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!

Experiential Learning

From the oldest to the youngest they have all been through the ritual. Sitting on their haunches at the sweet spot, just where the wave breaks on the the shore, they wait. In it comes and out it goes, causing them to leap into action. Chubby preschool hands or slender competent teen fingers, they all know the routine. Take a scoop, not too much, of the newly soaked sand and deftly sift through until the feel of firmness meets your fingertips. Hold them tight and give a rinse to reveal the treasure of coquinas: tiny, delicate shells in an array of pastels from peach to violet. Then they release the treasure to the sand to watch intently as each shell swiftly upends itself while digging its way down into the soft wave washed sand. While toddlers, they call out excitedly for help as they watch the mollusks bury themselves, not quite able to make their fingers move with the deftness required to separate the creature from the sand. As they grow they collect them in buckets of water until some unspoken quota of colors is achieved before pouring them back into the waves to watch them return to safety.

Children at the seashore understand things tourists don't: stingrays require a bit of shuffling feet in the sand to scare them away, sharks teeth have a definite shape and hue when found among the grains of sand and crushed shells, and sand dollars are live animals that are best kept in the ocean. They are versed in the plethora of mammoth sized insects and lizards, both native and invasive that frequent the area around their homes. Many kids clamp anoles to their earlobes as makeshift earrings once they've reached a certain age, only to chase others around in a modern day native dance that plays itself out on the playgrounds across the state. Their knowledge can be impressive.

But there are definite holes.

It was muck out the guinea pig pen day, and I was outside helping Tween to shovel shavings from the playhouse they call home. While watching shavings fall from the heaping mound, I mentioned that this would be much easier with a snow shovel. Tween uttered a noncommittal sound and continued to hold the bag for a scoop or two. Then she paused, lowered the bag and in the searing 95 degree sunshine asked me, "What does a snow shovel look like?"

She can differentiate between a Florida and Cuban tree frog, knows when to reapply sunscreen and that a manatee is a safe swimming partner, but she has no frame of reference when discussing anything cold weather related.

It's a price we pay to live in paradise, but it might be good to take a trip north this winter...

Another One of Those Days

Have you ever had a day when...

a fervent desire to be a stay-at-home mom was your first full thought as you pictured the day ahead?

you leave work early to complete pick-ups from the daycare and the high school in order to bring Teen to her early admissions orientation, only to be forced into the hall because Baby insists on banging her cups together and happily hollering loudly to the room at large?

you are driving home, yearning for nothing more than simply taking off your shoes and you remember the fridge is practically bare - necessitating one more errand before you will reach the harbor of home?

you check your phone and see Boy called and upon returning his call you are forced to cajole him into cleaning the mess the dog left, hoping against hope that he will actually do so before you arrive with a trunk full of groceries?

you arrive home 12 hours after leaving it, to an unloaded dishwasher, causing the cluttered counter as you try to locate areas for all those bags of groceries that now need to be put away?

you realize that not only has Boy cleaned-up the dog mess, he has also made dinner for Youngest, and is now emptying the dishwasher of his own volition, and you realize just how responsible he has become in the last year?

even through your exhausted state, as you watch Youngest reorganize the craft closet simply because it was messy, it dawns on you just how lucky you are to have this messy, errand-causing, amazing, caring thing we simply call family?

Armchair Parenting

It's sure to be the next big hit. Simply follow these easy steps and you, too, can be making decisions, judgements, and suggestions for things you know nothing about.

Step One: Have your child removed from your care because you are not any or all of the following: sane enough; sober enough; conscientious enough; parent enough to raise/care for your own child.

Step Two: Have sporadic 1-hour visits with your child making lame excuses for the visits you miss. Be sure to have zero contact with anyone connected to your child or her well-being for at least 4 months in a row (fully one HALF of the baby's life to date), then come back and profess your undying love for the baby, throwing-in how much you miss her and are such a good mommy.

Step Three: Be sure to throw a fit over any bug bite or left-over healing chicken pock that you had no idea existed because you did NOT see her for FOUR months. Refuse to listen to the reassurances from the supervisors of your visit (who also work for the state), but wait a FULL WEEK before your vengeance "concern" leads you to call DCF to report your "concerns" along with your exaggerations and lies. Because of course you believe that they will magically return the baby to your care. Send DCF to the home of the totally normal family who loves and cares for your daughter as if she were your own for the THIRD time with false allegations.

Step Four: After having two visits and cancelling a third, show you are a loving parent by insisting your child be put through the pain and ordeal of allergy testing because you are certain she has allergies from the 2 hours you have spent with her in the past 5 months. 

Step Five: Insist you know everything though you have not the slightest inkling of what parenting involves, who her doctor is, or even how much diapers cost. Never open a book to read what milestones are approaching, or look into the "allergies" you are certain she must have. Don't forget to continue partying like a rock star while you lament the fact that you unfairly had your baby taken from you by evil-doers who are out to get you.

Finally: Be sure to blame everyone but yourself for the problems in your life and continue to insist you are doing everything in your power to regain custody while never confronting the fact that problem is you.

This is my life. Am I bitter? Possibly, but only because I am terrified she will do just enough to have this precious, perfect baby handed to her, while still remaining unchanged.

It Aint Stand-Up, But I'll Take It

Yesterday evening was going quite well. I had managed to retrieve Youngest from choir bring her home, feed dinner to the masses and get both Youngest and Boy to a 4H meeting. All with a sick Baby at home which helped because I was not at work, but I am taking the credit anyway.Anyway, at the end of listening to a room full of 6-8 year-olds clogging their hearts out, I thought we needed a treat.

As I steered us into a local shake place, I called Teen to see what she wanted. At this point I had some stressful, frustrating news dumped upon me. No one in my home had done anything wrong, but my mood became a roiling mass of irritation. The kids, hearing my calls and sensing my mood sat quietly sipping their shakes when Boy suggested we needed some music to lighten the mood. 

"Music won't cure this mood," I informed him. Never willing to say die, Boy instantly made a very bad joke. With a grimace I informed him that wasn't a joke, it was horrible. So he pops out with, "Should we stop for Kentucky Fried Chicken? - No?"

"How about some California monkey?" Bad on so many levels, but I couldn't help it, I laughed. 

We proceeded to spend the rest of the ride trying to laugh while frowning. Impossible, just so you know. While this episode didn't cure the woes of having a foster-child with a hateful mother, it did go a long way toward easing some tension, and cementing my belief that Boy should not be a comedian.

Mini Bully, Mini Mimic

Having a verbal seven-year-old puts a parent in touch with many simple joys, but also gives a clear look into the dark-side of second grade. Which holds enough wrong-doing that Batman would have a difficult time keeping up with the perpetrators. 

Being the type-B mom that I am, I lend a sympathetic ear to the injustices. These include 3 kids holding the bathroom door so another child couldn't leave, the day-to-day cliques of who can sit where at lunch, and the more hurtful personal attacks and injuries. I keep an ear open for real atrocities, and how Youngest reacts to the jungle that is 2nd grade America as well as to how the teachers handle these situations. After hearing Youngest's view on "true friends" which went something like "they don't hurt you even if you don't agree with each other." and her affirmation that she had 2 "true friends" at school, I encouraged her to stick to her guns and avoid "the meanies." See in type-B land I don't have to rush to a conference or panic, there is no need. Yes, life is not all daisies, a fact I have known since elementary school myself, but she is handling it.

But still, you gotta wonder, what makes these girls think this behavior is okay. I do. Then I spent some time watching a certain kids cable station. Yes, I have seen these shows before, but today something clicked. A certain nanny was plotting against her charge to receive the affections of a guy. Typical stunts and hilarity ensued. But, then as one makes amends with another and it looks like a happy ending, in fact the other has taken the plotting public. Sadly this is nothing new. Since the days of Drake and Josh, another kid show, girls have been shown to be deviously plotting and bullying those around them. Is this seriously how we want to raise our future women, or current 2nd graders? 

I do not want to boycott the show, or genre for that matter. My kids watch it. I do point out issues I have with episodes while they are airing, much to the dissatisfaction of my kids. But it does beg the question: Are the "meanies" in 2nd grade really bullies, or simply mimicking what they are seeing daily?

Happy Father's Day

When it came time to think about a Father's Day post this year, it was a stuttering process. Should I begin with my own father who was an ever-present force of calm and caring? Should I be witty in sharing all of Hubby's qualities that make him the confidante of Teen, play-mate of Boy, occasional knight to Youngest's princess, and newly appointed surrogate caregiver to Baby?  My wonderful gift for writing not withstanding Nothing seemed to gel. 

Then, yesterday, the perfect blog presented itself in the actions of an adolescent Boy. 

Baby was fussy. There is no other way to put it. If she was ensconced in the arms of anyone she was calm and peaceful, but the minute she was set anywhere she would startle complete with arms flung to the sides and begin to fuss which irrevocably lead to crying. As a result, there was a cuddle fest taking place on the couch most of the evening. 

At some point, Boy appeared, having left whatever computer game he was captivated with at the time. Reaching out as if to take Baby, he offered a questioning look. "Do you want to hold her?" I asked. A nod and a glance to a cushion supported spot on the couch were the response. For the next thirty minutes, Boy cuddled, coo'd, and cared for Baby setting aside all adolescent pretense of being a guy too cool to care for babies. 

In this and his repeated attention Baby; his willingness to feed her, replace her binky umpteen times a day while remaining in good humor, or hold her while she is fussy Hubby's influence as a father is seen. And really what better testament to fatherhood is there?

Happy Father's Day to all the dads that are playmates, caregivers, confidantes, or otherwise engaged with their children. You are all cherished!

Verbal and Vivid

I had some friends over last week. After interacting with my kids for a bit, my friend laughing at something Boy said, commented "What do you expect, his mother is an English teacher." I am not sure that is the cause, but there are certainly some strange things said in this house.

Youngest's comments are often exclaimed, with fervor. 

Baby had been in our home for about a week, with little attention from Youngest it's hard to be dethroned she suddenly took an interest in this tiny, cuddly human. As I was dressing Baby, Youngest looked upon the scene and noted that Baby was "awfully fuzzy." I replied that babies certainly are, and Youngest could wash her hands then touch her. After appraising her dirt streaked hands that had spent the last hour hunting lizards and reaching into crevices among the bushes touching who knows what she looked to me and said, "Uh, I don't know her head has that smooshy spot. I freaks me out." 

On her birthday, Youngest chose to wear a summer dress she has had about a year. As we were driving to the movies, she was wondering aloud whether her friend would also like her dress. Youngest reassured herself that anyone would love this dress because, "It's a masterpiece! Look at the beautiful flowers. The person who made this fabric was an artist!" I must admit, it is a rather pretty dress. 

Boy has entered the witty stage. 

After hearing for the umpteenth time that the Mom of Baby has an allergy to cats, that she is quite certain without any basis she has passed to Baby, he jumped from his seat as I was using some spray in my cleaning yesterday. "Hold it, Mom! Be careful! The baby is allergic!" Ah, where does this sarcasm come from??

And Teen continues to take everything in, draw her conclusions, and argue with the best of them...We'll see if we can harness that talent and interest her in debate next year.

Mom's Medicine

Being a parent you become used to the idea that your stuff is up for grabs. Anything from your donut to the pens in your purse somehow transform to community property. This especially seems true of my beverages. On the way to bed, Boy will often try to sneak a sip of my pop and look aghast when I tell him no. I may have found a way to break him of this habit.

It was spring break and we were staying with my sisters and cousins at a beach house in NC. I had just poured a drink and went to use the facilities. Though the house was large, it had the ability to carry sound well, so I was privy to the conversation taking place among the cousins.

Cousin L: "I think that's your mom's pop."

Boy: "It is. I'm thirsty"

Cousin J: "If you drink it all she'll be mad."

Boy: "I'm just gonna have a sip." 

*me hollering uselessly not to touch my pop - sound only carries one way I guess...*

Boy: "AHHH! That's MEDICINE! YUCK!!".. "Cousin L, taste it. It's NOT pop - it's medicine!"

Cousin N: "Can I taste?" *why - I have no idea*

Boy: "Yeah N, taste it. Blech, acchh, blech."

Thankfully I arrived on the scene to rescue my RUM and Diet Coke before Cousin N could imbibe.

Ahh, The Cynicism (of youth)

You have probably read about the strange occurrence of the dying Red Wing Blackbirds in Arkansas. Maybe you have also read about the same type of thing happening in Louisiana. You probably even read about the mass die-off of Drum Fish as well. 

Many people are wondering what happened and why. While we know Otter Thomas at Life of a New Dad likes to hunt, I doubt he was responsible for this many deaths occurring at once ;)  It is a series of events that just makes you scratch your head and say "hmmm." 

With all of this in mind, I was making conversation at dinner last night. I started to ask Teen if she had any thoughts on this matter. Then I stopped mid-sentence. How would the younger 2 view this event? Would it add more worry to Youngest's ever-worrying mind? 

Nothing will get your kids attention faster than starting and stopping a sentence while you reconsider. especially if you say something inane like "oh wait, that may be inappropriate" Suddenly they were all ears. I asked if anyone had seen the news about the birds. Boy piped up that he had, but wanted to know more and Teen said she had briefly looked at it as well. We talked about some of the details and I wondered what had caused these events. 

Within moments of posing this rhetorical question aloud, Teen declared, "It was the government running tests" While Boy proclaimed, "It was aliens."

Maybe I should watch the instant view Netflixs of X-files in my room...

Savor the Moments

I love the post-Christmas week with children happily exploring new toys, no holiday stress or rush and the feeling that there is still some magic of Christmas lingering in the air. Alas, it is almost New Year's and I can no longer put off finding homes for the presents that have been conveniently stored under the tree since the big day.

There have been many memories created this week and lessons learned:

1) Sewing a strap to the donkey hat doesn't mean a thing if the child takes the hat off in the pew. She will make it to the altar only to be reminded of this and have to rush back retrieving said hat before she takes her rightful place in the stable.

2) Giving your husband the video game he has been drooling over doesn't mean much if the computer's mother board crashed on Christmas Eve. In this event have cool gifts for the children to keep him busy until the computer shop can get the part and fix it (fingers crossed that it happens soon)

3) Monitor Just Dance 2 song choices when Teen is choosing for Boy, it is just not nice to have an eleven-year-old dancing to "It's Raining Men"

4) Encourage childish joy, especially when it gives teens a chance to act like complete goofs.

5) Savor every moment...

I'm off to direct toy and decoration storage so I can be prepared for the teen invasion scheduled to occur on New Year's Eve...

First Snow...fall?

Most towns offer snow gratis. It's the perk (or pest) of the location. In order for kids to enjoy the wonders it has to offer wet socks, frostbite they need to go no further than the yard. Not so in Sunnyville.

Snow is such a rare commodity that youngest has never witnessed the white stuff falling ever. While most people over the age of 20 see this as a positive, my kids are not 20 and bemoan their snowless fate yearly while mom does the happy dance and sends gentle jibes to far away family This year we chose to find snow...

First, mom had to coupon shop. Honestly. I did. Snow and cold are pricey here. After driving 2 hours, we arrived...

The parkas were a side perk of spending an hour in the 9 degree exhibit.

We toured the sculptors. "Night Before Christmas" was the theme.

No trip to the ice would be worth its salt without an ice slide.

Of course we couldn't forget to visit the courtyard.

Now this weather is more my speed.

Then we went to play in the "snow" (I use the term loosely)

A great time for all.

All-in-all it was worth the drive and now Youngest tells me she can't wait to see real snow. I guess she doesn't realize those wet knees and gloves are not so much fun when it is actually cold!

Fire! Where?

It's 3:30 in the morning. On our very quiet and very dark street, my home is lit up like the Superbowl is being played within it's tiny frame. And is that? Could it be? Yes it is. Another fire truck come to cast light on the scene.  The kids, dogs, and I huddle in the van watching the scene unfold as Boy takes the opportunity to remind me, yet again, that he would like a snack. 

And while a small part of me does have to admit that watching firemen line the entire block with their vehicles and pour into your home is a bit like watching a movie, most of me is focused on a churning stomach, the thought that the fire must have started in the very messy garage, and the fact that my kids are going to be homeless with all of our shoes burnt-up.

Losing it slightly at this point, I say, "You can't have a snack. They are burning up in our house!" Hmm, maybe not one of my brightest moves...

How did we end-up in this predicament?

It all started with an annoying sound you half-hear in your sleep and a nervous dog. Having a newborn at the time (Youngest was about 3 months old) I was half-delirious with sleep withdrawl. Upon waking I couldn't place the sound and the dog was acting very strange, whining and unsettled. I woke Hubby to ask what that noise was. 

We got out of bed to investigate and as we were crossing the house Teen (who was really more of a Kid) crawls at super-speed from her room hollering "It's the FIRE ALARM. It's the FIRE ALARM" on a constant loop. And, hey, she was right. Quick-thinking completely dazed and sleep addled me told her to meet me at the mailbox and thank you fire safety month, she crawled right out the front door. Hubby and I rushed into Boy's room to remove him and Youngest from the danger-zone. Still very much operating on instinct, imagine my surprise to find Youngest's crib empty! Uh, where did she go?  Surely she didn't just leave - she can't even roll over!

Light dawned through my confusion. I remembered I brought her into my bed, and rushed back there.  Grabbing the baby and the dogs I went out to meet the others at the mailbox. I piled everyone into the van, because they were all in their various states of sleep undress and standing in the middle of the yard. Hubby and I headed back in to grab the phone, well he did anyway. Truth be told I went back for a can of Diet Coke and my cigarettes...Hey it was stressful. 

We didn't see any fire. But the entire house was filled with this sweet-smelling smoke. Hubby explained this to 911, as I grabbed my drink. We assumed the fire must be smoldering in the attic. And I was fretting because I knew the firemen would have no access to said attic because the garage was such a mess! Ah, the dumb@#% things I worry about.

In record time the trucks arrived. I think it was every truck in Sunnyville. All lined up on my blcok. And while I do truly appreciate their prompt attention, it is Sunnyville. Did they really think a ladder truck would be necessary? The house is only one floor!

So here we were. Sitting in the driveway watching men and lights travel through the house. Hubby talking with the fire chief and Boy prattling on about his need for sustenance...Maybe my previously mentioned blurt about the snacks burning up could be forgiven.

After touring my home with heat-finding goggles, the firemen reached the conclusion that there was freon pouring into the house from a faulty whatchamacallit in the air conditioner. Because this can be toxic, they brought in HUGE fans and blew the smoke out before allowing us to regain occupancy. Upon reentering the house, I did get Boy his snack and we all decided to watch Pirates of the Caribbean since we were up anyway.

Come with me if you want to live...

I am going to preface this post with an announcement. I am no Sarah Connor. though I wouldn't mind having her muscles, the gaunt  look does nothing for me I live in suburbia, and honestly I am pretty average. You probably wouldn't find me remarkable on sight and I am very moderate in most beliefs. I am not preparing my children for the day machines take over the world, and though we have taken the oldest two shooting at clay pigeons a time or two, we are not arming our own personal militia here in Sunnyville.

But there are those lessons, aren't there? that every person especially film writers should know. So it was that we were cruising around suburbia yesterday and four police cars raced past in the other direction. Talk flowed to wondering what was up and talking about recent accidents and pull-overs it is snow bird season here Amidst the conversation I told the kids i was going to share a life-lesson. My plan was to tell them (ok Teen - but the other two were in the car) that if lost while driving it is right and good to go ahead and pass your turn and then turn around at a reasonable time rather than stopping dead in the middle of a 6 lane highway. yes people do that here

Except that just after I began with "Ok guys, I have a life-lesson for you..."

Boy jumped in and said, "In a terrorist attack, or a killer flu outbreak, or if zombies invade we should stay away from the cities and go to the country."

heehee Laughter exploded from Teen and she looked to me and said, "Seriously, you told them what to do in a zombie apocalypse?!" Well, yeah, it may have come-up in the conversation a time or two.

Just because screen writers are foolish enough to send their characters to the city in the event of a cataclysmic event, doesn't mean I am. :)

Rapid Aging

I don't know about the rest of the world, but here in Sunnyville we seem to be subjects of a Jimmy Neutron experiment gone awry. For those with small children, he is a boy genius cartoon Darn him! I was bobbing happily along this parenthood ride when suddenly a switch was thrown, and I find myself in fast-forward.

It started with Youngest being invited to attend a family camping trip - with another family! Her anxiety was only outmeasured by her excitement. Ok, I admit I was a little happy to know I would have one less contestant in the bickering contest that often exisits between the three. But, she's only 6, a mere baby. So, bam. Just like that I am a parent to 3 kids who can sleep-over with friends.

The same weekend Boy, who had been on the fence, decided and attended his first school dance. At drop-off he was quiet timid as a mouse. It was sweet, dropping him off to hang with school friends for an evening of chaperoned fun. It was not until pick-up that the rapid aging was felt once again. Arriving at the dance to sign him out it's a safety conscious world I spot him. And more importantly he spots me - and ducks back into the crowd! I watched with other waiting parents as he hopped and bobbed his way through the last song of the night and sent Youngest in to wrangle him. He chatted a bit on the way home, and seemed to have enjoyed himself. I was pleased for him. Until bedtime. Upon sending him to bed, I reach for my nightly hug and kiss and am offered a fist instead. Not for a punch. But for a knuckle bump. Are you kidding me? One dance and suddenly he is too old for hugs! Not. Ready. For. This. ok, I admit I hugged him anyway

Then the same weekend Teen decides yes, she will be attending the homecoming dance with friends. We rush through trying on 10 dresses, find all necessary accessories, and she begins to prep and primp with friends. I am very pleased for her. Until I see her ready to go and it hits me again. rapid aging sucks She is not so little anymore. An honest-to-goodness young lady.

So, to Jimmy Neutron, or the universe, I say slow the heck down!

The Road Trip

Let me begin by saying all rest areas are not created equally. Some states offer the luxury rest stop: ample, shaded, picnicking grounds for the weary traveler. Bathrooms that never cause you to wonder who sat here before. Maps and welcome centers that give the cramped wanderer an excuse to stretch sore legs.

However, none of that will matter if the words, "Mom, I have to go potty," aren't spoken until you are 100 ft from the rest area traveling at 80mph in the far left lane. Yup, on those occasions you will often be forced to hit the gas station. Not an ideal choice. So, if you find yourself hitting the road this summer with a vehicle full of kids and a destination in mind I offer some tips:

1. Pay attention to rest area markers - some states offer a rest area every 30-40 miles. These states are the all-time best. When a rest area is missed you have an idea of how much longer you will need to sing along with VeggieTales to keep full bladders distracted until you can stop.

~ In the event you are traveling through a rest area-deprived state, go to the biggest truck stop you see. There are gadgets and gizmo's in there you had probably never imagined. And the bathrooms here tend to be clean.

2. Since duct taping small bickering mouths shut is frowned upon in virtually every state through which you are bound to travel, having MP3 players and portable DVD's is incredibly helpful. If you are blessed enough that your player doesn't blow a fuse and works for you - the most argument you will hear is what movie to play next and whose turn it is to pick it.

~ But if it does blow a fuse, the truck stop is bound to have replacements.

3. If you will be traveling to the Northeast bring lots of money for tolls. Culture shock is a definite possibility for those that live in a relatively free-travel area. Take a deep breath and be sure to enjoy the bridges - because they will cost you an amount equivalent to viewing a blockbuster movie on opening night. At some points, you may wonder when they will be asking for your first born. We were spared this experience, but we didn't travel too far into the area. It seems a definite possibility.

4. Eventually you are bound to reach your destination. If traveling with small children I strongly suggest some down-time when you arrive. They are bound to be babbling, wiggling maniacs for a bit - not the first impression you want to impose on friends or relatives you don't see regularly. 

~ A quick visit to a park or any area they can run and play will give them a chance to burn-off energy and make them acceptable company. They will be less likely to hang from the chandeliers or start a wrestling competition in the home of those nearest and dearest.

Happy Travels!