Bad Mommy Confession #249

Ok, you probably shouldn't read this entry if you believe in mythical creatures like the Easter Bunny, Big Foot or an honest politician (notice I didn't mention Santa.  That's 'cause Santa rocks!).

So full disclosure aside, I am a lousy tooth fairy.  The worst.  If tooth fairies had a union, I'd be black balled.  My darling nine year old girl--who is on the cusp having all her childhood fantasies ruined by her older, more worldly brother--faithfully put her latest dental casualty under her pillow last night.  Actually, I put it there.  In a baggie.  With her name on it.  Oh, and the date that the tooth was lost.  Then I promptly forgot about it.  Yeah.  

This morning my girl came downstairs looking a little crestfallen.  Then she said, "I didn't get anything last night.  Nothing.  No note. No money...nothing."  That's when the clanging started in my head.  An alarm clock going off about ten hours too late.  I tried to cover it up.  She's got another loose tooth.  Maybe the tooth fairy is waiting for that one to fall out so she can do double duty in one night.  Maybe there were budget cuts.  Maybe she'll come tonight!  I deftly changed the subject.  But all day I've thought about how disappointed my girl was.  I let her down.  And believe me, this wasn't the first time.  Our house is visited by a special needs tooth fairy, one who doesn't hold with time schedules or deadlines.  But each time I forget I get that same twinge in the area of my heart.  The one I get when I make a mommy misstep.  It happens a lot.  Maybe it's just further proof that I haven't reached that point in my life when I stop making mistakes.  But I think that point might be death...so I'll take the guilt and keep trying.  Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go fish a couple of bucks worth of change out of the bottom of my purse.

Ahhh...Spring!

Who says happiness doesn't come in a bottle?

Every year my neighbor allows me to clip branches from her lilac bushes.  Their blooms herald the much anticipated arrival of spring.  Right now, the blossoms are scattered through out my house.  Cheerful and fragrant, their perfume and the sunshine streaming through my windows have me absolutely giddy.  

No, seriously.  I'm breathing so deeply, I'm light headed.

Easter

 At six p.m. a week ago last Saturday night I got a call from my niece.  That's her on the left, the smirky one holding the egg.  She was a little incensed that her family hadn't been invited over for Easter dinner.  So I invited.  Then she told me they wouldn't make the trip if frozen lasagna was on the menu (it was) and could I please change my plans (I did...do you see the pull this girl has?!?!).  I talked with her mom and pulled together a proper Easter menu...one that didn't involve pork (they worship pigs, not eat them).  Also on darling Maddy's agenda was an egg war.  Each year we boil, color and then destroy the eggs.  We roll 'em out and then do our best to smash into each other's masterpieces, carefully dyed works of art that would make Carl Faberge...curl his lip in disdain.  So I stayed up and boiled eggs.  I Googled for details.  It takes 17 minutes to properly boil eggs (according to one site that has lost all credibility in my eyes).  I set the timer.  I let them cool in the pot as directed.  Yet as my nieces and kids were dying the beauties, the insides were sloshing!  Grrr.

These eggs were pansies in battle. Some (mine) exploded after the first toss.  Others made it for one or two rounds.  We set a record for the shortest egg war ever.  Mad didn't mind though.  She won.  So now you understand the smirk...

My youngest contemplates the incredible, edible (raw) egg

Amen

I stumbled across Ashley Judd's blog, following a link from a news article.  It added credence to my contention that a woman's power in the world today is measured by her bra size and irrevocably tied to her sexuality, conveniently overlooking what lies beneath the surface.  In the article she addresses rumors that she's had "work done."  What is surprising; it is other women who hold her to the standard promulgated by the media.

I love what she had to say and add my "Amen."

http://ashleyjudd.com/2012/04/10/the-conversation/

Eleven

What my eleven-year-old should understand:

When you leave the house with your Ipod and an attitude worthy of its own atmosphere, I still see you in pull-ups toddling through the kitchen, asking for chocolate milk.

When your friend calls to talk to you and I ask him if I can talk to his mom, you are not always in trouble.  I happen to be a person too, and your friend's mom...is my friend.

When you bring your friends into your room to check out your "man cave," I'm laughing in the laundry room (and listening to your conversation).

Homework, chores and piano practice are not a known cause of death in eleven-year-old boys.  Nope, they're not.

It doesn't matter how well or badly you do in school, it doesn't matter how much you fight with your sister, it doesn't matter how much lip you give me.  I'll always love you.  That won't change, rub off or molt into something else.  It's just a fact of life that will never go away.  So...peace already.

Carl

When I was a preteen, church was all about friends.  At the time, my parents seemed concerned only with my abysmal math and science grades; my brother was the disheveled monster that grunted at me every morning from behind a barricade of cereal boxes.  Some of my friends at school were fair weather at best.  So on Sunday it was nice to be in the company of people who at least liked me.  But Sunday was also better because it meant I would see Carl.

Carl was a friend of my parent's and the father of my friend John.  He was built like a lumber jack; tall and barrel-chested with a deep voice that shook the ground beneath me when he spoke.  Carl was larger than life.  I think I would have been afraid of him if circumstances had been different.  But they were different, because Carl was a gentleman. 

Every Sunday, when I’d happen across Carl in the halls of the church, he’d greet me with, “You look very beautiful today, Miss Adams.”  Just like that.  The compliments varied, but the theme was the same.  He’d compliment me on how nice I looked, respectful and kind. It left me speechless, looking around wondering if he was really speaking to me.

You see, when I was about twelve, I went through a very, very awkward stage (some may say I never pulled out of it).  My hair was cut to an unflattering length.  I didn’t have braces yet so my teeth stuck out like prongs on a bent fork.  My nose was trying to stage a coup and take over my face (it won).  And I’m pretty sure you could have navigated your way to Pittsburgh based on the map of acne on my face.  Sometimes I remember back to these days and think, “Were they really so bad?” then I find photographic proof and I wince and say, “Oh, yeah…they really were.”

So you can imagine how a few kind words, compliments repeated each weekend, seemed like manna must have to the children of Israel in the desert.  It was sustaining.  It was a lifeline.  It sparked hope that maybe, just maybe someone saw me and not the sum total of my flaws.

I went home a few years ago, a short visit but a literal homecoming.  At church I was gathered in like a long lost chick.  One of the people I sought out was Carl.  He was still there.  His barrel had moved a little south and he walked with the help of a cane but he looked the same to me.  His smile still reached his eyes and he seemed genuinely pleased to see me.  I tried to thank him, to tell him in my halting way how much his kindness had meant to me all those years ago.  My words seemed inadequate. 

His didn’t. 

He looked at me and said, “I meant every word.”

And the twelve year old girl that still lives inside me heard him.

A visit from the Book Fairy!

Is there anything more frustrating than discovering a new author...and then finding out she's only written THREE books?! This was my January. I spent the month curled up in my favorite chair and indulged in all three of Kate Morten's novels: The House at Riverton, The Forgotten Garden and The Distant Hours (note the titles and read them).  Beautifully written and suspenseful, I went from one book to the next like a junkie in need of a fix.  By the time I ran out of reading material, I was primed.  I was ready for the next book.  Problem...there wasn't a next book.  I combed the aisles of the library looking for something to read, but I didn't know what I was looking for. The situation was getting desperate.

That's when I called Nancy.  Nancy is a fellow bibliophile...a very well connected bibliophile. Authors send Nancy books...for free. They want Nancy to read their books. They are in line to have Nancy read their books.  I don't sound jealous do I?  So, I called Nancy and we got to talking.  I explained my plight and we talked books for a few minutes.  Then after a moment, she paused, sighed and said, "I'll be right over!" Within moments were leaning over the back of her mini van.  Long story short, Nancy is my new supplier...in the non-druggie sense.  She shared her bounty with me.  I'm left with the gleeful task of sifting through her titles for my next book.  Have I told you lately that I love Nancy?!      

The Week in Pictures

Not as exciting as TIME magazine but...

Science Fair Project:

My oldest has his first ever Science Fair next week.  This, of course,

means a lot of extra work for me--mostly of a nagging nature:

"Have you finished your project yet?  Have you finished your project yet?

HAVE YOU FINISHED YOUR PROJECT YET???"

First real snow of the new year!

The snow that my girl has been praying for finally appeared this week. I

was grateful too.  I spent a lot on money on new snow boots, pants and coats

this year.  I was grateful that Mother Nature finally put out! Er, I mean...

got with the program.

Dog Sitting:

While my sister-in-law and her family were in the Bahamas, we babysat

their dog.  A very needy, stinky dog that could guilt trip Stalin with those

brown eyes.  I have discovered that I am not ready for a dog.  My children have

other ideas on the matter.  But I keep telling them, this family is not

a democracy.

The Help

It's not often you get parenting tips from the movies. In fact, tinseltown produces copious examples of what NOT to do. But when I saw The Help this year, I got a great idea. (2 second review: loved the book, loved the movie)

I'd read the book the year before and vaguely remembered how maid Aibileen had loved and encouraged little Mae Mobley, whom her mother mostly ignored. But it wasn't until I saw the movie that the idea made an impression. In difficult times, Aibileen pulled her neglected charge close and whispered, "You is smart, you is kind, you is important," and the little girl repeated the words back to her. Brilliant! I thought. This would be huge with my kids. I trotted right home and tried it.

Before I got two words out, my oldest rolled his eyes, and made a b-line for the door. My middle child crossed her eyes, then made choking noises. But I struck gold with my youngest. When I pulled him in and told him I had a secret, his eyes got wide and he offered an ear. As I whispered, "You are kind, you are smart, you are important" his smile got wider and he said, "Wait mommy! Say it again." I repeated it and after each word he affirmed, "I am!" So now this is "our thing." Every night after song and prayer, I lean in and whisper the words in his ear. The best part is his confident, "I am!"

Thanks Aibileen...

Now that's comforting...

Comfort Foods for no-good, terrible, rotten, bad hair, is that a zit on my chin? my-kids-hate-me days...
1) A whole order of Training Table cheese fries with dipping sauce
2) Noble Romans bread sticks with spicy cheese
3) A carton of Ding Dongs
4) A half gallon of burnt almond fudge ice cream
5) An entire box of See's dark chocolate...nuts and chews

What do you eat when life comes raining down?

help from on high...

This past weekend I burned a wire between here and heaven. I spent a lot of time on my knees because I am not a calm mom. Nope. Not my thang. This doesn't exactly help with peace and harmony around the house. I've been doing much better, but in moments of stress I still yell more than I'd like. I figured a heavenly assist would be useful. Well...evidently, the praying helped! At 9:00 p.m. Sunday evening, my pajama clad daughter came out of her room crying. She held up a blue piece of paper for my perusal. Fantasy book report due the next morning. She hadn't read the book.

At this moment the heaven's parted. My head didn't spin around on my neck. Steam didn't shoot out of my ears or other orifices. And I didn't yell! I shrugged my shoulders and said, "Guess you'll turn it in late." Of course my daughter, being related, got stubborn and decided to do the book report anyway. She stayed up late and read the book. She drew scenes from her book and covered a box with her drawings. The next morning she filled out the summary sheet and actually made it to school on time. She did her presentation and got a 98%. The biggest miracle? She did it all without a single meltdown.

...praying works!

It's so great when people get me!
(thanks Mimi!)

My Weekend

I went "away" this weekend with two friends, who used to be my sisters-in-law. I haven't quite figured out what to call them yet. Hmmm...

Anyway...the weekend was sort of a prelude to my birthday which is coming at me at warp speed. Friday night at the restaurant, Meems drew this picture of me on the table. When she was finished I said, "Look! You can tell it's me 'cause there are no boobs!" She added boobs...

We had a great time mostly because no one had an agenda and we just let our day happen. Of course there were the requisite moments where I laughed so hard I cried (peed), when I ticked LJ off by being honest (insensitive) and I ate way too much (chocolate).

I'm so thankful for people who I can be absolutely myself with and they still love me in the morning!

BOO!

I'm thankful for the kids...


the candy...not so much

Grateful...

I'm behind. I'm always behind. My intentions are good, but you know what they say about good intentions. So, no new posts from me for awhile. In September we all got the stomach flu (one at a time) and then half of us came down with colds. The computer followed suit and caught a virus. It didn't fare as well as the rest of us. The big purchase in October was a new computer!

So now I'm back...

I've decided my posts this month are going to focus on what I am grateful for. Fitting for November, hmm?

I'm starting with something that happened in July. My sweet girl was baptized. In our religion, children are not baptized at birth because they are sinless. We wait until they are eight years old and have a better idea about the concepts of sin and forgiveness. My girl waited patiently (sort of) until she got her chance. The day was worth the wait. She was baptized by her handsome cousin which, for me, was significant. I've known this guy since he was two. He's grown into a charming, funny young man and it meant a lot to have him officiate. It was a great day full of love, family and friends. A perfect combination.

Crazy Eights

Some people say bad things happen in three's. I'm making a strong case here that bad things happen in eights! Welcome to my week...

1)My four-year-old went to the dentist for the first time and ended up with 5 cavities! (I swear we brush around here). Under sedation, the dentist found (and filled) two more!

2) My eight-year-old threw a volcanic fit when I informed her that the giant teddy bear she has been saving for is no longer available at Costco

3) Four-year-old again…closed the garage door when the back of the mini van was still open

4) Had to settle for "decent" at the body shop to fix the damage done to van…because “decent” was free and “perfect” would have cost $200

5) Eight-year-old started puking and cried because she would miss school…had hopes of perfect attendance this year

6) I started crying because eight-year-old was home another day. Too sick to be at school…too well to be at home, spent the day harassing the four-year-old. Grrrr...

7) Aunt Flo showed up today…four days early (@#$%)

8) Four-year-old just threw up all over the stairs. The. Most. Inconvenient. Place. He. Could. Find.

I’m shaking the eight ball to see if I should even bother to wake up tomorrow…

Summer 2011

Don't tell anyone, but I've started worshiping golden idols...

15 days, 11 hours and forty-five minutes
(but who's counting???)

Summer Fun

Last summer for my sister-in-law's birthday, she chose to have a girls day at a local ski resort. There was a zip-line, an alpine slide...you get the idea. We were standing in line and I was grumbling about how I really couldn't afford this when my other sister-in-law turned to me and said, somewhat fiercely, "You do realize that we never do anything fun, right??? We are doing this!" She then grabbed my hand and hauled me back into line. She did me a favor because I proceeded to go down the zip-line, the alpine slide and even rode a mechanical bull. By the end of the day I had managed to have fun.

This brings me to today. I promised my daughter that we would go swimming, just the two of us...a little girl bonding. The only problem is, I spent my morning hyperventilating about these plans. Don't get me wrong, I love swimming. Some of my favorite memories growing up were the summers when we had a family pass to the pool. I'd swim as far as I could underwater, holding my breath until I reached my dad, who'd back up whenever I got close, pushing me to new records. I remember the sting of the chlorine in my nose, the smell of the Coppertone sunscreen we'd baste ourselves in, the exhilaration of jumping off the high dive. So what's the big deal with a couple of hours at the pool with K? I'll tell you what it is. I have an issue with letting go. My head is always full of the things I'm supposed to do. I should be doing laundry, making dentist appointments, returning late library books. So today I tried to stop thinking. I tried to stop making mental lists of things I should be doing instead of relaxing and making sure my daughter has some of the same memories that I do. I don't think my dad was standing on the other end of the pool all those years ago, mentally reprimanding himself for having a good time with his daughter instead of being home mowing the lawn. In fact, it was his remembered smile (the one that let me know he was proud of me) that stopped me in my tracks today and helped me forget the lists and actually HAVE FUN.