Snorts and Giggles and the Price of Mommy Time

Last year, I recall writing about this week; this lovely, lovely week where the kids enjoy spring break from school. And once again, in the midst of many friends traveling and vacationing with their families, this week has proven to be memorable for me in a completely different way. Because this is the week that the grandparents want to keep the children. All 3 of the children. At the same time. But first I would have to survive the weekend, and what a weekend it was.

It all began on a Friday, the last day of school. I had attended my youngest daughter's Pre-K Easter egg hunt, and while I was entertained watching the little tikes search for eggs and fill their baskets, I was more amused at the sight of the extremely tall person dressed in an Easter bunny costume that the school had brought onto the playground as a surprise during the middle of the hunt. The gesture was truly sweet, but it resulted in a weird combination of fear and awe from the tiny 4 and 5-year-olds, all of whom either froze or ran the other direction upon spotting it.

The look says it all.

After (finally) convincing Miley to take a picture with it, she and I (and her basket of candy) soon ventured to pick up her 7-year-old sister, Madelyn, and her basket of sweets.

Then it was home for an evening of beginning to pack the kids' clothes (it's never too early), candy, dinner, candy, laundry, candy; searching for matching socks, candy, meltdowns due to sugar crashes, and finally collecting and trashing as much candy as possible after everyone pretty much passed out from the exhaustion of a very busy week.

Saturday was much better, as it was nice enough for everyone to play outdoors while I finalized the shopping list that wasn't going to take care of itself before Easter (the very next day). I did hear a lot of, "Hey, where are my Nerds?" and, "What? I had 19 Hershey's Kisses and now I have 4!", but I just shrugged it off and reminded them they would be getting another Easter basket in the morning. When that didn't satisfy them, I blamed the pesky leprechaun. I know it's awful, but they absolutely go bonkers at the thought of a leprechaun causing mischief. So this seemed like a good time to bring him up, and sure enough, they were all snorts and giggles afterward. Cameron (who's 13) gave me a thumbs-up for a job well done. I love that kid -- he totally gets me.


I waxed nostalgic during the 15 minute drive to the grocery store, remembering my childhood Easters. They were always wonderful, and some were more memorable than others, like the one when my brother threw a large pointed stick at me as I was swinging from a vine 30 feet over a valley (true story). He had good aim, I bled from the head, and I got my Easter basket early. Candy is the best revenge, I learned, especially when eaten slowly and in plain view. Then there was the Easter where I had fractured my elbow after being thrown from a horse that I had been riding bareback. My mom decorated my cast with ribbons Easter morning. She's the best. 

But I digress. At the store, I got all of the Easter basket goodies 50% off (see, my waiting until the last minute was totally on purpose), and was able to squeak out an extra few bucks to spend on a new dress for myself. And so I did, returning home with a bounce in my step. That night I gathered everyone's outfits together for the next morning. Since I am a part of our church's praise and worship team and arrive there hours before the service begins to rehearse, the burden of dressing and readying the kids falls on Kerry. That's the equivalent of a double negative because with my three redheads, getting them ready to leave the house can be a seriously challenging sequence of events, and under that kind of pressure, Kerry's design aesthetic goes straight to street urchin a la Charles Dickens. Considering it was Easter weekend, I mustered up the energy and had everything ready to go.

Before falling into bed, I practiced my songs and preset the coffee maker for the crack of dawn. Fast forward to glorious Easter morning. I woke, got dressed and was about to walk out the door when I realized I had forgotten to set out everyone's shoes for church. This shouldn't be a problem, right? Except it's always a problem, because Miley notoriously separates pairs of shoes, hiding one far, far away from its mate for no reason other than, well, for no reason. There simply wasn't time, though, for me to remedy the situation. Kerry would make do. I just hoped the girls didn't arrive in their beautiful Easter dresses and snow boots. But it wouldn't be the first time, and worse things have happened.

Daddy's version of fashion. He's the best, obviously.

The kids arrived with the correct shoes on to my great delight, and church was amazing. After the service we came home, changed and prepared to go to my mother's Easter dinner, which would be the last event prior to meeting up with my in-laws to officially surrender the kids. Before leaving for that celebration, I carefully loaded the van with the kids' bags, and each bucket of candy they had received so far. Grandparents are better suited for sugar-crazed maniacs, after all. "Maga and Paw-Paw," i.e. my wonderful inlaws, i.e. the Queen and King of a land where children need only point to what they want to receive it, surely wouldn't mind.

Once at my mom and dad's house, I loved watching all of my nieces and nephews investigate yet another basket of goodies (yep, that makes 3 separate baskets for each of mine). My brothers, parents, aunts, uncles and friends all had a swell time eating our traditional dinner of ham and green beans and deviled eggs; and cake and cookies and crescent rolls and fruit (except I managed to forget to bring the fruit plate, how, I can't imagine).

Aren't these just adorable?

When the time came to leave my mom's dinner and drive an hour and a half to meet my in-laws and drop off the kids, I felt pretty ragged. I could barely stay awake on the ride there, but the thought of  three blissfully peaceful kid-free days kept me going. We were so close now.

We finally arrived and transferred aforementioned children, car seats, bags, toys, blanket, and six glorious baskets full of candy as the sun was beginning to set. When I heard the click of the final seat-belt in Paw-Paw's vehicle, my mind immediately shifted gears, although I felt none less settled. The house was a disaster. Clothes were strewn in every direction and candy wrappers littered the entire place. The refrigerator was ransacked.

Would I spend my free time cleaning? Sleeping? Drooling while staring out the window? Time would only tell, but at least the time would be mine for the choosing. Late that night after we pulled into the driveway of our home sweet home, we dragged ourselves indoors, slumped on the couch, and toasted to our new-found freedom with Capri-Suns. This was gonna be good. Epic even. It's just too bad there's not a cleaning leprechaun. Cue snorts and giggles.

Are We There Yet?

                I was scrambling to finish packing on Saturday morning while my husband was having new tires put on our minivan. Our mission was to use the kids’ week-long winter break to visit our family in Florida. It is an 11 hour drive with three children who don’t do so well in close quarters with each other. Is there an upside to this equation?

                We hadn't even made it ten minutes down the road when we heard the first, “Are we there yet?” I thought Miley was joking, but by the time we hit Atlanta, she had asked 11 more times. She was 4 years old when we left Georgia, and was extremely excited that she would be turning 5 in Florida. My husband (Kerry) told her we would be stopping at a hotel when the sun went down, and that would mean we were halfway there. I was pretty darn impressed that he had quenched her questioning, until five minutes later we heard, “How many more minutes until the sun goes down? This trip is taking like 100 days! I think I see the sun moving down. Do you see it? My eyes are really special. They can see far away. They are magical eyes. How many minutes, mom? Are we there yet?”

                We stopped in Valdosta as the sun was setting. The hotel we had reserved contained an indoor heated pool, and the kids were wild with anticipation over going for a swim. My husband and I “parented up” and jumped in with them. We wanted the kids to have as much fun and make as many memories as possible on a trip that we weren’t able to take often enough.  The next morning we woke refreshed and enjoyed our teenaged son Cameron’s favorite part of staying in a hotel, “the glorious hot breakfast where you get to make your own Belgian waffles.” They were delicious, if I do say so myself. 

                Soon afterward, we loaded up and began the second leg of the trip. And it wasn’t long before the squabbling began. “Mom, she isn’t sharing the crayons,” Madelyn whined. “Well, she won’t stop staring at my snack!” Miley countered, followed by “And she doesn’t believe that I have magical eyes!” And of course there were the many, many cries of: “Mom, I have to go to the bathroom!” Kerry said they each had a bladder “the size of an acorn, or maybe the size of an octogenarian,” and I laughed heartily in agreement. 

Is it a bunny? An angel? We passed a lot of time playing the cloud game.

                 We made pit stops at gas stations at least every hour and a half, and each time, the girls became better at bargaining. They would run up to us with a “king-sized” candy bar, and when we shook our heads “no,” they would take it back and return with the “regular-sized” option. When we told them “no” again, they would return with a lowly lollipop. I realized this technique was very effective when I was cleaning out their seating area and retrieved a handful of sucker sticks.

                When we finally rolled onto my father-in-law’s street, cheers erupted from the kids, and Kerry and I gave a sigh of relief.  After hours and hours of traveling, we had made it at last. Already we had some unforgettable memories, and the week had only just begun. With Miley’s birthday coming up, and relatives to visit, I knew we had only just scratched the surface of the adventures in store.

                Lord knows I was focused on the blessings of it all, and enjoying all of the funny moments in-between. I hope this post inspires you to treasure even the little details life brings your way. Beauty is out there, sometimes you just have to hunt it down. Happy trails!

Humor Has It

Have you ever been around small children and can’t understand a thing they are saying, yet their parents can interpret instantly? My kids are growing up- they will all be in school this year- but the younger two still say some adorable things: “Pamingo” for “flamingo,” “menember” for “remember,” “banilla” for “vanilla.”  And I just don’t have the heart to correct them, because I know all too soon their childish language will pass away.

Living purposefully means reminding yourself of what is important, and taking joy in life’s simplest and richest treasures. Kid-speak definitely makes the cut, and my family loves to talk about the funny things they used to say. My teenager, Cameron, has one of the funniest stories involving toddler language, so here it is-  I hope it brightens your week.

I had just picked him up from Pre-K, and I was asking him about his day on the drive home. As usual, I received a one word answer: “Fun!” In an attempt to dig out more details, I asked, “Well, what was your favorite part, and what was the worst part?” He responded with bright eyes, “Swinging was the best!” Then suddenly his countenance changed; “And the worst was when… we hit a girl at recess,” he stated soberly.

               

“You did what?? Cameron, you know that you are not supposed to hit- especially girls!” I exclaimed in shock. He threw his little hands in the air. “Mom, we did it,” he replied emphatically. “That’s even worse” I said, “I don’t care how many people were involved- you never hit a girl!”

                 

Looking in the rear-view mirror, I felt confused. Why couldn’t he understand that his actions were wrong? Why had he given into mob mentality at such a young age? Was the girl injured? My interrogation continued for at least a full ten minutes until he started to cry.

               

“But mom, we hit the girl,” he wailed from his car seat. “You’re not wistening to me, mom, WE did it!” And that’s when the light bulb went off.

When Cameron was 4, he couldn’t say the “l” sound. When he sang “Mary had a little lamb,” it sounded like “Mary had a wittle wamb.” It all made sense now. Lee did it, not we did it. “Oh my goodness- the worst part of your day was seeing Lee hit a girl on the playground?” Cameron shook his head yes. “I’m sorry, sweety, I just didn’t understand you,” I said apologetically, “How about a milkshake to help us both feel better?” He wiped a tear away and nodded an affirmation to my suggestion. “A strawberry one with wots of whipped cream,” he added. 

Photo by: Eliza Adams via Flickr.

                 

One extra-large shake later, and Cameron had recovered. Milkshakes still work to this day to cheer him up. We love to laugh about this story and others when we are together. It makes the younger girls giggle with delight and start thinking about the cute words they used to say. It’s so funny to hear Madelyn, now 6, say, “Back when I was 4,” as if she’s quite the adult now. “I used to say ‘pasketti’ instead of ‘spaghetti’- menember, mom?” she asks. Yep, I menember.

                

Humor can brighten your day quickly, but you have to choose to use it. I hope you have fun thinking back on some of the funny things that happened with your kids, grandkids or siblings this week. Happy reminiscing!

This post was adapted from my column, "The Upside of Downsizing," originally published Aug. 9 in the Ellijay Times-Courier.

               

        

               

Home Alone

Child-free moments are rare in my life, which is why, when my wonderful mother-in-law called and asked to have all three of her grandmonsters, I mean, grandchildren, over for FIVE days, at first I thought I was dreaming. 

  

 “All of them- are you sure?” I asked. “Oh yes,” she replied. “We are dying to have them over before school starts back.” I silently did a spirited happy dance and accidentally slung the phone across the room where it fortunately landed on the couch. Snatching it up, I did my best to sound cool and calm; collective was just too much of a stretch. “Why sure, I think…are you sure?” I stammered before regaining control. “I mean, that will be fine, they don’t have a thing going on,” I said as angelically as possible. Hanging up the phone, a world of possibilities flew through my mind. What would I do with this free time? Should I perhaps run out and purchase some bonbons?

The Button-Pusher.

Whatever I did, I knew it would certainly involve some serious peace and quiet. I love my children dearly, but they don’t share my same appreciation for serenity. My youngest brother Joel and his wife, Leah, have the most adorable and quietest toddler you’ve ever seen. And she even eats her vegetables. Not. My. Kids. The younger girls spend their days arguing, whining, sneaking, and button-pushing. My teenaged son likes riding his dirt bike until dark. The sight of broccoli sends all of them into fits of retching.  I am, as it were, charged with harnessing and directing the incredible passion, energy and smarts of three adorable red-heads. Quiet time just doesn’t fit into the equation.  I wouldn’t change it for the world, but a reprieve is assuredly welcome.

                 

She picked them up last Saturday afternoon, and they were thrilled to go. Later that evening my husband Kerry and I enjoyed a family dinner with all of my brothers, their families and my parents. I ate without cleaning up any spills. I played badminton without the girls systematically stealing all of the birdies and hiding them in a “secret nest.” I even managed to get in a game of cards.  This was the life.

We accidentally slept in until noon the next day. As much as we wanted to do something exciting, we just bummed around and watched movies. We sat on the porch and enjoyed the sunshine and the sounds of birds chirping. We ate left-overs. A day of sheer relaxation was apparently just what the doctor ordered. And it didn’t cost us a thing.

                

Later that evening, I began to miss the kids. Sure they are exhausting, but deep, deep, really deep down I missed the mud-pies and paint splatters. After all, the arguing and whining were always interwoven with giggles and lively conversations. I missed Cameron raiding the cabinets with the voracious appetite of a teenager, telling me all the while about new comics and the latest funny videos on YouTube. Even our dog, who spends a considerable amount of energy trying to escape “dress-up time” with the girls, seemed sad as she trotted in and out of their empty room.

                 

While I  thoroughly enjoyed my remaining days of peace and quiet, I was equally excited to be rejuvenated for the kiddos when they returned. God knew I would need the extra energy to answer the many, many, many calls for “mom” until the next break presented itself. I hope this post inspires you to recharge and enjoy some quiet time every now and then. Happy unwinding!

This post was originally published in my column, "The Upside of Downsizing" in the Ellijay Times-Courier on  July 25, 2012.

Better than Fiction

Over thirty years ago, the small rural town of Ellijay, GA had an Ace Hardware store on its historic square. One day, my grandmother and grandfather decided to drive from the farm into town and make a visit, and they brought my younger brother David along. David was around four years old at this time, and notoriously cute with a blonde bowl haircut and pink chubby cheeks. 

As my grandparents were shopping around the store, a clerk bent down and asked David what they were looking for. “I’m looking for a trashcan,” David responded. “Well, we have quite a selection, young man,” the clerk smiled.

 

He led my brother to a section of the store that had a variety of trashcans, large and small, metal and plastic. “Well, son, which one do you want?” he asked. David took his time. He browsed each and every model before making his final selection. "That one," he said as he pointed upward. Gleaming high above their heads sat a large outdoor metal trashcan. The clerk smiled and told him he’d be right back with a ladder.

A few minutes later, as the clerk precariously made his way down the steps of the rickety ladder with the trashcan in hand, my grandparents were preparing to check out and noticed what was happening. They came upon the scene just as the out-of-breath employee set the trashcan on the ground in front of my brother. “Thank you very much, sir,” David said to the man. He then proceeded to remove a big wad of bubblegum from his mouth and throw it into the can. 

My grandparents just looked at each other in silence. My grandpa says that he and my grandmother grabbed David by the hand and "high-tailed it out of there" to avoid laughing hysterically in front of the clerk who had gone to such trouble to help his young customer. Thirty years later and we are still telling this story.

I especially love to listen to my grandfather recount it; he has a hard time getting it out through the fits of laughter that accompany his remembrance. Just the other day when I called him to make sure I had the details of the story right, his joyous laughter seemed to promulgate through the phone lines every few seconds. He was trying to speak in complete sentences, but his laughs just kept breaking through. We both hung up positively in tears from belly laughing so robustly.  

Whenever I am having a particularly bad day, I like to think on my family's funny stories, because simply conjuring them up in my mind often causes me to laugh out loud. And a good chuckle can turn my outlook around completely. I hope this story adds a boost to your mood today! Happy laughing!

Adapted from my column,"The Upside of Downsizing," published January 26, 2012 in the Ellijay Times-Courier.