The Literal Child

 I am playing hooky took a personal day today. This made me the morning school bus driver, giving Pre-teen and Littlest a chance to eat at home instead of heading off to before care at 6:30am. (Don't anticipate a perfect-parent-school day-breakfast-post.) They had cereal - personal day, remember?

So we found ourselves sitting at the kitchen table with Littlest wondering what to do with the cereal in the bowl when she was full. Glancing at the multi-grain Cheerio's floating in her bowl I said, "Just put it on the floor for the dogs." 

She gave me the the look. Parents, you know that look. The one where your children wonder if you are kidding or if you are just plain stupid. Her eyebrows began to knit together and raise at the same instant while her lips pursed just the slightest bit. Interpreting this look, I assured her it would be fine - the dogs could eat cereal.

Her look intensified; then she looked sideways at Pre-teen silently asking if I had lost it today. Operating on auto-pilot I reassured her it was fine and she responded incredulously. "But Mom, there's milk in the bowl?"

"It's okay - they can have some milk," was my reply.

"Ohhhh kay?" She wasn't all that reassured and still seemed to think aliens had taken over her mother.

"Just put it on the dogs' rug," Pre-teen directed.

Dutifully, but with decided reservation, Littlest trudged toward the rug, so I turned back to the newspaper...

But out of the corner of my eye I could see she was taking a beat or three more than the task required. My full attention turned toward the dogs' feeding rug where Littlest was hunched and was ever-so-carefully pouring the contents of the bowl onto the rug! 

Well, what can you do at that point? Pre-teen & I both instructed her to stop! Then I laughed. And laughed. And cleaned up the spilt milk as I explained that I meant to put the bowl on the ground. 

Ahh, six, so literal. (No wonder she was looking at me as though I had lost my marbles!) Guess it's time to start reading Amelia Bedilia books at bedtime. :) 

Mother of the Pandemic Year - No Thanks

I used to eagerly eye spring break's approach on my calendar, quietly rejoicing that there would be time to clean, do a project or two and schedules would ease up for the final quarter of the year. This year my desk was empty - my grades were submitted - and it was March 12th. We were off  - fair week & spring break, happy thoughts & fewer burdens - until everything was cancelled. Fast forward to today.

As the 4th week of no classrooms begins I look back on the weeks of hectic running that consumed January and February with envy. Lots to do with very little time, dates on the calendar that contained multiple places to be - our school/work/home life. Now the calendar is empty and school/work/home are all at home and happening at once. 

GREAT! So much time for projects! Opportunities for crafts! Inquiry based learning at home can happen daily!   HA!

Let's face it, I am a working mom. And I am pretty dang decent at it - if I do say so myself. I love my job. I revel in challenging students to think deeply, to develop ideas, to support those ideas with facts. I love my family time. I am fulfilled when we are together, when we are sharing, when we are doing. 

But never, not once in my whole life did I ever wish I could home school my kids.

In fact, I love daycare. And really wish Youngest could go there now. It's like a magical place where I drop off Youngest, and when I pick her up she is full of new stories and ideas and experiences to share. We can build on them if time allows and I can supplement her learning with activities at home. 

Key word here - supplement. It means something that completes or enhances something else when added to it. 

That's my role as Mom. But Teacher-Mom creates lesson plans to increase understanding and differentiation of shapes, finds stories to read about shapes with no libraries or book stores available creates shape-based art work for the week and games that are based on various shapes. All configured to work around my daily "office hours" for my actual students, late nights working online, and the needs of Teen and Middle - because four-year-olds do not work well alone. Ever. 

All of this is to say that, while I know you are sending me that "great activities you can do at home" post or forwarding me that "10 fantastic projects you can begin now" email out of love... I may hurl verbal insults at the next person that loves me enough to share another "super-fun-easy craft".

While my calendar may be empty - my plate is full, my cup is overflowing, and I am just trying to keep my head above water - like everyone else. Some days I am so frazzled I mix my metaphors! Maybe it's just me - I suspect it's not - but there is pressure to be THAT mom with every share. The wonder-woman of parenting who can do it all even as the world is in crisis, people are losing their jobs, and the death toll keeps climbing. She can even make special crafts that have nothing to do with the learning outcomes set for the week. She's the pandemic-mom-of-the-year. God bless her. She is NOT me. So, let's cut each other a break and recognize that everyone knows what Pinterest is and can find activities should they need them and we can share messages of support instead. Or really funny parenting memes - because who couldn't use more laughter?

BUT....If you happen to have a week or 2 or 6 of lesson plans ready for printing for a 3/4 year-old preschooler, you are my hero and I will sing your praises to the heavens if you share!

Just Another Morning

I am soundly sleeping that peaceful, deep sleep that tends to come about an hour before the alarm is going to jolt me from the nest of down comforter and soft pillows that encases me. That is when it begins.

The hoarse whisper-call of a sick child croaking for the comforting reassurance of Mom sounds in the darkness immediately rousing me from full rest to puke-battle-ready stance, and I am up. After a quick triage, she crawls into MY SPOT and I settle onto the cliff's edge of the bed with only enough blanket and sheet to cover a portion of myself. I assess the situation and rouse Mr Sunshine enough for him to announce he has meetings all day. So I reluctantly leave my ravaged nest and trudge to Boy's room where I wake him and establish he can, in fact, watch Tweenish today, when, of course, today gets here. With that settled, I slip silently into the small bit of bed that is left to me and try snuggling into my newly rationed portion of pillow. That's when the mewling cry of misery begins - with her! not me, I am above such things, or pretend to be. I do a quick wrist to forehead check and establish she is somewhere in the burning range. Asking for a vomit-scale, I assess a solid 9. 

Would I be a horrible mother to Boy or to Tweenish- if I just stuck with plan A? 
Yeah, yeah, I know all of the above. Onto plan B.

I wish farewell to the few remaining moments of warmth and comfort mostly because guilt won't allow the enjoyment of such things and submit a sub request in the wee hours, while I make myself a cup of tea. I settle in on the couch and begin writing sub plans - heaving a heavy sigh at the thought of missing the professional performance of Romeo and Juliet that I have invested several weeks of instruction to prepping my students to enjoy today. 

Before you know it, the normal household hustle begins in earnest. Tweenish is awake, has had some juice and seems beyond the messy phase of illness... And I begin to wonder - can I cancel a sub I requested? What is the rule? It's over an hour before the sub will show - I can try. Feeling a rush of relief and mild annoyance that I have created sub materials and have everything printed and ready to drop-off, my fingers fly sending a quick text to ask if I can issue a recall on the sub...Change clothes for the second time...be sure Teen and Littlest are ready...and receive the reply - I cannot really cancel, since it's still a 1/2 day off. Okay - plan C is a bust revert to B. Drop Teen at school, leave my sub plans (and tidy my desk because, let's be honest - a sub is like company but in the classroom) drop Littlest at daycare and proceed home. Decide to make the best of the day and get some chores done, change clothes accordingly - at this point Tweenish mentions just how many times I have changed clothes today (and it's only 8 am).

Settling in with tea cup #2, a stack of grading, and a soft blanket, I begin my to do list. My phone buzzes...Check it and discover that I have no sub! HA! read irony here Yes! I can come back. Change clothes again - because yoga pants and old t-shirts aren't suitable teacher gear - and head back to school. Arrived to a surprised class and a grateful stand-in. My day consisted largely of finishing Act 5 of Romeo and Juliet, an amazing production of said work, and even better reflections/debriefings with students. It doesn't pay. It is stressful. I have lots of homework. But I couldn't imagine anything better. And only 1 day until fall break!

They All Have What???

One minute your talking about your day - the next your youngest declares she is not getting married EVER!

It all started as too many things do around here - talking about animal parts. Don't even get me started on the teat and milk conversation Boy, home for spring break, mentioned that the four-year-old boy from next door had been lifting the guinea pig's back legs off the ground and examining the hind quarters earlier in the day. Chuckling, Boy relayed that Young-Neighbor explained that he was looking for the guinea pig's butt to see if it had one. 

Of course, this led to a reminder to Youngest to care for pets appropriately and all that good stuff, and would typically end there - except Youngest was puzzled.

"Mom, I don't know why [Young-Neighbor] said he didn't know if guinea pigs have butts - he says a lot of times, 'I see that guinea pig's butt,'" Youngest questioned. Repeatedly. And in a variety of ways.

Maybe it was genuine confusion in her voice, maybe I was distracted by the dinner dishes I was finishing, or maybe and most likely I was just tired and dropped my guard, but whichever it was I responded, "Oh well, maybe he was looking to see if guinea pigs have private parts and he said butt instead." 

And a light dawned in her eyes, "OHHHH! You mean he was looking to see if it had a va-china! That's funny - everything has a butt! Why would he look for that?" Here is where I made it worse - but don't judge, I can't have her walking around thinking butt and vagina are synonymous.

"Yes, everyone has a butt." And that is where I could have left it - but knowledge and all that good stuff.... "Not everyone has a vagina though, only girls." Her dismissive laughter rang through the kitchen.

"Mom, everyone has a butt."

So, I explained. 

"WHAT?? Everyone doesn't have a va-china?" 

"Nope, only girls."

"[Boy] doesn't have a va-china? Dad, is this the truth? What about Ollie [the dog]? I saw his bottom!" 

And understanding dawned. She took a bite of Neapolitan ice cream to digest this new world view - and ask specifically about every single male in her social circle at least that is what it felt like.

"All boys and male dogs have a penis. All male animals? All male humans?"

I confirmed that humans are, in fact, animals.

"I am NOT getting married! Not ever!" She declared with all the assurance of a newly converted soul swearing off sin.

Frantic

Clean the house - the litany of chores in my head always starts with clean the house. Three little words and so dang much work. Some days this is the list - at other times of year - Christmas for example - this is just the barest glimpse of the tip of a million things that must be done. And it is daunting.

I make lists.

I fret.

I schedule.

I fret.

There are items on the list I love - baking and decorating rate among the top. But it is so hard to get there since it starts with "clean the house." There are many hands, feet, & paws tracking in and trailing debris at an alarming rate. Vacuuming to do. And let us not forget the mountains of laundry that mock me from assorted baskets. There is shopping and wrapping, and gift making. And there are beds to strip - clean sheets are an apparent requirement for the birth of Christ. There are school performances to attend - and toilets to scour in case Santa needs a pit stop I guess.

It's a wonder I don't freeze into a catatonic state of panic. But I trudge through the lists. And I fret.

I've pondered this need to have my house in perfect order for the Eve of Christmas. Will the kids refuse to open gifts if there are unmade beds? Will the cookies be less delicious if the laundry is not folded? Of course not, but here I am - burdened by the guilt that I am not the perfect mom.

And I blame the Parable of the Ten Virgins - from the Bible. I sorely want to avoid being the foolish one, the one whose lamp has gone out with no oil and is incapable of meeting the bridegroom. I want to be ready. I want to be worthy. But I think - at least I dearly hope - that God is not judging my worth on my ability to juggle motherhood, working, and housekeeping. So, I am going to try to let it go. I am going to try not to panic because the dog did not get into the groomer.

Let us be determined to remember that we try to prepare our hearts for this day all year long - in the kind acts we show to others and the care we take of those we love. Let us remember that Christmas is a celebration of love and not a final judgement on how much our houses sparkle or how much like Pintrest our crafts turn out because I fail there, for certain every dang time. Those we love will cherish the day, even if our cookies have burnt bottoms. And maybe that is the kindness we need to show ourselves.

Merry Christmas!

Mourning for Michael

My brother died on Tuesday, past. That is a difficult thing to write. Somehow the act of the writing seems to make the action true, but it was already there. The brother who looked out for me and those around him, was diagnosed with cancer on Thursday night and died in the early morning hours of Tuesday. 

I was able to say goodbye and lend my love to that of his parents, sons, and siblings as we wished him a safe voyage. I was able to share stories, laughter, and tears with family as we came together that night in support and love. For those moments, I am grateful. But I am not able to attend his memorial today. My family cannot leave Sunnyville to gather with friends and family and celebrate the life he had and the ways in which he touched others, and for that I am angry. 

I am taking small comfort in the fact that I wrote the following, and my eldest Seashore Sister will read it. I am taking comfort in the fact that we here in Sunnyville will gather today to simply be together as our family will be doing in the City of Big Shoulders. So, I share my farewell here, with you - a tribute to my brother whose last voicemail sits on my phone and has been played a dozen or more times in the past several days, his voice a reminder of laughter and happy moments we shared.

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I can't be with you all here today as you celebrate the life of my brother, but I want to share a thought - to contribute to the collective memory of Michael C---- C-----. 

We all know that Mike was social and....well...LOUD. He enjoyed a crowd - particularly if he could feed and entertain them - and he liked to have a good time. His voice could carry over the masses in joy and displeasure alike. These attributes often made others see him as a couldn't-give-a-damn guy. But they couldn't be more wrong.

From the airplane rides he gave me as a small child, to the time he stood guard at the front door to keep 14-year-old me from sneaking into the night, to the week he spent remodeling my entire bathroom, and a million other moments, Mike has been a steady presence of caring in my life. He was one of those few who can be called to help and will answer the call - regardless of his own situation - and he would do whatever was in his power to help those who needed it. In fact, his biggest complaint to me was that his power to help wasn't greater. 

I am heartbroken that you have to gather here today at all. The thought of times I will not share with him makes me sad beyond measure. Gone are the days when I will hear him call, "[Seashore]!" and for that I mourn. I mourn my loss of Mike, just as you all mourn your loss. And though I cry as I write these lines (and I'm sure my proxy reader is tearing up, too) I cry for myself, for his sons, and his family. I cry for what we will miss as we continue through this life without him. But I do not cry for Mike himself. He has passed on, and I am thankful that he is at peace with the Father. I know he is safe in the embrace of God and the loved ones who went before. So, while I am sad, I am secure in the knowledge that when it is my time to pass there will be a warm place for me and, if Mike has any say at all - a barbecue with too much food and lots and lots of love expressed at full volume. 

I leave you with this from Psalm 34:18

The LORD is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.

Thank you.

Duty and Disagreement

About a year ago Teen (then, Tween) started getting shots for JIA. It was a rough start (that you can read about here), but surely now at the almost 1 year mark, it must be better - right?

Surely she has become desensitized to the act of receiving an injection - it has been nearly 52 after all. Couple that with the required blood work and an emergency hospital stay this year, and she should be beyond freaking out. RIGHT???

Not even close.

Here it is, shot night or night of hell coupled with crippling guilt and she has to take a nausea pill prescribed because she is sick afterwards. Once I remind her about the pill she begins to create reasons that the shot should wait for the next day. "I have a lot to do tomorrow and it makes me tired." "It's too late now, by the time the shot works it will be past my bedtime." You get the idea.

A steadfast demand that she take the shot today leads to the pill and she slowly begins to withdraw into herself.  Whether we are watching a movie, playing a game, or she is reading a book, you can see the fear in her eyes. The worry about what is coming. Some nights she tries to sneak off to bed without follow-through. This entails a casual heading toward the bathroom and a quick dart to bed. I have caught on to such tricks and head her off which leads to arguments of: the shot doesn't make a difference, burns, makes me sick, and "How can you torture your own child?" slamming into me across the house. I brace myself, hold steady and administer the hated dose of poison that will keep her swelling down and, hopefully, keep the pain at a low throb.

She stands rigidly to receive the shot as tears stand out in her eyes. She flees the scene as soon as the deed is done, throwing herself into bed and cries or worse - writes me well reasoned notes about how I must not believe her and she is disappointed in me.

I counsel myself that it could be so much worse. The illness could be worse, the treatment could be worse. We are all lucky in the scheme of things. But it still sucks...

So, I am allowing her to take a break. I tried to get into the doctor earlier than our August appointment - but he is booked until October. With no other avenue open, Mr Seashore and I have decided she will be okay to go off for a month. I feel weak and unsure, but as Mr said, "It's only a month. She will be fine." The real concern is how will she be if the shots continue...