Tags: Birthday, Children, Creativity, Daughters, Growing Up, Milestones, Motherhood, Personal, Relationships
She’s been 7 for three days.
This girl, the one missing her front top teeth. The one who loves sequins almost as much as she loves rabbits. The one who graduated to chapter books when I wasn’t looking.
She roller skates. She backstrokes. She rides her bike, the one with the sparkly purple streamers, without training wheels.
She’s wise to this blog thing and suggested I write about “that funny growl Bun makes when he’s cranky, which is a lot, Mommy.”
She has a slight addiction to funny cat videos on YouTube.
She digs in the dirt. She makes her own mud. Her fingernails are a mess. She doesn’t care.
She does this thing now where she rolls her eyes and sighs when she’s exasperated. There’s usually an “aye yai yai” to go with it and, occasionally, a sassy hand-on-the-hip gesture.
She read a book on global warming this summer and decided to start an environmental club. There are 15 members and counting. So far, they’ve planted bean seeds, cleaned up the neighborhood park, and made nature collages. For the next meeting, she’s planning an autumn-focused sing-a-long and maybe some choreography.
She leaves me purple sticky notes on the kitchen counter with reminders like, “Please fix my bird’s wobbly beek” and “I prefer grape jelly for my luntch.”
When she grows up, she wants to run a store called Love Bunnies. She’s got a business plan partially drafted, complete with a social media component. She’ll sell real bunnies, stuffed bunnies, bunny clothes, bunny food, bunny snacks, bunny toys, and bunny bling. There may be a line of bunny ballet slippers. She will oversee things, and Giggles will be her minion. They are both okay with this arrangement.
Last week, she researched bats on the computer and wrote a nonfiction book about them because she had a little time before swim lessons. There may have been a glossary.
Last month, she got an award at school for, among other things, “general awesomeness.”
She’s 7. She’s amazing. And she’s mine.
I think I’ll celebrate with some choreography.
V is for she’s growing up so very fast, it’s giving me vertigo. See more V’s at Jenny’s.
Tags: Balance, Children, Fun, Growing Up, Life, Motherhood, Perspectives, Photography, Play
“There is no such thing in anyone’s life as an unimportant day.” — Alexander Woollcott
Are the leaves and acorns falling off the trees where you are? What’s your learning-to-ride-a-bike story? And have you patted a fluffy bunny lately?
T is for truth and training wheels and tenderness. See more T’s at Jenny’s.
Tags: Boys, Family, Germs, Motherhood, Parenting, Poetry, Sharing, Toys
Haiku Friday: His Fair Share
He won’t share his cars
or french fries or magic seeds
or sometimes his hugs.
He won’t share pennies
or the hole puncher or rocks
or roly polies.
But broccoli and peas
and sneezes and fevers? These
are given freely.
What are your children eager to share? What are you eager to return? And are you in the throes of a summer cold, too?
Tags: Career, Children, Creativity, Family, Humor, Motherhood, Multitasking, Resume, Siblings
SUMMARY OF QUALIFICATIONS
- 7+ years of experience growing, birthing, and raising children.
- Expertise in multi-tasking, resource allocation, conflict management, customer service, program development, scheduling, chauffeuring, and train-track assembly.
- Successfully completes numerous tasks simultaneously, including talking on the phone, digging a red Matchbox car out of my purse, wiping someone’s nose, and cutting off sandwich crusts (after washing my hands, of course).
- Arbitrates disputes over who ate whose Cheerios, who squished whose roly poly, who isn’t sharing the paper-towel-tube telescope, and who pulled the dog’s ear first.
- Teaches manners to otherwise caveman-like children who resist learning to pee in the potty, share their toys, and color on the paper (and only the paper).
- Utilizes educational resources including television, computers, and video games to prepare children for school.
- Possesses uncanny knack for knowing location of missing household items including left red rainboot, yellow cupcake eraser, favorite stuffed bunny, froggy sippy cup, and library book due tomorrow.
- Treats boo-boos from keeto bites and cat scratches to goose eggs and stubbed pinky toes.
- Manages four laundry baskets, three toilets, 56 markers, 56 marker lids, and one husband.
- Able to overcome a variety of obstacles, including sleep deprivation, wasp nests, and refusals to eat broccoli or anything green for that matter.
AWARDS & ACCOMPLISHMENTS
- Clean floors if you don’t look too closely.
- Record WWF score once of 114 points for the word “zouk,” obtained while children were feeding Play-Doh pizza to the dog.
- Children who sleep through the night in their own beds. Mostly.
- Recipient of lifetime supply of rainbow drawings.
- Pediatrician’s 24-hour nurse hotline, 2006 to present.
- Google, 2006 to present.
- My Little Pony Online Resource Guide, 2010 to present.
Are you hiring? What skills are on your mothering resume? And would you like to be paid in Cookies & Creme Hershey Kisses, too?
I is for “I’m an innovator in my industry.” See more I’s at Jenny’s.
Tags: Boredom, Bugs, Children, Growing Up, Heat, Motherhood, Play, Summer, Sun, Vacation
Three kids. One mom. One house. One week. Only 79 days of summer vacation to go. But who’s counting? (Me, me, me!)
Here’s a recap of our first week of vacation:
Trips to Target: 1
Scoops of ice cream: 13
Trips to splash park: 1
Goose eggs acquired at splash park: 1
Number of times swimsuits laundered: 5
Water-bottle refills: Oh, who can remember?
Containers of yogurt consumed: 19
Items lost: 1 dress, 1 hat, 1 stuffed bunny, 1 temporary tattoo
Items found: 1 jacket, 1 flag pin, 7 bottle caps
Books checked out from library: 15
Episodes of Curious George watched: I plead the 5th.
Lunches at Daddy’s office: 1
Tantrums while lunching at Daddy’s office: 4
Number of homemade muffins delivered to the fire station down the street: 23
Firehouse tours: 1
Ice-cream factory tours: 1
M&Ms smashed into ice-cream-factory floor: 7
Scraped knees: 5
Band-aids applied: 3
Summer reading logs in progress: 4
Tubes of sunscreen used: 1 1/2
Roly polies collected: 9
What’s your summer been like so far? Are the heat and the boredom crushing you, too? And how many roly polies are living in a jar on your coffee table?
C is for summer crush. See more Cs at Jenny’s.
Tags: Children, Clutter, Collecting, Collections, Curiosity, Kids, Motherhood, Parenting, Trash, Treasure
We collect things. (And by “we,” I mean everyone in my house under age 6.)
It borders on obsession. (And by “obsession,” I mean, well, obsession.)
Rocks. Sticks. Seeds. Acorns. Leaves. Pamphlets from the doctor’s office. Bits of ribbon. Bits of bark. Paper scraps. Glue-sticks lids. Old keys. Lollipop wrappers. Junk mail. Junk-mail envelopes. Broken pencils. Barbie hairbrushes. Pony hairbrushes. Full Tic Tac boxes. Empty Tic Tac boxes. Full Tic Tac boxes that mysteriously become empty Tic Tac boxes. Bouncy balls. Straws. Take-out menus. Subscription cards from inside magazines. Flower petals. Yogurt lids (washed, of course … okay, mostly washed). Found coins. Business cards. Buttons. Toilet-paper rolls. Little circles from inside the hole punch.
The kiddos collect by day. And I discard by night.
With secrecy, stealth, nonchalance, and not a single ounce of Mommy guilt. Because, otherwise, I would be overrun by detritus, miscellany, and things that decay.
Occasionally, my ever-zealous Giggles will find one of his treasures that I thought I had tucked out of sight in the recycle bin — the cellophane address window from the weed service advertisement, for example.
“Mooooooooooooooooom! I was saaaaaaaaaaaaaving this. It’s important! Who. Threw. It. Away??” His words flick through the air like darts.
I do what any self-respecting mother who values clutter-free space and aims to minimize the time she spends vacuuming each day. I lie.
“I have no idea, sweetheart.”
And after he’s in bed, I sneak in and tuck his animal blankie up around his chin. I put his favorite stuffed mouse on his pillow next to him. I brush the soft blond tendrils from his forehead.
And with one deft, nearly invisible swipe, I take his treasure from wherever he’s re-hidden it. And I throw it away. Again.
Because there’s more treasure waiting to be discovered tomorrow. And the next day … and the next day … and the next day …
Do you expect to see your kids on Hoarders one day? How do you handle “treasure”? And what did you collect as a child?
Z is for my zealous hoarders. See more Zs at Jenny’s on Thursday.
Tags: Birthday, Boys, Children, Life, Milestones, Motherhood, Parenting, Smiles, Spain, Spanish
In Europe last summer, an orange crayon melted in our rental car. We may or may not have gotten a parking ticket in Madrid. And our youngest made many a Spanish woman weak in the knees.
With his blond curls. His chocolate eyes. His dimples.
Que guapo, el guapo bebé! we heard. Over and over. Everywhere we went. In metro stations, souvenir shops, park benches, hotel lobbies, Burger Kings with free wi-fi, museums, and mercados. Guapo! Guapo! Guapo!
We joked that we were lucky he was only 2 — at least all the attention wouldn’t go to his head.
Today mi Guapo is three. He’s more worldy. He knows being cute can get him things, like extra lollipops and stickers and cookie samples. He pitches fits. He throws important things in the trash. He hordes rocks. He sits on the dog.
But he’s still my handsome baby.
The one whose best friend is his stuffed giraffe. The one who is my alarm clock, leaning over his crib rails and yelling, “Mom? Mooooom? Moooooooooom?” until I free him. The one who adores poot nacks.
Last summer, when the mosquitoes gobbled up his sweetness and turned him polka-dotted, I had to explain to everyone: “It’s not chicken pox. Or measles. Really, he’s not contagious. They are just mosquito bites.” Just. He was so miserable, and he didn’t know how to make it better. I started scratching the bites for him, gently, barely more than a tickle, just enough to soothe.
Now, it’s our thing. He’ll crawl in my lap and point to an imaginary spot on his arm. “Keeto bite here, Mom. Will you scratch it for me, will you?”
And I do. And we sit there. Quiet, together, close. Him, eyes and little feet drooping. Me, wishing every trouble could be fixed so easily. But I know that’s not my job. I’m to teach him to scratch his own bites, fight his own fights, mend his own heart.
And, through it all, to smile that handsome, contagious, soulful, full-bodied, jelly-faced smile. Just like that, mi Guapo, just like that.
What kind of smile does your kiddo have? What kind of accidental rituals do you share? And have you ever had to convince people your child does not, in fact, have a communicable disease?
“Y” is for youngest … See more Ys at Jenny’s.
Tags: Bag, Children, Humor, Inventory, Kids, Motherhood, Multitasking, Parenting, Purse
I got a new bag. It’s big. It’s cute. And it was on sale!
It’s the kind of bag that looks like it might hold exciting things like designer lip gloss, breath mints in a fancy silver tin, an iPad, or a chic planner with entries like “Mani/Pedi” and “Drinks with J.”
But no. Not my bag. While stylish on the outside, inside it’s all business. Okay, it’s mostly business with a smidgen of chaos. Because my bag is a mom bag.
Here’s an inventory:
- 1 cloth sunglasses case with green marker stain (and, surprise, the sunglasses are actually inside!)
- 1 brown paper bag snagged from restaurant in case my sick child needs to puke in the car
- Girl’s size 6X red sweater
- Craft store flyer and coupon (Bonus: coupon not expired)
- Receipt from recent merchandise return stapled to original receipt stapled to temporary store membership card because real membership card is … not in bag
- Wallet (whose contents include a Romanian bus ticket, the Clean 15 list, a dental floss coupon, and a heaven-sent Starbucks gift card)
- 2 bottles hand sanitizer
- Tissues (unused, I think)
- Shout wipes (unused, I think)
- Fancy bottle of sunscreen from infamous weekend in Florence
- 3 tubes chapstick (Carmex, Blistex, and cherry-flavored)
- 1 large package baby wipes
- 1 pair 3T Thomas the Tank Engine undies
- 1 pair 3T Batman undies
- 1 set of instructions for a “Kids Herb Planter”
- 3 packages fruit snacks
- 1 empty fruit snack wrapper
- 3 pieces Super Bubble gum
- 1 rubber duckie
- 2 reusable grocery bags
- More keys
- Orange emergency whistle
- 3 Wendy’s coupons that expire tomorrow
- 1 “Best Smiles Dental” pen
- 1 rusted penny from the playground
- 1 rusted washer from the playground
- 1 cell phone, 14 Words with Friends games in progress, 20% of battery remaining
- 1 Sleeping Beauty cell phone with 3 dead AG13 batteries (Note to self: find and purchase AG13 batteries)
- 1 library book (Bonus: not overdue)
- 1 Sheriff Woody toy hat
- 1 green bouncy ball
- 1 Blue Bell ice cream lid
What’s in your bag? A puke bag? Thomas undies? Expired coupons? Rusted washers? And what else??
Tags: Camping, Children, Family, Fun, Kids, Motherhood, Nature, Outdoors, Photography
“Camping: The art of getting closer to nature while getting farther away from the nearest cold beverage, hot shower and flush toilet.” — Unknown
Camping is a mixed bag for me. Or should I say, a mixed sleeping bag?
I don’t like bugs. Or sweat. Or dirt. Or marshmallows. But my family does. So I go. Twice a year, as per a verbal agreement between my husband and me, I drag myself into the woods, along with three kids, a gigantic dog, an even more gigantic tent, sleeping bags, air mattresses, firewood, s’more fixin’s, peanut butter and jelly fixin’s, water shoes for 5, hiking shoes for 5, stuffed animals for way more than 5, camp dishes and utensils, paper towels, toilet paper, a hefty supply of hand sanitizer, and a thousand other things.
We spend the weekend killing mosquitoes, peeing in bushes, toasting droopy hamburger buns over a campfire that blows smoke in our faces, and getting dirt wedged semi-permanently into our fingernails and toenails. But we also fall asleep to a cricket concert and wake up to an avian serenade. We pick dandelions and track ladybugs. And with sticky, grape-juice-colored fingers, we steer matchbox cars through sand pits and stick tunnels.
So I go. And it’s worth it. Despite the 27 loads of burr-laden laundry that always come home with us.
Does your family camp? Got any favorite ghost stories? And marshmallows — yea or nay?
“X” is for miXed bag … See more Xs at Jenny’s on Thursday.
Tags: Challenges, Chaos, Children, Kids, Life, Motherhood, Multitasking, Parenting, Relationships, Sanity
It happens every day. At 2:42 p.m. Or thereabouts.
Mommy loses it.
It starts just after I pick up Lollipop from school. We pull into the driveway and tumble out of the car in various stages of undress. Because somebody couldn’t make it the three minutes home without shedding their socks. Or headband. Or pants.
We burst into the house like the prelude to a fireworks show. Pop! … Pop! … Pop! … Only instead of smoke and color, we leave behind backpacks and sticky lunchboxes. Torn wisps of a junk-mail envelope. Acorns. Shriveled dandelions. A collection of seeds and a few slimy tissues.
Then somebody wants a snack. Goldfish. No, Cheerios. No, goldfish and Cheerios. Not the Honey Nut kind, the other kind. In the green bowl. No, in the yellow bowl. The other yellow bowl.
Then somebody else wants goldfish and Cheerios and it’s not fair that he got them fiiiiiiiiiiiirst.
Then somebody needs a bottom wiped. Or a booger extricated. Or a mosquito bite calamined.
Or a Barbie dress buttoned.
Or a marble removed from a matchbox car.
Or a marker lid fished out of the dog water.
Or a sticker unstuck from the kitchen table.
Or a pencil sharpened.
Or the yucky brown spot cut off the banana.
Or some batteries replaced.
Or some pretend-cupcakes put in the real oven to pretend-cook.
Or a stamp for a letter that may or may not be a blank sheet of paper.
Or more goldfish and Cheerios in the yellow bowl (no, the other yellow bowl) that is now lodged under the couch. Between a giant dust bunny and the very last shred of my sanity.
And I invariably say something like, “Oh, for Pete’s sake, just go play outside!” Or “My ears can’t take it anymore!” Or “Mommy needs QUIET!” Or “Just go and watch TV and leave me ALONE for 5 minutes!”
And I think Did I really just order my children to watch television?
I hate that it comes to that. What’s more, I hate that it comes to that so often.
Tiny hands tugging on my shirt, always tugging.
Demands, some polite, yes. But some … not.
Shrill voices trying to out-shrill each other for my attention.
Tears. Fighting. Noise.
Laundry that’s fluffing. Again.
Dinner that’s half-cooked or over-cooked. Or PBJ … again.
Mommy who’s grumpy. Again.
By the time my husband walks in the door, I’m ready to lock myself in our dark closet and curl up with my son’s yellow blankie. I crave silence. Darkness. Sensory deprivation. Recharged batteries. Sanity.
Oh, sweet sanity.
Help Wanted: How do you negotiate the blessing that is a chaotic family? How do you keep a fingernail’s hold on inner peace? And how many times have you locked yourself in a dark, quiet room?
“W” is for Help Wanted … See more Ws at Jenny’s on Thursday.