Because I'm Afraid OF WORMS Roxanne !

So for the purposes of education worms were put into these little plastic cups which were named WORM hotels. The cups were clear, and the worms could move about and the kids could watch them do their "eat dirt make dirt" routine.

Science, I suppose.

There is actually a part of me, the part who's brain has been softened by the internet I guess, who thought "Well that's terrible THAT POOR WORM I BET IT WAS TERRIFIED."

I've lost my damn mind. It's a WORM. I pulled off the packing tape which was on the top (by the way teachers - the worm COULD have gotten stuck to the packing tape across the top which would've made for a worm tragedy) and we set him free in our garden. I'm growing metal things there, nice right?
I'm a kid who used to spend summer evenings after the rains running through backyards with a flashlight and friends, hunting under dropped lily leaves, near and around gardens, for earthworms who were mistakenly sliding along the soil. We were hunting nightcrawlers, the biggest and tastiest worms, for the men of the neighborhood to fish with. My grandpa, other grandpas, other people's dads would come by the next day for a coffee and take coffee cans full of moist soil chocked full of these fat worms.

We made great bait hunters, we truly did.

I am completely unsure where I was going with this story, but I found it sitting in drafts this morning when starting a different project. So I'm hitting publish anyway. My boat my rules.

Also, I'm pretty sure that worm was dead but I played it off. #acting !

Because I'm Afraid OF WORMS Roxanne !

So for the purposes of education worms were put into these little plastic cups which were named WORM hotels. The cups were clear, and the worms could move about and the kids could watch them do their "eat dirt make dirt" routine.

Science, I suppose.

There is actually a part of me, the part who's brain has been softened by the internet I guess, who thought "Well that's terrible THAT POOR WORM I BET IT WAS TERRIFIED."

I've lost my damn mind. It's a WORM. I pulled off the packing tape which was on the top (by the way teachers - the worm COULD have gotten stuck to the packing tape across the top which would've made for a worm tragedy) and we set him free in our garden. I'm growing metal things there, nice right?
I'm a kid who used to spend summer evenings after the rains running through backyards with a flashlight and friends, hunting under dropped lily leaves, near and around gardens, for earthworms who were mistakenly sliding along the soil. We were hunting nightcrawlers, the biggest and tastiest worms, for the men of the neighborhood to fish with. My grandpa, other grandpas, other people's dads would come by the next day for a coffee and take coffee cans full of moist soil chocked full of these fat worms.

We made great bait hunters, we truly did.

I am completely unsure where I was going with this story, but I found it sitting in drafts this morning when starting a different project. So I'm hitting publish anyway. My boat my rules.

Also, I'm pretty sure that worm was dead but I played it off. #acting !

Word Up

Words are powerful. Words are meaningful. Words cause me to make note of people, whether it's because they've said something interesting or because they've said something intensely stupid. Words are generational. The meaning of words can change, ebb and flow. Words can hurt. Words can empower.

Words are amazing.

Miles like to watch shows on YOUTUBE and he's forever calling up show's I've forgotten, such as this weekend it was FIREMAN SAM. It's sort of a silly show about a small island with one child who must be taught the boy who cries wolf story every single week. But Miles seems to like it. This weekend, Julia discovered it and sat to watch several episodes.

I've never really put a lot of consideration or worry into titles with gender qualification. FIREMAN is what we said when I was little. I don't believe it means you have to be a MAN. The name of the show is exactly FIREMAN SAM because it's an older show.

What amazed me, interested me was Julia who told me she was watching Firefighter Sam.

Now we've all said firefighter in the world for a long time. I KNOW women who are firefighters and I don't think twice about that word either. I am sure it's meaningful to the women who do that job, but for me I guess I've always been rather neutral.

We sat and talked about firefighters. Do firefighters do this, do firefighters do that? Can I be  a firefighter? Why are only boys firefighters on that show? I'm going to be a firefighter.

That's when it hit me. She has never lived in a world where fireMAN was a thing. The word fireMAN didn't register with her even. It's firefighter. It's gender neutral. She recognized it was off that there were only boys being firefighters. She doesn't live in a world where that makes sense.

It made me really happy.

I am just not sure she can wear that crown with her bunker gear...

Word Up

Words are powerful. Words are meaningful. Words cause me to make note of people, whether it's because they've said something interesting or because they've said something intensely stupid. Words are generational. The meaning of words can change, ebb and flow. Words can hurt. Words can empower.

Words are amazing.

Miles like to watch shows on YOUTUBE and he's forever calling up show's I've forgotten, such as this weekend it was FIREMAN SAM. It's sort of a silly show about a small island with one child who must be taught the boy who cries wolf story every single week. But Miles seems to like it. This weekend, Julia discovered it and sat to watch several episodes.

I've never really put a lot of consideration or worry into titles with gender qualification. FIREMAN is what we said when I was little. I don't believe it means you have to be a MAN. The name of the show is exactly FIREMAN SAM because it's an older show.

What amazed me, interested me was Julia who told me she was watching Firefighter Sam.

Now we've all said firefighter in the world for a long time. I KNOW women who are firefighters and I don't think twice about that word either. I am sure it's meaningful to the women who do that job, but for me I guess I've always been rather neutral.

We sat and talked about firefighters. Do firefighters do this, do firefighters do that? Can I be  a firefighter? Why are only boys firefighters on that show? I'm going to be a firefighter.

That's when it hit me. She has never lived in a world where fireMAN was a thing. The word fireMAN didn't register with her even. It's firefighter. It's gender neutral. She recognized it was off that there were only boys being firefighters. She doesn't live in a world where that makes sense.

It made me really happy.

I am just not sure she can wear that crown with her bunker gear...

When I Move Away

My six year old is asking me about moving away. She wants to know if when she is an adult if she can move away.

This line of questioning is irritating me, considerably.

I mean, of course she can move away. She will go to college and then probably have a job I hope, some career time, a life of her own before she mets the right girl or guy and settles down for whatever version of adult life she really wants.

She's making a list of the things she's going to take, apparently MY jewelry is going with her. "You aren't taking my jewelry," I said dryly and she's taking inventory of my possessions. "What about if you're dead?" she asks.

I pause and respond that if I'm dead she can have some of my jewelry but she should ask Louis if he wants any of it. "He's a boy he won't want it." I reiterate that she will be required to ask Louis.

She concedes this and returns the the picture of the castle that she's going to move into, when she moves away. She says she's going to have it built special, as she's going to be a real princess when she doesn't live here anymore. With pen in hand, she says "Can you please tell me the number of the moving company? I want to have it handy when the time comes."

Now this is serious. She's making plans.

I told her it was 1-800 Move and she got it pretty close to right I am impressed.

The thing is, I'm nowhere near the neighborhood of ready to consider this. She's making her six year old life plans of castle dwelling and jewelry pilfering and I'm getting choked up because some version of this very thing is ACTUALLY going to happen to me. It's going to happen FOR her and TO me. That sucks a lot, in my opinion.

Except that it doesn't. It's the point of raising humans. You raise them tall and strong and you teach them to think and you send them out in the world to do things. I am struggling with the idea that the last bit is unavoidable, even as much as I know it truly is.

She came back by, with her paper and phone number, and asked me how many suitcases I thought I would need. I asked her what for, and she replied "Well Mommy you have to come live in the castle with me. How can I live somewhere without my Mommy?"

Indeed.

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When I Move Away

My six year old is asking me about moving away. She wants to know if when she is an adult if she can move away.

This line of questioning is irritating me, considerably.

I mean, of course she can move away. She will go to college and then probably have a job I hope, some career time, a life of her own before she mets the right girl or guy and settles down for whatever version of adult life she really wants.

She's making a list of the things she's going to take, apparently MY jewelry is going with her. "You aren't taking my jewelry," I said dryly and she's taking inventory of my possessions. "What about if you're dead?" she asks.

I pause and respond that if I'm dead she can have some of my jewelry but she should ask Louis if he wants any of it. "He's a boy he won't want it." I reiterate that she will be required to ask Louis.

She concedes this and returns the the picture of the castle that she's going to move into, when she moves away. She says she's going to have it built special, as she's going to be a real princess when she doesn't live here anymore. With pen in hand, she says "Can you please tell me the number of the moving company? I want to have it handy when the time comes."

Now this is serious. She's making plans.

I told her it was 1-800 Move and she got it pretty close to right I am impressed.

The thing is, I'm nowhere near the neighborhood of ready to consider this. She's making her six year old life plans of castle dwelling and jewelry pilfering and I'm getting choked up because some version of this very thing is ACTUALLY going to happen to me. It's going to happen FOR her and TO me. That sucks a lot, in my opinion.

Except that it doesn't. It's the point of raising humans. You raise them tall and strong and you teach them to think and you send them out in the world to do things. I am struggling with the idea that the last bit is unavoidable, even as much as I know it truly is.

She came back by, with her paper and phone number, and asked me how many suitcases I thought I would need. I asked her what for, and she replied "Well Mommy you have to come live in the castle with me. How can I live somewhere without my Mommy?"

Indeed.

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Diamond Birthdays Part One

In the month of April 50% of my family has a birthday.

This is pretty much the month after which we go broke for a while. True story.

As a family of six we do a lot of birthdays at home. We don't live near any family, so usually it's just us and a cake and presents. We'll try to go somewhere fun, do something fun, but we don't do the whole HAVE ALL THE KIN OVER FOR BIRTHDAY thing because well - ours live hundreds of miles away.

We've been lucky to have Aunties Suzie and Debbie here on the rare occasion, but generally it's just US. For that reason when you get to school and finally have lots of friends, we tend to DO IT UP.

The girl chose to have her party at an indoor play land called Everland which is pretty freaking amazing. She'd been there before, as a pre-schooler with her Daddy while I was at work. We invited her whole class and the girl scouts and waited to see what would happen.

To say that she and her friends had a ridiculous time might be the understatement of the universe.

What was great though was getting to see her with other children. Not her family, just children who know her in ways I don't ever get to see - that SCHOOL version of Julia that isn't the home version of Julia but is probably on the path to being the person she'll become in ways I haven't fathomed yet.

It's also sort of enlightening to see how other people react to your child. Watching other children, seeing how THEY see her. I'm not neutral. There is a certain amount of "Oh wow they DO like her" that I think other parents feel too. You want your kids to be liked, you want them to be around people who are good to them. I felt really good seeing them all playing with her so joyfully.

We had a choice, we could have goodie bags and a character present OR skip both. Well goodie bags are just crap no one wants in their house. Small toys that break, stickers that end up where they should not, etc. No parent wants goodie bags. MAKE NOTE YOUNGER PARENTS. NO ONE WANTS THIS.

We decided to have Elsa come out, thinking she would come out and sing Happy Birthday and do a photo op.

WOW were we wrong.

She came out and every little girl in the place LOST THEIR MIND. They started blasting LET IT GO - and while all the little girls belted it out word for word, Elsa grabbed Julia and starts twirling her around the room. At some points she grabs every other girl and also dances and twirls them.

It was possibly one of the most exhuberantly joyful things I have ever seen in person.

Elsa stayed for photo ops afterward - you can see she's a bit exhausted. The girls are completely amazed if you can't tell.

She will never be six again. She will never have another Kindergarten birthday party. It wasn't cheap but I'm so glad we did it. Watching her joy and excitement was worth it.

Every once in a while, I think it's ok for all your dreams to come true. Especially if it's your birthday.
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Diamond Birthdays Part One

In the month of April 50% of my family has a birthday.

This is pretty much the month after which we go broke for a while. True story.

As a family of six we do a lot of birthdays at home. We don't live near any family, so usually it's just us and a cake and presents. We'll try to go somewhere fun, do something fun, but we don't do the whole HAVE ALL THE KIN OVER FOR BIRTHDAY thing because well - ours live hundreds of miles away.

We've been lucky to have Aunties Suzie and Debbie here on the rare occasion, but generally it's just US. For that reason when you get to school and finally have lots of friends, we tend to DO IT UP.

The girl chose to have her party at an indoor play land called Everland which is pretty freaking amazing. She'd been there before, as a pre-schooler with her Daddy while I was at work. We invited her whole class and the girl scouts and waited to see what would happen.

To say that she and her friends had a ridiculous time might be the understatement of the universe.

What was great though was getting to see her with other children. Not her family, just children who know her in ways I don't ever get to see - that SCHOOL version of Julia that isn't the home version of Julia but is probably on the path to being the person she'll become in ways I haven't fathomed yet.

It's also sort of enlightening to see how other people react to your child. Watching other children, seeing how THEY see her. I'm not neutral. There is a certain amount of "Oh wow they DO like her" that I think other parents feel too. You want your kids to be liked, you want them to be around people who are good to them. I felt really good seeing them all playing with her so joyfully.

We had a choice, we could have goodie bags and a character present OR skip both. Well goodie bags are just crap no one wants in their house. Small toys that break, stickers that end up where they should not, etc. No parent wants goodie bags. MAKE NOTE YOUNGER PARENTS. NO ONE WANTS THIS.

We decided to have Elsa come out, thinking she would come out and sing Happy Birthday and do a photo op.

WOW were we wrong.

She came out and every little girl in the place LOST THEIR MIND. They started blasting LET IT GO - and while all the little girls belted it out word for word, Elsa grabbed Julia and starts twirling her around the room. At some points she grabs every other girl and also dances and twirls them.

It was possibly one of the most exhuberantly joyful things I have ever seen in person.

Elsa stayed for photo ops afterward - you can see she's a bit exhausted. The girls are completely amazed if you can't tell.

She will never be six again. She will never have another Kindergarten birthday party. It wasn't cheap but I'm so glad we did it. Watching her joy and excitement was worth it.

Every once in a while, I think it's ok for all your dreams to come true. Especially if it's your birthday.
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I'm a Salty Old Girl Scout

Yesterday I drug my mostly-not-so-sick butt out of bed and took Julia to her first ever COOKIE RALLY for Girl Scouts. I was a Girl Scout for years and years, until I was in high school, but I don't ever remember us doing anything like this. Back then it was more like "Here are your order forms, maybe sell some cookies." In fact, I tried really hard to remember SELLING cookies while I was there but couldn't for most of the meeting.

They had older girls on hand to talk to the little girls about how to sell cookies, how to be safe, what to do, what not to do, how to always use good manners etc. It was actually a really cute event because all the activities were divided up into games.

That's how I ended up getting salty.

We were playing BINGO - learning about lots of Girl Scout Cookie related words. The girl doing the calling says "OK this is the symbol of the girl scouts. It's the clover thing."

Apparently my face froze or I shot daggers out of my eyes or something because she stop and looked at me.

"Trefoil," I said trying to be calm. "That's the GIRL SCOUT TREFOIL. It has a name."

She still looked at me like I was crazy, and just said "Oh" like this was news. So at that point then I was fully loaded on prednisone, years of Girl Scout training and just being who I am. I responded "I'm subtracting 10 Girl Scout points from you."

Now I'm torturing a 16 year old. She says "Really?" Then I felt bad and said "No, not unless there are real Girl Scout points that I don't know about. ARE THERE?" 

My kid won bingo. NO REALLY SHE WON IT LEGIT NOT BECAUSE I TORTURED THE CALLER. I think.

We got to sample all of the cookies, and she like all humans decided that SAMOAS are the nastiest cookies on earth. I don't think I saw a single kid take more than one bite of those. I also lament that there aren't SAVANNAHS any more, Do-Si-Dos aren't SAVANNAHS. Savannahs were better. 

Regardless of my irritability it was an adorable event, I think the older girls loved having the little tiny ones there to show things to. As an old Girl Scout it was fun to watch and think about all of my years of earning my patches, all of my time spent sitting around tables in church basements dressed in green doing crafts and planning activities. 

I think it's weird I can't much remember selling cookies. I know for a fact my dad would NEVER take stuff to work to sell for me. And I wasn't allowed to go door to door ever because that's unsafe and if you think I'm over protective you SHOULD HAVE MET MY PARENTS. It was while she was doing an activity that what seems to be my ONLY memory of cookie sales popped up. Our troop used to go to GRANTS (imagine if Walmart and an old fashioned Woolworth had a baby - that was GRANTS) and put up a card table outside. One year in probably 6th or 7th grade I was on crutches because of a basketball injury - and we realized that we were getting sympathy sales because of the Girl Scout on crutches.

Suddenly I was the approach person. A little girl with long blonde hair in her green uniform, on crutches, is apparently someone people couldn't resist because we sold out of cookies quickly. We thought it was pretty funny. 

She won a bracelet at BINGO. What's that on it? THAT'S A TREFOIL says I. 

It was a pretty good day, despite how bad I felt.

I'm a Salty Old Girl Scout

Yesterday I drug my mostly-not-so-sick butt out of bed and took Julia to her first ever COOKIE RALLY for Girl Scouts. I was a Girl Scout for years and years, until I was in high school, but I don't ever remember us doing anything like this. Back then it was more like "Here are your order forms, maybe sell some cookies." In fact, I tried really hard to remember SELLING cookies while I was there but couldn't for most of the meeting.

They had older girls on hand to talk to the little girls about how to sell cookies, how to be safe, what to do, what not to do, how to always use good manners etc. It was actually a really cute event because all the activities were divided up into games.

That's how I ended up getting salty.

We were playing BINGO - learning about lots of Girl Scout Cookie related words. The girl doing the calling says "OK this is the symbol of the girl scouts. It's the clover thing."

Apparently my face froze or I shot daggers out of my eyes or something because she stop and looked at me.

"Trefoil," I said trying to be calm. "That's the GIRL SCOUT TREFOIL. It has a name."

She still looked at me like I was crazy, and just said "Oh" like this was news. So at that point then I was fully loaded on prednisone, years of Girl Scout training and just being who I am. I responded "I'm subtracting 10 Girl Scout points from you."

Now I'm torturing a 16 year old. She says "Really?" Then I felt bad and said "No, not unless there are real Girl Scout points that I don't know about. ARE THERE?" 

My kid won bingo. NO REALLY SHE WON IT LEGIT NOT BECAUSE I TORTURED THE CALLER. I think.

We got to sample all of the cookies, and she like all humans decided that SAMOAS are the nastiest cookies on earth. I don't think I saw a single kid take more than one bite of those. I also lament that there aren't SAVANNAHS any more, Do-Si-Dos aren't SAVANNAHS. Savannahs were better. 

Regardless of my irritability it was an adorable event, I think the older girls loved having the little tiny ones there to show things to. As an old Girl Scout it was fun to watch and think about all of my years of earning my patches, all of my time spent sitting around tables in church basements dressed in green doing crafts and planning activities. 

I think it's weird I can't much remember selling cookies. I know for a fact my dad would NEVER take stuff to work to sell for me. And I wasn't allowed to go door to door ever because that's unsafe and if you think I'm over protective you SHOULD HAVE MET MY PARENTS. It was while she was doing an activity that what seems to be my ONLY memory of cookie sales popped up. Our troop used to go to GRANTS (imagine if Walmart and an old fashioned Woolworth had a baby - that was GRANTS) and put up a card table outside. One year in probably 6th or 7th grade I was on crutches because of a basketball injury - and we realized that we were getting sympathy sales because of the Girl Scout on crutches.

Suddenly I was the approach person. A little girl with long blonde hair in her green uniform, on crutches, is apparently someone people couldn't resist because we sold out of cookies quickly. We thought it was pretty funny. 

She won a bracelet at BINGO. What's that on it? THAT'S A TREFOIL says I. 

It was a pretty good day, despite how bad I felt.

Look At Poor Barbie...

The girl was playing with her Barbies at the hearth yesterday, playing something with Hamm and her dollhouse and there seemed to be goings on having to do with sharing and having good manners and there was possibly a picnic happening.

I was sitting on the sofa, swirling in a cloud of sick and Contac watching Mickey Mouse clubhouse because the remote was so far away, when she came over to me with a concerned look and Barbie in her hand.

"Mommy, how can Barbie be happy?" she asked.

I was thinking of the tee shirt from the 90s "because the bitch has everything" as a valid response but refrained as she's only five. "What do you mean?" I asked.

"Look at poor Barbie, look at her tummy it can't ever be big. She can't ever have babies. How can she be happy without babies?" the look of concern continued.

Now I'm sick and on a slippery parenting slope. I want to say the right things here. As a post-feminist believer and a woman I want to convey that having babies isn't the only road to happiness, that having a family is a choice women can make willingly but that women can use birth control and never have babies and be very happy because it's their life and finding fulfillment isn't only met via reproducing.

I consider all of this and decide oh god that's a lot to lay down at a five year old so instead I say "Well, does Barbie WANT babies?"

She answers "Look all she has is a pig, who can be happy with that? Mommy her tummy will never be soft for cuddles, it's terrible."

I decide to gear up for a positive role model type of speech when she says "I know, Snow White can be her baby! PERFECT!" and runs off. She returns with Snow White and Aurora and says "TWINS!" and then proceeds to play.

Well I probably missed a moment but I guess in a way I'm flattered that she thinks that having a soft tummy and being a mommy equals happy. I guess it means I portray both of these things in a positive light.

I either missed a parenting moment there or made too much of a passing fancy, or somewhere in between. I'm sick it's not my fault.
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Look At Poor Barbie...

The girl was playing with her Barbies at the hearth yesterday, playing something with Hamm and her dollhouse and there seemed to be goings on having to do with sharing and having good manners and there was possibly a picnic happening.

I was sitting on the sofa, swirling in a cloud of sick and Contac watching Mickey Mouse clubhouse because the remote was so far away, when she came over to me with a concerned look and Barbie in her hand.

"Mommy, how can Barbie be happy?" she asked.

I was thinking of the tee shirt from the 90s "because the bitch has everything" as a valid response but refrained as she's only five. "What do you mean?" I asked.

"Look at poor Barbie, look at her tummy it can't ever be big. She can't ever have babies. How can she be happy without babies?" the look of concern continued.

Now I'm sick and on a slippery parenting slope. I want to say the right things here. As a post-feminist believer and a woman I want to convey that having babies isn't the only road to happiness, that having a family is a choice women can make willingly but that women can use birth control and never have babies and be very happy because it's their life and finding fulfillment isn't only met via reproducing.

I consider all of this and decide oh god that's a lot to lay down at a five year old so instead I say "Well, does Barbie WANT babies?"

She answers "Look all she has is a pig, who can be happy with that? Mommy her tummy will never be soft for cuddles, it's terrible."

I decide to gear up for a positive role model type of speech when she says "I know, Snow White can be her baby! PERFECT!" and runs off. She returns with Snow White and Aurora and says "TWINS!" and then proceeds to play.

Well I probably missed a moment but I guess in a way I'm flattered that she thinks that having a soft tummy and being a mommy equals happy. I guess it means I portray both of these things in a positive light.

I either missed a parenting moment there or made too much of a passing fancy, or somewhere in between. I'm sick it's not my fault.
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Every Little Thing She Does

My last baby is starting school on Monday. Today we go to the school orientations x4 teachers. We start with her, back to the school that was our first experience, where our big boy learned that there was indeed a life outside of our house.

She's so excited. I feel this pit in my heart, how can she be this big? She doesn't seem READY for school. She's kind of a nut, kind of immature.

She's still my baby.

How is my baby supposed to go be at school all day, without us to make sure she isn't doing the wrong things, without us to help her make the right decisions?

When the boy went, I was excited for him. I might have shed a tear but I wasn't sad he went. I was happy for his new world. Every day was a bit of an adventure, we wanted to hear what happened at school, get all the info from him.

Part of me doesn't think she can DO this. HOW can she be ready for this?

But she is. Foremost, she's desperate to go to school. She's been asking me every day for over a week if tomorrow is the day she gets to go to school. She asked me the day she turned five if NOW she could go to school. She's MORE than ready. She's wanting to go NOW. Now is almost here.

She says she can't wait to eat at their restaurant. I commend her enthusiasm for school lunch.

So we start with her, meet her teacher, do the necessary get a bus assignment and pick up info, get a car rider tag, join the PTA, the usual. Then we lather rinse repeat with the boys. Tomorrow we have dentist appointments, shoes to buy, haircuts to get, etc. The final launch preparation for school to start on Monday begins in 30 minutes when I start waking this household up.

I'm ready for them to get back on a schedule. I'm ready for the normal to return after a kind of crazy summer.

But I am not ready for this little girl to start walking away from me.

Yet, here we go.

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Every Little Thing She Does

My last baby is starting school on Monday. Today we go to the school orientations x4 teachers. We start with her, back to the school that was our first experience, where our big boy learned that there was indeed a life outside of our house.

She's so excited. I feel this pit in my heart, how can she be this big? She doesn't seem READY for school. She's kind of a nut, kind of immature.

She's still my baby.

How is my baby supposed to go be at school all day, without us to make sure she isn't doing the wrong things, without us to help her make the right decisions?

When the boy went, I was excited for him. I might have shed a tear but I wasn't sad he went. I was happy for his new world. Every day was a bit of an adventure, we wanted to hear what happened at school, get all the info from him.

Part of me doesn't think she can DO this. HOW can she be ready for this?

But she is. Foremost, she's desperate to go to school. She's been asking me every day for over a week if tomorrow is the day she gets to go to school. She asked me the day she turned five if NOW she could go to school. She's MORE than ready. She's wanting to go NOW. Now is almost here.

She says she can't wait to eat at their restaurant. I commend her enthusiasm for school lunch.

So we start with her, meet her teacher, do the necessary get a bus assignment and pick up info, get a car rider tag, join the PTA, the usual. Then we lather rinse repeat with the boys. Tomorrow we have dentist appointments, shoes to buy, haircuts to get, etc. The final launch preparation for school to start on Monday begins in 30 minutes when I start waking this household up.

I'm ready for them to get back on a schedule. I'm ready for the normal to return after a kind of crazy summer.

But I am not ready for this little girl to start walking away from me.

Yet, here we go.

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What Is My Reaction, What Should It Be ?

So after spending about an hour at the eye doctor and trying out several different versions of monovision prescriptions, I eventually convinced the doctor that I REALLY WANTED TO TRY MULTIFOCAL LENSES.

My NEAR vision isn't great, but my midrange (PC) and distance are flawless so...I think this is IT for me perhaps. Perhaps.

I came home and my daughter brought me her little Nintendo thing she plays games on, and asks me what the words are. I read "Help me find my pet!" and "Oh thank you for helping me find my pet, Sparkle Pillow Pants!" Ok it wasn't Pillow Pants - but if you get the reference you earn 25 cool points.

But then, after she completes another little silly goal it comes up with this, that she asks me to read. I sat there for a moment, considering these words. The sun doesn't rise and set on the insipid stupidity found within a video game, yet I have to admit - I lied to her.

I said "It says thank you so much for the great gift!"

I don't think that my daughter is going to spend the next 80 years of her life believing that friends can only be bought because of a video game. But I do think that small things add up into big things. How many small, incidental messages about how I look did I receive over the years that led me to the place I am now, pretty deep in bad body image land? 100? 200? 20000?

What a sick message to blast at small children.Is it lost in translation? I don't know where La La Loopsie comes from, but I would really like this to be a bad translation yet I fear it's not. Rather I think it's just something meaningless someone stuck in a game without a thought.

I don't think that everything needs to be a teachable moment. Hell, I don't even think that everything needs to be CORRECT all the time. But I just feel like some measure of appropriateness should be observed. We shouldn't tell ANYONE that the right gift will make someone your friend for life, much less a small child.

She can still play the stupid game, I'm not THAT tyrant. But still, it irks me. I'm kind of glad she can't read well yet.
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What Is My Reaction, What Should It Be ?

So after spending about an hour at the eye doctor and trying out several different versions of monovision prescriptions, I eventually convinced the doctor that I REALLY WANTED TO TRY MULTIFOCAL LENSES.

My NEAR vision isn't great, but my midrange (PC) and distance are flawless so...I think this is IT for me perhaps. Perhaps.

I came home and my daughter brought me her little Nintendo thing she plays games on, and asks me what the words are. I read "Help me find my pet!" and "Oh thank you for helping me find my pet, Sparkle Pillow Pants!" Ok it wasn't Pillow Pants - but if you get the reference you earn 25 cool points.

But then, after she completes another little silly goal it comes up with this, that she asks me to read. I sat there for a moment, considering these words. The sun doesn't rise and set on the insipid stupidity found within a video game, yet I have to admit - I lied to her.

I said "It says thank you so much for the great gift!"

I don't think that my daughter is going to spend the next 80 years of her life believing that friends can only be bought because of a video game. But I do think that small things add up into big things. How many small, incidental messages about how I look did I receive over the years that led me to the place I am now, pretty deep in bad body image land? 100? 200? 20000?

What a sick message to blast at small children.Is it lost in translation? I don't know where La La Loopsie comes from, but I would really like this to be a bad translation yet I fear it's not. Rather I think it's just something meaningless someone stuck in a game without a thought.

I don't think that everything needs to be a teachable moment. Hell, I don't even think that everything needs to be CORRECT all the time. But I just feel like some measure of appropriateness should be observed. We shouldn't tell ANYONE that the right gift will make someone your friend for life, much less a small child.

She can still play the stupid game, I'm not THAT tyrant. But still, it irks me. I'm kind of glad she can't read well yet.
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Did It Hurt ?

The girl has been very interested lately in babies. Specifically in the HAVING of babies. When Louis was a little guy, he learned all the news about the birds and the bees very early because we explained to him the whole process at 19 months old when the twins were born. We kept reinforcing it, telling him the truth and using all the right words like good, modern parents.
This lead to him starting stories with "Remember that time you went to the hospital and the babies came out of your vagina?" But still, he got it and understood it.
Julia has known that she used to live in my tummy, and that every other child in our house used to also. She knows that the twins lived there together and this is what makes them twins. But she's never asked about the HOW until recently.
She asked me a few days ago how she got out of my tummy
I did the good modern parent routine. "Well, most babies like the boys come of out of a mommy's vaginas. But you were in the wrong position, so Mommy had a special operation and the doctor made a cut on my tummy after giving me medicine so it didn't hurt, and they pulled you out foot first."

That seemed to appease. Especially since Louis laughed at the idea of her dangling by her foot, and she seemed to think that was funny too.

But then two days ago, she comes up to me and places her hand on my stomach and looks up at me with teary eyes. "Mommy," she says. "Did it hurt when they cut off your tummy?" And her lip quivers and she's now got tears rolling down her face. "Did you cry?"

It's just different telling this to girls than I had realized. Mainly because, it could happen to THEM so they see it differently. It's not "oh that's an interesting process" it's "OMG that's going to HAPPEN TO ME?" I hadn't thought of it like that until that moment that I saw my own daughter facing the fear of childbirth that I remember well. Childbirth is one of those things that looms for females. Being a mommy is a fantastic game until you realize what you actually have to do to be one. I personally didn't mind it, but I'm awfully damn glad to know I'm not going to do it again, too. But when you haven't done it, it's just damn scary.

I scooped her up onto my lap and kissed her. "Baby they didn't cut off my tummy." And I went back through it, in very easy terms about the operation. I told her some lies, that it wasn't scary, that I didn't cry, I told her some truths, that I would've done it 1000 times to make sure she was born safe and sound, that it was worth every minute because it meant today I have a Julia to love, and that I was so happy when it was over, because I could finally kiss and hug her.

I hiked down my shorts and showed her my little tiny incision (Thank you Dr Doris). She stared at it intently. "How did a baby come out of that?" "You just did! I don't know! But surgeons do amazing stuff and that's how they got you out."

She inspected it and touched it. "Well that's not so bad."

No. It's not so bad little girl. It was worth every single inch of it.

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Did It Hurt ?

The girl has been very interested lately in babies. Specifically in the HAVING of babies. When Louis was a little guy, he learned all the news about the birds and the bees very early because we explained to him the whole process at 19 months old when the twins were born. We kept reinforcing it, telling him the truth and using all the right words like good, modern parents.
This lead to him starting stories with "Remember that time you went to the hospital and the babies came out of your vagina?" But still, he got it and understood it.
Julia has known that she used to live in my tummy, and that every other child in our house used to also. She knows that the twins lived there together and this is what makes them twins. But she's never asked about the HOW until recently.
She asked me a few days ago how she got out of my tummy
I did the good modern parent routine. "Well, most babies like the boys come of out of a mommy's vaginas. But you were in the wrong position, so Mommy had a special operation and the doctor made a cut on my tummy after giving me medicine so it didn't hurt, and they pulled you out foot first."

That seemed to appease. Especially since Louis laughed at the idea of her dangling by her foot, and she seemed to think that was funny too.

But then two days ago, she comes up to me and places her hand on my stomach and looks up at me with teary eyes. "Mommy," she says. "Did it hurt when they cut off your tummy?" And her lip quivers and she's now got tears rolling down her face. "Did you cry?"

It's just different telling this to girls than I had realized. Mainly because, it could happen to THEM so they see it differently. It's not "oh that's an interesting process" it's "OMG that's going to HAPPEN TO ME?" I hadn't thought of it like that until that moment that I saw my own daughter facing the fear of childbirth that I remember well. Childbirth is one of those things that looms for females. Being a mommy is a fantastic game until you realize what you actually have to do to be one. I personally didn't mind it, but I'm awfully damn glad to know I'm not going to do it again, too. But when you haven't done it, it's just damn scary.

I scooped her up onto my lap and kissed her. "Baby they didn't cut off my tummy." And I went back through it, in very easy terms about the operation. I told her some lies, that it wasn't scary, that I didn't cry, I told her some truths, that I would've done it 1000 times to make sure she was born safe and sound, that it was worth every minute because it meant today I have a Julia to love, and that I was so happy when it was over, because I could finally kiss and hug her.

I hiked down my shorts and showed her my little tiny incision (Thank you Dr Doris). She stared at it intently. "How did a baby come out of that?" "You just did! I don't know! But surgeons do amazing stuff and that's how they got you out."

She inspected it and touched it. "Well that's not so bad."

No. It's not so bad little girl. It was worth every single inch of it.

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Just When You Thought It Was Safe To Go Back In The Water

Yesterday was Julia day. It was a day chocked full of things ABOUT JULIA. It's probably hard to believe every single day isn't like that, but they aren't. Well, in her mind they are, but no, they really aren't.

We started out with her Gymnastics recital or whatever you want to call it. with a bunch of little girls tumbling and jumping and showing us their amazing skills which was pretty hilarious. No, their skills weren't amazing. What was really fun to watch was all the bouncing excitement of four & five year olds. They're all Tiggers after a sort, bouncing bouncing bouncing in excitement.

After a quick diaper change of the twins we headed off to soccer where the girl varied between playing soccer and just ambling about the field the way she does. I can't decide if she likes soccer or not. She SEEMS to like it but doesn't seem all that into it. Maybe I'm judging her unfairly though she has some other kids on her team that are soccer MACHINES. She's also the youngest on her team, everyone else has been to Kindergarten and so she's got social immaturity as well.

We headed out to go shoe shopping next and once again were confronted by my least favorite response when we apologized for the Twins and shared that they are Special. I was going to rant about it but I already did a great job ranting about it six years ago and it all still applies so just go read that.

Going around all day, even on Julia day, with two litttle special guys in tow can be a challenge. I don't need your smug "oh God loves them all" sort of response. I don't care and it's unbelievably rude. If someone was blind would you say "Oh they're all blind"? No, because that's fucking insane. Oh I wasn't going to rant. Moving on.

We went for Chinese which was a perfect ending to a long day full of Julia's activities. My annoyance faded in the face of egg drop soup and the joy of realizing I have a decent Chinese buffet right by my work, which has both a noodle station and a Mongolian grill. I'm all about this. Who wants to go with me?

It's hard to sharpen your saw, as Dr Covey would say, when it feels like your entire life is overwhelming you. As a parent you want to lay down and do nothing sometimes and as a parent of four - two of whom are Special (just like every other single child I'm told) I think you want to more than usual. But you don't get to. You have to keep moving, make more coffee when they steal yours, and find ways to focus so that you don't forget who you are, or what you are.

For me, sometimes my mental recharge comes from the weirdest small things. It's rarely from a coffee at the beach (although that was awesome), or fresh flowers in Montreal at a vendor, or even a good book. No my mental reset anymore will come to me when I don't expect it. Usually it hits me sideways in the form of something that just delights me, and instantly I feel differently. I'm stronger, more patient and ready for the rest of my day/week/month.

Yesterday after a long day out and about, changing diapers in bathroom stalls, sitting in the hot Atlanta sun for soccer (it's different from all ya'lls sun) and then trying to wrangle kids AND shoe shop, my moment of Zen came as we walked into the Chinese restaurant.

This is possibly the happiest thing I've seen in a long time. Is it a Buddha? I don't even know, I'm ignorant of Eastern religions and traditions etc, so I don't know. But when I saw this thing it was like a flash of joy. I wanted to rub it's belly and see if I felt a smile that big break out onto my face. I didn't because I wasn't sure if that was disrespectful. But man, this thing is making me smile right now looking at it.

My fortune cookie only solidified my feeling of strength.

Despite how hard it is, and how confusing it all is a lot of the time, I live a really great life.

Never think otherwise.
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