Second-to-Last Day of School

I am at home with my kids.  This is not how I planned to spend today.  I was going to meet a friend for coffee, then make one last kid-free trip to Trader Joe's before summer vacation.  But no.

The phone rang at 6:15 a.m.  A recorded  message from the school district.  A shooting threat made against the middle and high schools.  Police presence, security guards hired.  All schools to remain open.  Contact the school office if your child will be absent.

I sat on the edge of the bed listening to my third grader pour himself some cereal.  My seventh grader was in her room brushing her hair.  I started weighing risk in my head and a thought came to the surface like a bubble released from the deep, dark ocean floor.  I should not have to be making this decision.

I took a breath to steady myself then told Valerie about the threat and that I would be keeping her home today.  She glared at me.  Her friends at school are the highlight of her life right now.

In the kitchen, Andrew asked, "Why?"  I said, "It's probably just a joke."  Then he asked if he could play Minecraft.

This is the first time since the kids have been in public school that a threat has been directly made at one of their sites.  I have wondered in the past if it would ever happen and how I would react.  Now I know.  I emailed absence notifications to the school secretaries.

I hate being in this position.  I want to let my kids be at school.  I want to trust that they will be safe.  But I cannot.

Most days I feel pretty resilient in this world.  Not today.

The Curator

Another of the many things I did not know would happen upon becoming a parent:  I am now a curator.

The closets are stuffed, under the beds are packed, the hallways are lined...with stuff.  In the busyness, craziness, and exhaustion of mothering small children things have not been, shall we say, sorted properly.  Schoolwork, artwork, toys, craft supplies, etc., etc., etc.

And it is my job to go through it all, piece by piece, and make decisions.  Keep or toss.  Recycle or upcycle.  Take a photo and let go.  Save.

Daunting.  And a little sad.

We have been in our rented house almost eleven years now (we never planned on renting for so long!) and so much has happened and so quickly.

What to save?  Every small bit holds a memory.  An anchor to the fleeting moments of my kids' childhood.

So I edit and create the collection.  It is a work in progress.  With no end in site.

(The Pucci Pups above did not make the cut.)

The Best Day of the Year

Isn't the day after Christmas one of the best days of the year?

If you are like me (lucky you), you spend the bulk of Christmas day in the kitchen.  After having spent several days before Christmas preparing for the show.  It is a show, right?  And moms--mostly--put it on.  We decorate, we shop, we put on classroom parties, we shop, we clean, we shop, we work, we shop, we wrap, we run to the store for one last little thing and return home having forgotten toilet paper.  And during all this we keep on doing all the regular things that take up nearly all our waking hours already.  Yes, I'm complaining a little again.  Or, as a dear, understanding friend told me,"being real."  The same friend who offered me a bottle of homemade Irish cream.  Coincidence?  I don't think so.

But, back to the post at hand.

Today is the day after Christmas (which went quite nicely, after all).  The house is pretty clean (since I did the dishes last night--I mean, why leave the kitchen?), the relatives have gone, the kids are occupied.  Can we all just breathe a collective sigh of relief?

With me, now:  inhale, one, two, three, four, exhale.

Hubby and I even got the kids out for a nice little walk.  I don't think I had been outside in two days.  It felt great.

This morning I was thinking, again, that Christmas is for children.  The show is for the children.  As a mom, Christmas is all about giving.  If I think about it that way (and have a glass of wine) I can get through it.  Time spent with Hubby preparing the feast he wants to eat, cooking for my kids and relatives.  Energy spent getting the things in place that need to be there for the show.  Giving (that's what the namesake of Christ-mas was all about, after all).  It's not about me.

But today?  I got a little something.  I watched Holiday Inn--in the living room with the rest of the family!  They even watched it a little, too.  I may make fans of them, yet.

Each year, I focus a little more on Winter Solstice as my own quiet celebration of the season.  It makes sense to me and brings me comfort.  This year I was able to observe and reflect and I spent some time writing down some thoughts and ideas for next year.  It is evolving for me, and that feels nice.  I'll leave you with a photo taken on that day, another one of the best days of the year.

I'm Gonna Miss You

This morning as I watched my son run ahead of me to his first grade classroom, "I'm gonna miss you," popped into my head and tears filled my eyes.  He was smiling and bounding down to hang up his backpack so he could run and get a ball for us to play with.  He likes to get to school early so he and I can kick a bouncy ball back and forth to each other on the field before the bell rings. I never know where that ball is going to go when he kicks it, and I'm not much more accurate.

I feel bad that I'm not very enthusiastic about this morning ritual, and I won't say I'm disappointed when the bell rings and he has to put the ball away and go to class.  But he is.  He would kick that ball back and forth with me all day if he could, and I'm not even kidding.  So I do enjoy it, if a little begrudgingly.

After he has reluctantly put the ball on the rack he gives me big hugs and kisses and I tell him I love him and will see him after school, and he trots off to his classroom door.  Then he turns and waves, and I wave and blow him kisses, and he blows me kisses right back and waves some more and smiles at me with such exuberance.  Then he runs back to me for one more hug even though the late bell just rang, and I burst with joy.

When he finally goes inside, I turn and head back to the car.  The P.E. teacher, who is setting up for her first group says, "That's OK, take it while you can get it," instead of passing judgement on me for not getting him into class right away.

And that's the thing.  He is just going to keep on growing up.  I try to think about all the wonderful things to come, but the fact is, I'm going to miss him the way he is now.

I approach the wing of fifth grade classrooms hoping for a glimpse of my daughter, who pulled away as I tried to kiss her goodbye this morning.  She will be finished with elementary school two weeks from today.  I already miss her.  She is a smart and beautiful girl, and I love her, but I do sometimes (OK, often) wish for the days when she was little and I got a lot less sleep, but also a lot less drama.

Someone told me or I read somewhere (I can't remember stuff anymore--I blame mommy brain), that these are the best days of my life, these days while my kids are young.  And as the years fly by, I think I agree.  Not that I am pessimistic about the future, but I feel my children separating from me, and it hurts.  And entering the middle school years is just plain scary.

So, my work now is to keep up the connection I have with my kids, even when they don't act very affectionate--or are behaving downright rude.  My job is to keep on loving them and to meet them where they are now, even if I miss them the way they were.

A Poem for Mother's Day (and Every Day)

Now That I Am Forever With Child 

How the days went
while you were blooming within me
I remember each upon each--
the swelling changed planes of my body
and how you first fluttered, then jumped
and I thought it was my heart.

How the days wound down
and the turning of winter
I recall, with you growing heavy
against the wind. I thought
now her hands
are formed, and her hair
has started to curl
now her teeth are done
now she sneezes.
Then the seed opened
I bore you one morning just before spring
My head rang like a fiery piston
my legs were towers between which
A new world was passing.

Since then
I can only distinguish
one thread within running hours
You, flowing through selves
toward You.

by Audre Lorde

This poem speaks such truth to me.  I memorized it shortly after Valerie was born.  Even the seasons are correct for her birth.  I used to recite it to her in the evening while walking and walking and walking her to sleep.  I cried a little every single time.

You, flowing through selves toward you.  Isn't that just exactly how it is with our children?  This phrase comes to me all the time as I watch my kids growing and changing.

Powerful stuff, this.  All of it.

Happy Mother's Day, my dears.

The Dish Ran Away With the Spoon

 

It seems I have forgotten how to eat.  And I think it happened about five years ago, which is really sad.

When Valerie started kindergarten, mornings got really crazy.  I stopped eating breakfast.  Well, I stopped eating breakfast at home.

I started getting a mocha plus muffin/croissant/scone nearly five days a week.  I am not proud of this.  That's way too much money down the drain.  And for the past few years, I have made a good effort to not buy coffee shop food so often, also not to get the sugary beverages.

That, combined with starting to exercise again, at first brought my weight down a bit, then held me at a pretty steady plateau for a couple of years.

But lately, little by little, the pounds I lost have come back.  Almost all of them.  Despite the fact that I now rarely buy food with my unsweetened coffee.

So here I am, in my very early forties, trying to figure out how to eat again.  It should be a no-brainer.  But part of the problem is that I simply would rather not.

I'd rather not have to eat at all.  I don't enjoy cooking or preparing food for my family (I know, bad mama), but I, of course, do.  So, when it is just me, the last thing I want to do is spend more time in the kitchen.

Sometimes I eat gluten-free toast for breakfast (because it's supposed to better for you than regular bread, right?), but that is unusual because of the crazy-get-the-kids-to-school-on-time mornings.  Enter snacking.  I do eat a banana almost everyday.  And way too many chocolate covered almonds.  There, I said it.  

These past few months, I have been trying to eat some kind of lunch (yogurt, nuts and raisins) after I bring Andrew home from school and while he is having his healthy afternoon snack.  Later, I will sneak some more chocolate if there is any left in the house.  I also eat some of whatever I make for dinner--which most often includes some kind of vegetable.  And, scout's honor, I usually don't eat anything after that.

Things have got to change.  But how?  It's like my good sense has up and run off, a la the dish and the spoon.

It seems so obvious, but it is so irritating.  I think I have to make myself take the time to eat healthy.  And/or I need ideas for quick healthy snacks.

When I was on the "nursing diet" for the year after Andrew was born I lost so much weight it scared me a little.  But I was not too skinny according to any chart.  I am 5'4" and I weighed 125--I had reached my goal weight. I love the way my body looked.  I bought some new clothes.

I want to be able to wear those clothes (comfortably) again.

So, dear reader, if you have advice, want to commiserate,  or just say "hi", I'd love to hear from you!

One Hundred Years

My dear sweet grandma turns one hundred today.  This is how she looked when she was close to my own age now.  Her smile, her laugh, the twinkle in her eyes, are all still the same today.  I have been told I look like her, and it is the best of compliments.

I couldn't celebrate with her today, but sent her a bouquet of colorful tulips.  I will get to see her in about nineteen days (but who's counting?!).  A bit over two years ago, she started staying in bed, and now has round-the-clock care.  But, besides plain old old age, she is in good health.  She sleeps a lot, but when I walk into her room for a visit she often says, "Sara!"  And my heart is filled to overflowing because I love her so much and want nothing more than to see her smile.

She is one of the kindest, most generous people I know.  What she has given me most is love, so much love.  I spent a lot of time at her house as a child and it is such a place of happiness, peace, and refuge.  I have so, so many happy memories there.  And more to come...

When I visit her, I ask her to tell me my favorite stories from her childhood.  There are several!  I learned about storytelling from her.  I learned that even seemingly ordinary memories are made wonderful in the telling, and are also wonderful simply because they are shared.  Stories (memories) are important.

I don't always succeed, but I try to be like my grandma.  Especially as a mother.  I think of her when I am frustrated with my kids.  It helps calm me down and look at the bigger picture.  I try to always be kind and considerate, always share a smile.  I hope my kids learn that from me (from Grandma).

Every minute, every hour I am fortunate enough to spend with my grandma is a treasure.  I just love to be near her, surrounded by her warmth.

Happy 100th Birthday, Grandma!  Thank you for being the such a beautiful presence in my life!

Kindergarten for Number Two

Today is Andrew's first day of kindergarten.  I am kind of crushed, even though Andrew did great.

Hubby took him to his class while I took Valerie, the big fourth grader, up to hers.  She actually turned and said "bye!" to me after the bell rang, so that was good.

The poem above was given to Hubby by Andrew's teacher.  I knew it would make me cry (we got the same one when Valerie went to kinder), so I didn't read it until later, after I had dropped off the dry cleaning.  Then I cried.  Then I ate the little chocolate bar that was in the bag with the Kleenex and party horn.  Then I went for a run.

It is such a funny feeling to be able to set up my own weekly schedule just for myself.  I am so lucky to be able to take one more year being a "homemaker."  I get to drop my kids off at school, and pick them up.  And the hours in between...Now it's time to catch up on all the unfinished projects from the past nine and a half years, since Valerie was born.  Oh where to start? 

I'll begin by taking a deep breath, relaxing my shoulders and maybe just sitting here for little while.

Lasts

I took Andrew out to breakfast this morning.  Just the two of us.  He chose the restaurant, a place where we all call each other by name, though Andrew is usually so shy he can barely utter "thank you" when the host brings him paper and a cup filled with crayons.

First, Andrew drew what he wanted to eat--oatmeal.  Then, what I wanted--pancakes.  Then he drew a truck.  He's driving and Daddy is throwing sausages out the top.

On the back of the page he first drew me, kicking my leg up.  Why?  Because it's summer!  Indeed.

Then, he drew himself in another truck pushing a train (right up against my waist, it appears).  And more sausages launching out of the top.  It's all about the action.  I love watching him draw, chattering on about it all the while.

Now we are home.  In under an hour we will go to the elementary school to pick up Valerie from her last day of third grade.  So, my days with just Andrew home with just me are soon over.  Today, this morning, is the last.  Ouch.  These transitions are hard.

And then the long summer.  Summer:  it seems like a good idea.  And I am trying to be proactive in my thinking about it, planning (though the best laid plans, they say...) to avoid the crazy.  Mostly, even on the craziest days when the kids are arguing and I am losing my mind, I will try to hold on to at least one precious tiny moment.

I will hold on dearly to the lasts.

Well, Hello

Well, hello there.  I haven't been here for a while.  Just too much to do, not enough getting done. 

I was telling Hubby the other day, "I haven't really stopped feeling overwhelmed since the day Valerie was born."  (Perhaps a few days before, actually.)  Even after all these years, I am still finding it hard to "get it together".  I am beginning to think/realize/believe that getting it together is an unattainable goal for me.  I just need to have more realistic goals, I suppose.  Hard to do.

Valerie is off to a good start in third grade, though she says every morning that she doesn't want to go to school.  She is a very good student, always top of her class.  So, this worries us a bit.

Andrew cried and cried when I left him at preschool yesterday, in the arms of the school's very wonderful director.  (This is the same school he went to all last year, never having cried at drop off.)  I cried as I walked to the car, then sobbed after I had driven around the corner and parked, until the director called to tell me he was fine, happily playing.  He has school again tomorrow and I just don't know what to do.

Drawing above is Andrew's.  He and his kitty, Rover, in a truck, with so many details, I couldn't begin to list them all.  Kind of like how I couldn't begin to list the many details of how I love my kids. 

Oh, the emotional work of parenting. I think it may just destroy me.

Hello, Summer Vacation

At exactly 12:30 P.M. tomorrow, our summer vacation will start.  Andrew had his end-of-the-year-preschool-potluck yesterday.  Valerie finishes up second grade tomorrow.

Ah, the mixed feelings!  I'm not really sure where to start.  Except, I did take Andrew to Trader Joe's with me today for the first time in quite a long while, and let's just say I prefer to go it alone.  Next week, it will be me and two kids.  I have been so spoiled.  Grocery shipping with kids, one of the not-joys of summer.  Oh well.

This summer, besides visits to TJ's, not getting regular exercise is going to be a tough one.  I will miss my biweekly jogs.  I will try to replace them with letting the kids play at the playground while I run around (and around and around) the path at the school.  But I dunno.  If I only gain back the weight I lost, I will consider that pretty good.

On the positive side, today I packed the last lunch for several weeks.  And no more having to get out the door by 8:30 A.M.  I am looking forward to less running around.  I am looking forward to fun outings with the kids, and family vacation.

I spent about fifteen minutes last Tuesday (Andrew's last day of school) between an errand to the pharmacy and a dental appointment (no cavities!), at the craft store buying wire I am going to use to crochet.  I snapped the photo of silk flowers (above) on my way out of the store.  The next time I go there (kids in tow), I'll probably be pulling my hair out (maybe I can save it for crochet).

I'm whining a lot, but I want you to know that I am also so thankful I am able to be home with my babies all summer long.  I mean, how many more of these do I have? Sometimes I am afraid to blink, for I might see Valerie graduating high school, Andrew learning to drive, right before my misty eyes.  It is hard to put it in perspective sometimes, in the moment (of self-pity).  But the reality of just how fast it goes is right there with me everyday. 

Hello, summer vacation.  Let's rock 'n' roll.

Mother's Day Hair

Mother's Day was quiet.  Breakfast out at my favorite place.  A solo stroll through the local bookstore (plus book purchase) while Hubby and the kids went to the grocery store.  My second favorite ice cream after lunch.

And hair styling.

One of the things I dreamed about, when I found out I was pregnant with a girl, was braiding her hair.  I have braided Valerie's hair in the past, whenever she would let me, but on on Mother's Day she finally picked a style out of this neat book, and let me french braid her hair.  I was pretty excited!  I have only tried french braiding a couple of other times--on a doll and on my sister--a long time ago.  I feel pretty good about the results.  Now, if only my long flowing hair preferring girl will allow me to try it again.  She said she liked it...

 Then, of course, she wanted to style my hair.  Pretty, dontcha think? 

Come into My Parlour

Come into my parlour...

I'll by you a coffee or tea.

We'll zip around at high speeds

and view the scenery.

Come into my parlour...

Where things are pretty clean,

besides just a bit of dust and clutter

and toys on the back seat.

Come into my parlour...

We can listen to what we please--

whatever comes up on Pandora,

Neil Finn and Crowded House on CD.

Come into my parlour...

More relaxing than home for me.

No dishes or laundry to attend to,

just one boy in a booster seat.

Come into my parlour...

This is where I flee.

We can chat if you'd like and hang out a while,

wherever your destination may be.

As my home is my workplace, I find that the only time I can really sit and enjoy a cup of coffee or tea (without it going cold) is in the car.  The work is never done at home.  But I can have the car decluttered in a matter of minutes.  And when it gets too filthy, we take a drive to the car wash.  I know it is not very environmentally friendly to just go for a drive, but it seems to help keep me sane.  

P.S.  Please forgive my bad poetry.  As I started writing this post, it just came out that way.  No The Spider and The Fly reference intended.

Blowing Off the Grocery Shopping, No. 3

Dear Family,

I just couldn't do it today. I am so sorry. We will have no yogurt or Honey Nut Os for breakfast tomorrow. You will have to make do with jelly toast.

I know it sounds ridiculous, but some days the thought of going into the grocery store is just too much. Not even the promise of a tub of dark chocolate covered almonds could get me in there today. (And that often does the trick.)

I will try to be a better person and go tomorrow. I will try to get the dishes done today. I will make sure your socks and underwear are clean by morning.

Please be gentle with me. I am already feeling terribly guilty and vexed with myself.

Love to you all,
Mama

P.S. I did manage to make a quick stop at the market for a half gallon of milk.

Andrew, Preschooler

Andrew started preschool last week. He goes two mornings a week. He loves it. The first day, Hubby and I brought him and before we even got to the gate, he turned back, waved and said, "Bye-bye Mommy, bye-bye Daddy!!" I guess he was ready.

I was OK. Then, in the car about half a mile down the road, I had a good cry. Preschool today, college tomorrow. That's how it goes, right?

Last week was all about adjusting to this new routine. It threw me for a loop. (I didn't even get to my blog posts.) I went to farmer's market by myself and it was so easy, but it also felt a little empty without all thirty-five pounds of Andrew on my hip. I have been looking forward to having some regular time to myself-- you know, for grocery shopping, classroom volunteering, doctor appointments, car maintenance, oh, and exercise--for so long, yet feeling quite conflicted about it, as well, because it means my little ones aren't so little any more.

I can imagine, years from now, decades even, looking at Andrew's first preschool artwork (above), and remembering.

Days and Years

The other day a friend told me, "The days are long, the years are short."

Andrew went to his preschool orientation today. He had a blast! (I don't know if I can take it.)

Painting En Plein Air

Andrew loves to paint. He found some brushes over the weekend and has been asking me to paint every day since, multiple times per day. So we go out on the driveway with the watercolors, etc. and paint en plein air.

It is utterly delightful. He draws a lot of portraits. Big round heads with big round eyes, straight line mouths, arms and legs extending from where the ears and neck would be. And he tells a story with each one as he paints. It doesn't get much better.

I love to paint, too. Twenty years ago, I studied painting at university. I lived and breathed it. Just brushing paint onto a surface stirs something within me.

Valerie is already a confident artist, now Andrew is taking an interest.

I couldn't be happier. Except, of course, if I had my own studio and time (plus energy) to paint every day. For now, passing on my knowledge will have to do. Such is the art of motherhood.

Walking on the Wocks

Each day we take Valerie to school, we pass a little border of rocks, about eight feet in length, along the path from the parking lot to the playground. Sometimes we travel past at a nice pace, sometimes at a near run, depending how smoothly the morning routine has gone.

Each morning I head back to the car carrying Andrew (at thirty-three pounds, he still prefers "uppie" and I oblige because it won't be long before he'll really be too big for "uppie," or-sniff, sniff--not want me to carry him anymore). But as we get to the rocks he always says, "Walk on da wocks!"

Some days, this is just fine. I hold his hand and help him maneuver the border until we get to a big flat one at the end where he always promptly sits down and says, "What shall we do?!"

Other days, usually depending on how smoothly the morning routine has gone, I'm not in the mood for anything but getting back to the car.

But lately, I've found myself asking if he'd like to walk on the rocks as we approach them. Because I realize it won't be long before he'll be too big for "walking on da wocks."

Happy Mother's Day this Sunday!

I've Fallen (Behind) and I Can't Get (Caught) Up

The title for this post came to me over the weekend. And I couldn't resist. Do you remember this unfortunate TV commercial? Oh my.

I've been going a little crazy in the house lately. Too much stuff to get done. More stuff than I can possibly get done in any reasonable amount of time, anytime soon. Sometimes, I just don't want to be home.

So Andrew and I go fun places together in the mornings, instead. Today, I pushed him on his trike (the kind with the pushbar, so I can keep him on the trail!) for an hour and a half--in the 70+ degree weather. (Winter, are you coming back?)

But then when we got back home, it was the same domestic disaster. Where's my Life Call??

(Artwork is Valerie's from preschool.)

Blowing Off the Grocery Shopping, No. 2

So, it wasn't really just the second time I have blown off the grocery shopping. It does happen occasionally.

Nothing personal, Joe. I just knew, yesterday morning, that it wasn't going to happen. I did go through the motions, but after getting back on the highway, Starbucks mocha steaming in the cup holder, I just couldn't take the off-ramp for the grocery store. I took the next one instead. For the scenic drive.

Sure, I beat myself up about it all the way. I felt a mixture of relief and guilt. Mostly guilt. There was frustration, too. Is this what my life is all about these days? Laundry, dishes, grocery shopping? Yes and no.

I drove to one of Andrew's favorite historical sights and listened to him excitedly babble on and on, asking me question after question, as only a nearly-three-year-old can. My spirits lifted.

Then I drove us by the house my grandparents lived in when my father was born, then the old building with the basement grocery store where my grandma used to shop. I wonder if she had days when she just didn't make it there. I wonder if she ever just went for a walk with her little bundle cuddled close to her, instead. (Lucky for me, I can ask her.)

With my spirits lifted even more, I realized my life is indeed about all the minutiae of daily life taking care of little ones, but it is also about the flexibility to change the plan every once in a while.

And when I am ninety-seven, like Grandma, I doubt I will look back and regret blowing off the grocery shopping.

(Painting is by Andrew.)