Tu madre

I feel like I ought to write about Mothers' Day since I'm calling this a mommy blog and all, but I'm just going to sum it up here: It was great. I woke up to cards from Mary and Anna. Tim made me a full pancake breakfast and the house just today stopped smelling like an IHOP. There are worse things for a house to smell like than maple bacon and organic blueberry pancakes. We went to a petting zoo, too, where the girls made friends with a whole mess of goats (see right), and then had a quick lunch before returning home. Then for dinner I got some fantastic clam cakes and chowder and probably gained five pounds.

So all in all, fantastic Mothers' Day.


But that was the end to a super busy weekend, because on Saturday, Mary and Anna made their debut as flower girls when our friends Jesse and Meg tied the knot. All in all, they did great, but the day was not without its adventures.

The rehearsal went off without a hitch. One girl was to carry a basket of flowers, the other a blue satin pillow with the wedding rings. I thought it would be fine, since Mary loves flowers so much and Anna'a favorite color is blue, but on Friday Anna took one look at the flower basket and set her jaw.

"I want that," she said. I knew if I asked Mary to switch, she wouldn't, so I just swapped them.

"Mary, you need to carry the rings," I said, as if I were sharing a secret. She eyed me doubtfully.

"Mary, these are princess rings," I whispered. "They're made of gold!"

"Gold?" she repeated in awe.

"Gold," I confirmed. "And if you don't bring them to the bride and groom, they can't get married, and then no one can live happily ever after. These are princess rings!"

Schmaltzy and completely past the point of what a wedding is all about? Absolutely.

And it worked like a charm.

Anna, not feeling the sash. Mary, feeling ALL THE EMOTIONS.

So the day of the wedding I kept the girls rested and happy and we arrived in good spirits. I put on their white dresses and pulled out the blue sashes Meg had made, at which point Anna decided to flip her lid over God knows what and kept trying to take it off. We cajoled. We got stern. We redirected. We pointed out how it matched the bridesmaids' dresses. Nothing doing. And then the "Princess Rings" were brought out.

"Hey, dat pillow matches my sash!"

If there were a wall, I'd have hit my head against it.

And then it was time. They walked down the aisle. Anna more or less stayed in the vicinity of the outdoor wedding. Mary loudly asked if it was "her part" yet during the ceremony. There were vows, and prayers, and generally a lovely ceremony.

And then it was over. They made it through the recessional and pictures before being whisked home by my mother in law, where they proceeded to play "brides" for the rest of the evening in their white dresses.

They behaved beautifully.

Their mother, and the rest of her table, not so much. 

We made sculptures out of the centerpieces. This is what happens when you give parents a child free evening, one of them is an engineer, one has severe ADHD, and all of them are dorks. 

At least the preschoolers acted like adults.

When pigs drive

I was cooking breakfast when I heard the crash, the unmistakable sound of something heavy and prone to breaking doing just that on the living room floor. Instantly I knew what it was, and my entrance to the living room confirmed my suspicions: Anna's ceramic polka dotted piggy bank had been accidentally knocked from the coffee table and was now lying in several jagged pieces on the floor.

The piggy had originally been Mary's, but when a younger Mary accidentally broke Anna's flower print bank, the polka dotted one was given to Anna, and placed in my room for safekeeping until the girls were a little older. Anna found it last week and begged to have it in her room. Then she adopted it as her best friend, tried to take it to bed with her, and carted it all around the house, against my warnings.

"Leave that in your room, Anna," I'd say a hundred times a day. "It could break."

"I will be so careful," she said. "Me love him." And for the most part, she was, until she banged into it, or the table, or some combination thereof, and sent him to a splintery grave. The look on her face when I walked into the room was abject terror as she started at her friend.

I couldn't console her much at first. Lily, who had just learned to crawl, was making a beeline for Ground Zero. I snatched up the three big pieces and bagged them up, then ran for the broom. Anna was sobbing hysterically.

"Mommy, I so sorry I breaked my piggy," she said when I had finished my clean up. "Me love him. I so sorry. Can I have him back?"

I knew I should let the natural consequences lie. I had warned her. I had warned her time and time again. But sometimes, it's not about the life lesson. I hopped on Amazon and searched for a hard vinyl piggy bank and used my mother in law's Prime account to have it here by Wednesday.

Then we got in the car and discovered the check engine light was on again. So instead of sitting home on this rainy Wednesday and waiting for said piggy, I loaded three kids into the car and drove them to the repair shop. The woman behind the counter's eyes got a little bigger when she saw my entourage.

"Oh, you have all of them with you today," she said. "Are you going to wait while we have a look? It could be up to an hour." I stared out the window at the sheets of rain, trapped.

"Yeah, we're going to wait," I said. "We should be fine." I looked longingly at this week's People Magazine on the table. Then I looked at my children, who were trying to get into the garage, and noticed Lily had decided then would be an absolutely perfect time to require a massive diaper change.

Sorry, People.

I changed Lily. I tried to be subtle. Anna thwarted this by yelling "EWWW!" as I did so. We cleaned up, bagged up, and hand sanitized, and then I got the older girls water from the Poland Spring dispenser in the corner.

The girls were enthralled with it. I showed Mary how to work it, gave them a cup and let them drink as much water as they could hold. Customers came in. I distracted Lily. I thought, 'this is going well.'

The water bubbler belched up an air bubble. Mary let out a screech of surprise and splashed her water on the floor.

Game over.

For the next twenty minutes it was a barrage of "Indoor voices, please" and "Leave Miss Ruth alone, she has to work" and "You really don't need to take apart the Providence Business News (or whatever it's called)" and "Sure, FINE, YES, we can make the cake pops on the front of Family Circle if you JUST SIT DOWN FOR FIVE SECONDS."

There were trips to the bathroom. There were attempts to steal the baby's little snacks. Anna was quite alarmed to see someone drive our car into the garage.

"OUR CAR IS LEAVING!"

But overall, they did well. And we got out unscathed and uncharged, as the light was the computer freaking out over the new gas tank and filter and nothing wrong at all.

And then the phone rang.

"Hi, Kim, it's Ruth from Auto Shop. 'Starry Night, Sleep Tight' is here."

The book Mary brought.

So at some point we'll have to return.

But I won't worry about that right now. The UPS truck just drove away and this is making my day right now:

Leg up

Last night I got to host a bachelorette party. The big SNAFU was that Mary and Anna couldn't figure out why they couldn't go.

"But if it's for girls," Mary said, rather reasonably, "why can't we go?"

"It's for grown up girls," I clarified. "Mostly because we'll be drinking?"

"Drinking what?"

I read in some parenting book that when a child asks you a question, you are supposed to provide complete, clear answers.

"Wine, beer, tequila-"

"Grown up drinks," Tim hastily interjected.

"Juice? I want some juice," Anna piped up from the backseat.

Come to think of it, I think that book was talking about sex, not parties, but live and learn.

Actually, I lied, there were two SNAFUs. That was the second one. The first was when I was heading out to get Tim at the train, dressed for the party that was to happen after I picked him up, and tripped on the wet stairs and fell down three concrete steps, baby in arms, onto the front walk.

The baby started crying. My first fear was that she had smacked her head on the steps. She was not bleeding, so my second, rather real, fear was that I had broken my leg, which hurt like no one's business. Fortunately, my nurse practitioner neighbor (and the corrections officer who lives on the other side, but his particular skill set was less in demand at that moment) heard me fall and rushed into my yard. Both parties proclaimed the baby was fine, just scared. I determined that since I could stand, my leg was not broken. And then Bob, the corrections officer, looked at the ground.

"I blame the heels!" he joked.

And then my third fear became that my gorgeous patent black stilettos were ruined. You don't even understand. They are Via Spigas, something like $300 retail that I had gotten in an incredible deal (I think I paid about $75, maybe less) for a friend's wedding the year before, and I adore them more than one probably should a pair of shoes.

Fortunately, sometimes the adage that you get what you (should) pay for rings true and they are a bit scuffed but still really hot.

I know you care.


For the record, I am really good at heels, so we should blame the rain, not the beautiful shoes.

For the second record, I didn't even think of the shoes until the baby was no longer crying and was happily trying to eat my necklace, so try not to judge me too hard.

Tim dropped me off at the bride to be's house and took the girls home, and we went to dinner in Providence, which was fun and entertaining and we made sure Miss Meg sampled all kinds of non-juice beverages.

A snapshot from dinner:

Meg is poking her salad with a fork. "Why, if salad is so good and so good for you, is it impossible to get on a fork?"

I look over. "It's a lettuce defense mechanism. That's evolution, muthafuggas." (Yeah, I'm classy.)

Meg cracked up. "When I when the lottery, I'm flying you to Texas to meet the bloggess. Because I think you two would have a lot of fun. And there would possibly be explosions."

I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me, Meg.

Lights, sirens, action

Over the past year or two, Tim and I have had this recurring discussion.

"Kim, we need a new mattress. This one is getting a dip in it."

"It'll be fine, we can't afford a new mattress." And he would agree, and we'd let the matter lie for awhile, but this year, the "little dip" turned into a canyon and Tim was left clinging to the center of the mattress as the side dipped away at an alarming slope. So we went out this weekend, tested some floor models and came to a decision. Yesterday I took the kids to make the appointed purchase.

I never should have left the house. Mary wasn't feeling well, the baby was teething, it was drizzly and cold and generally just a cruddy day. But I pushed on anyway, loaded the kids up and headed down the highway.

Not two exits down after Providence, my car ran over some debris in the road. I heard a thump, what sounded like some metal, but I couldn't see anything and the car seemed to have taken it in stride, so I continued to the store. I gave the undercarriage a look in the parking lot, but everything seemed fine. I kept insisting I smelled fuel, my mother in law kept telling me I was nuts, if I'd broken the line, I'd have known it long before. I agreed and drove with the windows down.

Well, later that afternoon I bought some gas, enough so that when I returned home I noticed the puddle under the car. Further investigation turned up a big gash in the side of the tank. I called my mechanic.

"We can get you a tank from a salvage yard," the man on the phone said. "Just get it towed here."

Is is bad that until that moment it hadn't registered with me that I couldn't just get in the car when Tim got home and drive it to Warwick?

Yes?

No one ever called me a car person.

So I called AAA.

"Sure, we can tow it for you," they said. Excellent, I thought. "You just need to call the fire department and have them check the car, it takes like five minutes, but they have to say it's safe to tow."

So I started Step 4 in what was feeling like a very long process and called the dispatch line, who promised to send "someone" out shortly. I figured they'd send a car with a firefighter in it.

And then I heard the siren.

My girls were thrilled as they watched from the door and saw a massive firetruck, complete with whirling lights and siren, roll up in front of the house. And I was thrilled when some of the best looking men I'd ever seen in my life got off that truck. (What? I'm looking at a pricey car repair here, I have to take my cheap thrills where I can get them.)

"I have a gash in the gas tank," I said. Firefighter A took a look.

"I guess you do!" he said. "I can fit four fingers in there! How'd you drive this thing home, anyway?"

"I don't know," I said. "Is it safe to tow?"

"Oh yeah," he said with a laugh. "It's empty. You can have it towed."

And away they went.

AAA arrived...and promptly towed the car to the wrong bodyshop. I spent the morning rectifying that.


With any luck, the car should be back at the same time the mattress is being delivered. I thought I was hot stuff because I'd managed to save about $300 on the bed's purchase price by comparison shopping.

The universe has a funny sense of humor.

Is it socially acceptable to begin drinking at 11 a.m.?

Shiny!

This is the third time (today!) that I've tried to write an entry about ADHD. That's kind of telling, isn't it? I was diagnosed in middle school but the writing was on the wall long before that - and any parent who has an elementary aged kid with a similar diagnosis will probably recognize the following:

"Mommy," I chirped at bedtime, sometime in elementary school. "Last week in health class we talked about how drugs are BAD!"

"I see," she said, tucking me in.

"And I said I know drugs are bad, because [insert name of distant relative I had never actually ever met] is in jail." And my mother blanched as she realized that is exactly why she was getting the side eye from the teacher at her last parent volunteer day.

OR:

"Mrs. R," the second grade teacher said at conferences, "We've never actually had to tell a student to stop reading before. But Kimberly is sneaking novels during math hour and not actually doing any math..."

Or how about the six million fights between my brother and I that were probably my fault (though I maintain he was quite the pot stirrer in his day) but that evolved over absolutely nothing whatsoever, but were the end of the world to me?

Yeah, for me, Ritalin was a godsend. But something happens when you become an adult and learn your own coping mechanisms sometimes, and that something is that every so often, your ADHD becomes a hell of an asset and you don't need the medication anymore. As a reporter? It was great. There was one week where I turned in something like 16 different stories and that was great, because I never, ever got bored. I copy edited things for fun, because spot-the-errors is like a big, fun word puzzle (and when they put me in charge of the interns, it was kind of like shooting fish in a barrel, but I digress). I enjoyed gathering police reports, then going to a school to cover a play, then covering a meeting on budgets until 2 a.m. and writing everything up for 9 the next day (because, much to my editors' annoyance, I write best under the gun and deadline morning is perfect for that kind of pressure cooker).

Then I worked for a bank and had the fastest call time EVER. Of course, I repeatedly got called in for things I would miss in the call (proper goodbye with nine million sales pitches because I hate sales pitches and so do the people calling in, for instance), but still.

And now, as a stay at home mom?

Mixed results.

For instance, I am great at coming up with stuff on the fly and can be flexible. So we planned to go to the zoo but it's raining, let's go see Grandma for lunch! You want to do play doh for six hours? Go for it! Let's build a big fort out of sheets! I can also get really in the groove and have this place spotless in record time (that doesn't happen too often but dammit I am capable).

And then it can be not so great. To wit:

Staying up far too late because it's finally quiet and the book is that good, because something in my brain makes me forget that yes, the kids wake up before seven every day. Every. Day. That book will exist tomorrow. You don't need to read it all  now. (But I do, says the math class dodging girl and the woman who used to surf the Net at work in between interviews.)

Or when I forget to do laundry for far too long and the two year old winds up borrowing the four year old's underwear and walks around hitching them up like a bagman all day.

Or today. Yesterday, we toured a preschool in hopes of finding Mary a more full time place for next fall. It's a great school. I liked it, Mary liked it. Today I called the head teacher and told her we would be dropping off the application packet and deposit check first thing Wednesday morning. And now? Now I can't find the application packet.

It's in a big, red folder.

I just got it 12 hours ago. 

This house is not that big.

The only thing I did upon arriving home was put that packet down and now I can't find it.

They are holding the spot for Mary until Friday only. I know I can just get another packet if I want to, but I don't want to, because then I look like an idiot and also, that's just a guarantee I'll find the first damned packet as soon as I get  home.

I should stop writing and go look for that thing.

I really should.

Ten bucks says I do.

But not before we build a fort and have a snack.

Two out of three ain't bad.

Postcards from mommyland

My show wrapped up yesterday, which means a) I have more time in the evenings for writing and actually, you know, giving my kids real dinner and b) I have to get back on the exercise bandwagon, as I am no longer going to be dancing tap-intensive numbers several hours a day, several days a week. Couch to 5k resumes again tomorrow. I completed the program once, but if I could get all the way from "Run? Am I being mugged?" to "I can run three miles!" in under three months, I imagine a two month hiatus has brought me right back to "I must be being chased."

In celebration of the warmer months, I ordered an arm band for my phone/music player, because my warm weather running shirt has a tiny pocket for such things, and the only time I ran with it I got half a block away before I watched in horror as said phone worked its way around the shoddy zipper and went flying onto the asphalt. Otterbox, we thank thee for the protection thou hast provided my insanely overpriced fourth child...

But as usual I digress. Today I visited a preschool with Mary, as she just misses the kindergarten cutoff in our state for next year and I want her in something that's full day, at least a couple of days a week. The school we're looking at is bright, cheery and a lot of learning is play-based, which I like, because hey, she's only four. There's plenty of time for worksheets and homework. Mary is a smart kid and I'm glad she's going to be in school a little more in the fall, though I keep looking over my shoulder and wondering how the heck five years went by so fast.

So yes. I have bright kids. At least I think I do...

Dear Anna:

I know you like to go outside. When Mommy goes out to get the mail or get something out of the car, I know you enjoy standing at the screen door and watching. But baby, for me, could you please stop licking the screen? The neighbors are starting to stare. 

Dear Lily,
I know you think the world is made of food. I know you like to try and feed yourself and that's something I'm happy to encourage, since I'm with you, purees are kind of funny looking. But when I put a tiny bowl of chopped-up-whatever-we're-eating on your tray and you gleefully dump the bowl over and start chewing on the rim, I start to think you're not quite as ready as you think you are.

Dear Mary and Anna,

You have a room full of developmentally appropriate toys. You have a swing set in the yard. You have blocks and a little train set and all kinds of wonderful things. So why is your favorite game shoving your feet in the other sister's face, so the other sister will scream in delight "Ew, stinky feet!!!"? I need to know. Also, the day I went down the hall to get dressed and heard you screaming "stinky butt!!!"? Yeah, I can only imagine, but I don't want to. 

General announcements:
The cat is not a ride on toy.


Bowls are not hats.
If you shove toilet paper down the sink, Mommy's happy face goes away.

If you smear food on your shirt, I am going to clean it. You do not get to complain about this.

Oh yeah.

Once more.

Dear Ingrates, 


If you refuse to eat dinner for whatever reason (the sky is blue, you suddenly hate tacos, your sister complained so you feel you must as well), we are not getting ice cream. We are especially never getting ice cream from the creepy truck that drives through every. damn. day. right at dinner hour and sometimes plays Christmas carols. Call it an executive decision.

Love,

"Mean mommy! Mean mommy!"

The best laid plans and all that

Today I took Mary for her four year pictures. She celebrated her birthday with lunch at American Girl with Mommy...back in October, when it was her, you know, birthday. My goal for next year is to get them done in January or February and then slowly edge back to October by the time she's seven or so. Because I'm great like that.

My in laws came along to help me baby wrangle and to watch the spectacular, and I have to say, Mary did great. She smiled for the camera, didn't get stubborn about poses, and generally had fun. We concluded with lunch at the food court, since our restaurant of choice wouldn't open for another half an hour, and really, I wasn't going to push my luck with Miss Lily's contentedness for that long.

The older girls settled in to burgers and fries, and then Mary noticed the various mechanical ride-on vehicles in the center of the food court.

"Mommy, after lunch can we ride on those cars?"

"No, hon, they cost money and Mommy doesn't have any quarters." (When do I ever have quarters? I imagine in the near future even the mechanical horses and boats of the world will take credit cards.)

"Okay, Mommy."

She and Anna wrapped it up with lightning speed and minimal ketchup spillage, and Sue and I were still eating. Paul had meandered off to purchase golf balls, and Lily was finishing up a course of applesauce with gusto.

"Mommy, can we sit on the cars?" The cars, it should be noted, were barely 10 feet away and the food court was empty.

"Sure, I guess," I  answered. "But remember, I don't have quarters, so don't ask. You can pretend to ride them, but when it's time to leave, you need to come back."

"YAAAAAAY!" They were off like a shot. They pretended to drive a boat, serve ice cream  from the truck, race a car. Mary found herself sitting in some kind of kiddie roller coaster simulator when one of the mall's custodians came by.

"HI!" (The world is Mary's best friend. Stranger danger? What's that?)

"Hello," the woman said. She was somewhere between my age and my mother in law's, and didn't seem perturbed by an overly friendly preschooler keeping her from work.

"We are riding on these cars," Mary continued in a conversational tone. "But Mommy doesn't have any money so we are just pretending!" And then, to my horror, I see the woman reaching into her pocket and pulling out some dollar bills.

"Oh, no, that's okay!" Sue and I call over. "She's fine!"

"No, I want to," the lady said, and now I'm feeling bad, because a custodian job can't pay that much, and we just bought pictures, and here's my kid saying we're broke as a joke.

"It's really okay," I said, walking over. "Thank you so much, but she's fine."

"No, no," the kind stranger insisted, and slipped a dollar bill into the roller coaster simulator. Mary grinned.

"That's really very kind," I said. "Thank you."

And nothing happened.

We pressed the start button. Nothing.

We pressed the money return button. Nothing.

We pressed start again.

Are you noticing a pattern?

"That was so nice of you," I said. "Thank you anyway. Mary, thank the really nice lady."

"Thank you anyway!" Mary chirped. I went back to my chair, in time to notice another custodian come by and the lady stop him. Now there were two people trying to make the simulator work, I am blushing and wanting to crawl in a hole, and Mary has wandered off to drive the ice cream truck again. At this point I saw my father in law, explained the situation and he got some quarters and started the ice cream truck up.

The two custodians gave up on the simulator (and hopes of retrieving the lost dollar) and walked away. Mary and Anna pretended to serve ice cream and laughed up a storm, their giggles echoing around the still nearly empty food court.

I hope that lady wins the Lottery or something.