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.

Grateful

At times it feels as though I am treading water in a storm. I have on a bright orange life-vest safety first you know but it is waterlogged and barely keeping my nose above the water line. As one task or difficulty passes, here comes another wave. All I can do at times like these is to be thankful for the vest, and the miracle that is the sun between the clouds.

Yesterday, I finally conquered one recurring wave - my van. Yes, my trusty steed that should have, by all accounts been shot at LEAST a year ago, was put to pasture when I finally bought a new van. It is shiny, clean, and best of all has a warranty!!!

No more will be the mornings I have to deal with shuttering and shaking as the van warms in the drive.
No longer will I repeat "I think I can" on the drive to work. A great motto for life, but a cruddy way to start your day.
No longer will I have to deal with doors that don't want to unlock and sliding doors that stick.

Some sun has shown between the clouds. And for this small blessing I am grateful.

Pack all you Want

At a countdown of T-10 hours the task was complete. Boy was packed and ready to go off to Seacamp. I had followed the what to bring directions to the letter. Everything from jeans to underwear had been labeled with his name along with the noted sunscreen and bug repellent. Disposable underwater camera and snacks were placed in the backpack  while it was searched for contraband electronics

By T-7 hours (8pm) everything sat in a neat pile beside the front door. Except the bathroom bag.

Open and ready for a deposit of toothbrush and deodorant, that bag sat waiting on the bathroom counter.

At 4am I was jolted awake by the alarm and considered myself endlessly lucky that Hubby would be doing the 4:30am drop-off. I did consider climbing out of bed to watch the proceedings, but fell asleep thinking I would pop-up and give a quick kiss in a few minutes as they left. I did wake-up. Regretfully, it was as Hubby was backing out of the driveway. Oh-well. Back to sleep for another hour or so before everyone else needed to be hustled through the morning routine. 

Amidst the typical morning rush I happened to notice that the counter held a toothbrush which suspiciously resembled Boy's. A second glance told me there was no toiletries bag, but his deodorant kept the stray toothbrush company. Hmmm. I consoled myself that deodorant at just-12 isn't a necessity especially since 3/4 of the time would be spent in the water of the Florida Keys, and he had money enough to buy a new toothbrush as well as a souvenir.

Fast-forward with not a single phone call or any word to Friday evening. A fully-animated Boy recounted his adventures specifically describing events aimed to wow, dissecting squids, swimming with sharks, and getting stung by jelly fish. After his energetic sharing I asked him if he got any good pictures. Nope. Not one. I am not sure the camera even exited the backpack. 

"Jeez you're looking pretty salty, better head in for a shower," I tell him. At which point he explains that he and his friend were on a quest to save freshwater for the trip. So they did not shower once. With pride clearly welling in his voice he told us how he and his friend were congratulated for saving water at their final lunch. 

"What about your teeth?" I asked "Did you have your toothbrush?" A lopsided grin lit his face as he shrugged unsure of his answer....Okay. I'll take that as a no.

"I don't know, I only looked in the the bag once to grab the sunscreen." With a head shake I hustled him into the bathroom to rectify his hygiene issues and considered myself lucky that at least he wasn't sunburned.

Scapegoated

Home, at long last. Juggling a mere three children is a reprieve after a long day spent listening, laughing, and cajoling ninety plus personalities to learn all day. Greeted by a stack of laundry, the need to rush through homework agendas, plus make dinner and squeeze in some laughter at home is the warm embrace of home. After crazy evening routines and rituals, I have earned the right to sit on the couch, watch fiction, and enjoy my creative outlet - lesson planning.

Yes, work. Embracing lesson-scrapping and revamping, altering, adding, and changing is who I am. This is honestly how my creativity works best. I love my job. I do not complain  though sometimes it is because I am burried under 90+ essays and can't breathe let alone talk   Because I enjoy it. Yet, yesterday I found myself near tears while talking about work with Hubby.

Why? Because I have never in my life had so many people judge me and seem to hate me, without even knowing I exist - EVER. The animosity that is pouring forth from any and every one towards my profession is staggering. Suddenly parents, who dread the mere idea of spending another snow day trapped in the house with 1-3 kids looking for any way to keep them busy for a measly afternoon, are proclaiming that not only do teachers make too much money, they aren't doing it right either. Everyone seems to know exactly what we do and how we SHOULD be doing it - for free. 

Let me tell you a secret, I have been to the hospital a time or two in my life. I've watched blood draws and IV inserts, heck I've even seen stitches put in and babies birthed. Does that make me equipped to tell the nurses and doctors how to do their jobs? 

Sitting in a classroom for years doesn't make anyone an expert either. We are paid to make it look easy - just like any good magician. Students and parents do not see the frustration that dedicated teachers feel when they feel a student is falling through the cracks or the messes they leave on their own kitchen counters because there is another assignment that needs to be tweaked to reach those hard to reach students. We don't complain. Not because it is a job any one can do, but because we chose to do it. So, please feel free to be pro or anti union. I don't care. But in the mad quest to end organized labor would it be possible to stop scapegoating the teachers? By and large we are a dedicated group that seeks to elevate your children everyday. and it hurts my feelings

Spooky Movie, Strange Lights

Finally, after much maneuvering and demands for the kids to turn off the light in there, with me recovered sufficiently from the flu that has plagued me and pumped full of Nyquil Hubby and I were finally able to sit back and watch a horror movie he brought home last week.

Well into the movie, with more than half my popcorn gone, the creeps were settling nicely across the living room. Hubby and I mentioned numerous times that the family were fools to give-up the one link to spiritual lightness and I was well into my role of criticizing the stupidity of the characters. When Hubby looks into the kitchen and points to something near the sliders. 

Knowing his wiley ways of terror well, I said "It's the cat or something." Just as said feline rubs her rump against my elbow. Intrigued I look up with a question on my lips as Hubby tells me, "It's a flashlight in the backyard."

What? In my fenced backyard? I think even as I am saying "Well go see what it is!" Creepiness has reached a new level here. He heads to the door, while I remain half-standing near the couch reassuring myself that it is probably the neighbors looking for something in their fenced yard. Then I hear Hubby telling someone the dogs are in the house. OK, time to investigate as he and unknown voice talk about the 1/2 empty pool standing in the yard. Insurance agents? Mosquito Patrol? None of the above. It is the police.

Why are the police looking through my backyard, and sure enough as I poke my head out those of my neighbors as well, at well past 10 on a Sunday night? Well, seems my neighbors are missing. MISSING. Grown adults, who have their elderly mother with them are all gone. And they are looking into my pool?? Ugh. Suddenly every shadow may hide a corpse and my mind reels with the question of when she last visited at the fence to talk about the dog or pick grapefruit. Where did they go? Suddenly the movie isn't so appealing and I settle on a DVR'd episode of Parenthood that the flu kept me from last week.

Still no sign of them. Hope everything is ok and they just took a trip and didn't tell anyone...

Sister Steps Up

This is the week that never ends. Beginning with a call Monday afternoon about an exploded radiator from Hubby, it has been nothing but a mad dash. 

Who would've thought living smack in the middle of both of our workplaces could lead to so much driving? Every morning, except today - thank goodness for his four-day-workweek schedule - our one working vehicle has put upwards of 150 miles on it per day! Ughh the hours I have spent driving in fog, rain, and through tornadoes touching down yes the weather decided simply driving endlessly wasn't enough. Plus, before and after school events have been especially heavy this week, only adding to the joy of my week. All this just to say when I finally arrived home after schmoozing with parents until 7:30 last night, I wasn't at the top of my game.

So, it can be forgiven when I inform my fellow readers that even though I know Youngest and her-brain-that-doesn't-quit, I allowed her to pick her bedtime story. Given my heightened level of exhaustion, it wasn't until she began to bury her head in the pillows that it dawned on me The Nutcracker has a scary bad guy that might threaten my chances of zoning out for an hour before bed Youngest's chances of falling asleep. Quickly picking-up the fear factor here, I found a fairy princess place to stop for the night. Hoping upon hope that this would leave her with visions of fairies and magic instead of seven-headed mice.

No such luck. She was up as I was shutting the door.

After repeated attempts to calm, offers of my bed, the dog, a trip to Disney anything that would allow me some down time, she was still unable to sleep. Apparently there are "scurrying noises in this house." Knowing she wouldn't sleep alone and that Teen was not doing homework on the computer in her room, I sent her there. 

The shock on Teen's face at being called to bat was priceless. She gave only meager resistance to this, and allowed Youngest to snuggle in. Within 15 minutes Teen came out to inform us that Youngest was asleep and we could move her now. Uhh, no. My brain was back on line and knew A move would only necessitate the need for Youngest to come into my bed in an hour when she woke with nightmares. I explained that Youngest was huddled in a corner of the bed, was a breeze to sleep with and would be fine until morning. 

Maybe it was Teen's head cold that had sapped her energy for a fight, or maybe she is just really that sweet. Whatever the reason, everyone here got a good night's rest.

Catch and Release

It snatches the bait and you feel a gentle tug on the line. Wanting to keep the little guy, you give some line and out it swims. In its mad dash to freedom it pulls a bit too hard. Then slowly, ever so gently you reel it back a bit. Sensing the need, you feed it more line watching its progress in the dance of away and near. Feeling the give you've offered, it bounds to the weeds. Knowing this direction will only end badly, you gently yet with a firm hand reel it back again. Eventually you land it, only to have the briefest of moments to snap a quick picture, marvel at your success, and set it free. 

After a week of "run and reel" with Teen I used fishing as an analogy to parenting while talking with my mom. She laughed and then told me that parenting is actually like flying a kite - courtesy of Erma Bombeck.
You spend a lifetime trying to get them off the ground.   
You run with them until you're both breathless...
they crash...they hit the rooftop...
you patch and comfort, adjust and teach. 
You watch  them lifted by the wind and assure them that someday they'll fly. 
Finally they are airborne, they need more string and you keep letting it out. 
But with each twist of the ball of twine, there is a sadness that goes with the joy.  
The kite becomes more distant, and you know it won't be long before that beautiful creature will snap the lifeline that binds you together 
and will soar as it is meant to soar, free and alone. 
Only then do you know that your job is done."

Whether your parenting is closer to fishing or kite-flying it is all about the give and take.