated, frustrating, exasperating behavior that we've been trying like hell to change, but which I find myself dealing with every. damn. night. and which I find exhausting and infuriating, and which leaves me with the very real need to control my hands so that I don't grab her too hard in a furious attempt to again convey to her how much we need her to get. with. the. freakin'. program.

So. After a pretty exhausting day, I found myself ping-ponging from one kid in need to another, kind of amazed by the demands parenting sometimes makes upon us, and wishing I could do more than caress a mosquito-bitten forehead, encourage an asshole-weary boy, and futilely reprimand a monkey-girl-child who doesn't seem to care one bit what I have to say.

(I have two other kids. They are total rock stars. One helped dad fix a window and deflate 15 soccer balls. The other ministered to her itchy sister, bringing her applesauce, offering her a soft blanket, offering her water, a pillow, kindness. The two of them are signs of hope and goodness for me tonight.)

* * *

What's the best way to handle jerks, anyway? All those platitudes we've offered our son?

Don't let them see how much it bothers you; if they know they're getting to you, it will only make it worse.

You're better off being a nicer, more sensitive kid, even if you don't see that right now. You will someday.

Just do your best. Hold your head high, and remember that as long as you are taking the high road, you can be proud of yourself.

Beat the crap out of them. (Did I say that out loud?)

Jerks are everywhere; quitting won't help, because wherever you go, you'll have to deal with people like that. As much as you would like to get as far away as possible from those people, wherever you end up, there will be jerks just like them.

All those platitudes are great when you have the benefit of age and experience, when you have the hindsight to see the way life and people work out. They are of little significance or value in the moment for a kid who is righteously pissed off at the injustice of the fact that assholes exist.

Those words will help him. Someday. They are worth saying. They just do precious little for him tonight, and that makes me feel helpless and lame.

It is not right that assholes exist. How do we help our kids negotiate them?

* * *

Summer Showers

The other day while I was taking a shower, I heard Little T screaming and crying, and carrying on to beat the band. All the other kids were home, but they all -- to a kid -- ignored her.

Alarmed, I rushed out of the shower, wrapped myself in a towel, and ran still dripping into her room, where I discovered the problem. She had been reaching into her Elmo suitcase, when somehow, she fell over on top of it, onto her bed, with her arm still in it. The weight of her body made it impossible for her to pull her arm out of the suitcase, and the zipper was biting into her arm painfully. Trying to push herself up off of the suitcase and the bed made the pressure on the zipper-trapped part of her arm hurt worse. She was stuck. And pissed.

I extricated her.

* * *

Today, Lady E had a friend over, and while the two of them and Little T played in their room, I took a shower. The playdate friend's mom arrived before I got out, and here's what greeted her:

My 12 year old son barely looked up from the computer screen to tell her that we (everyone else in the house) were all next door at the neighbor's house. Sensing this might not be true, she ventured upstairs and found the girls in their bedroom. The older two bolted, as kids who do not want a playdate to end are wont to do, leaving Little T behind. Why didn't she chase after them?

Because apparently, she had climbed up the over-the-door shoe hanger, gotten her feet jammed into two of the pockets, and then fell backwards in such a way that her feet were completely tangled and stuck in the pockets. This time, she wasn't screaming or even upset in any way. Just hanging out on her back, with her legs stuck up above her and her feet tangled in the shoe pockets.

The visiting mom extricated her. At least no one was dripping on her when she was rescued this time. Once freed, she promptly climbed into the kitchen sink to get a drink of water. See? She does play like a monkey!

image source: http://seashomework.wikispaces.com/file/list?o=80

Showers are starting to scare me.

* * *

Where I Learn That My Cakes Have Created a Problem

Little T's 5th birthday is comin' up fast. She's seen the cakes I've made for other occasions. She came to me this morning with this:

"Mommy, you know what my cake wants to look like?

It wants to be grassy, with bushes, and flowers, and there’s a bench, with flowers and bushes next to it, and a little girl is sitting on the bench playing guitar, and her pants have flowers, and her shoes have flowers and her shirt says “Yeah, I play like a monkey, jealous?” And did I tell you about the sun part? I want the sun up in the sky. Oh, and a rainbow.

OK mommy? Can my cake look like that?"

Ru-roh.

* * *

Lady E Makes Her Choice

Well, we survived the birthday sleepover, if surviving means being so tired you cannot lift your arms without hoping someone, somewhere feels really really sorry for you.

Even writing this post is costing me precious energy I can scarcely afford. But here's a recap.

They made forts. They played elaborate make believe games involving pretend pets. They made friendship bracelets. They ate an impressive amount of food. They watched a movie. They giggled. They danced to Train. They had flip-flop cake and watched the Birthday Girl open presents. They said please and thank you. They sort of sometimes included the little sisters. They made new friends. They were fabulous.

And when they left, most of my kids sort of kind of fell apart.

At one point, after too many slamming doors and too many screeches and bellows, Rick went into the living room where the fighting was happening and said wearily: "That's it. We're putting you all up for adoption."

Listening and cringing in the kitchen, I wondered if he might be emotionally scarring them with this bit of sarcasm.

He followed up with: "You decide if you want to be placed somewhere together, or if you want separate new families."

Without missing a beat, and before I had time to form a complete thought about the potential damage he was inflicting, Lady E piped up: "SEPARATE! SEPARATE!"

At least one of them will survive our unique brand of parenting.

* * *