Liar, Liar, Pants On Fire

I say I won't be blogging much this summer, and here I am, two days later. But this was too funny not to write about, and I didn't want to take any chances of forgetting it.

Hays has realized that being sick or hurt means sympathy from Mommy and Daddy. So now, every time he's in trouble, he suddenly becomes deathly ill or tragically injured. This is pretty common with kids, but lately, Hays's claims have become quite imaginative. Two of my favorites have occurred in the past two days.

Tuesday we took the world's most horrible trip to Target. Hays was apparently possessed by demons just before we got there, and screamed, cried and whined during the entire trip. I'm pretty sure no mother has ever sprinted through Target quite so fast. I was furious, and I let him know that, in no uncertain terms, on the drive home. The minute we got out of the car, I told him, "You are going to time out the second we walk in the door as punishment for your awful behavior!"

I watched him stand in the driveway, pondering this for a moment. Then he suddenly dropped to the ground and cried, "Owwwwww! Someone just hit me with a hammer! I'm huuuuurt!" A hammer? Really? A sudden, invisible hammer attack? That level of creative lying is skillful. Kind of impressive, in fact. But not impressive enough to excuse public fit-pitching, so I suppressed a smile and hauled him to time-out.

I figured he couldn't top the alleged hammer attack, but I was wrong. Not 24 hours later, he mounted another public protest when it was time to leave the park. This time my mom was along for the fun, and she got stuck carrying a crying, thrashing Hays to the car. He accidentally head-butted her while writhing and carrying on as she was buckling him into his car seat. I felt sorry for her, but not so much for him. I guess that he could sense this as we drove away and I admonished his tears with a cold-hearted, "Well, if you hadn't been acting like such a punk, you wouldn't have hurt yourself!" He replied with a lie of such stellar proportions- "I didn't! Yaya said she hates me!" that I was momentarily left speechless. Ummmm, yeah, sure. Yaya said she hated you. Yaya, who is so nice she would barely say she hates mosquitoes, or the bubonic plague, or Nazis, said she hates her four year old grandson. Nice try there, buddy.

We had to have a little chat then about lying. But honestly, I don't think it did much good. Because five minutes later when I told him not to throw his Power Ranger in the Publix parking lot, he told me, "I didn't throw it. The ghost did."

School's Been Blown To Pieces

Well, my friends, summer has officially descended upon us. Mason finished school Friday, and yesterday was the first day of summer vacation. A time that I used to adore. A time that felt like freedom and opportunity and held the promise of something amazing. I loved summer. Hell, I lived for summer. Funny how things change....

Now I dread the whining and fighting of bored kids. The brain-scrambling heat that smacks your face like a miffed Southern Belle the minute you dare to peek out the door. Summer is no longer a thing of beauty and a joy to behold.

But it will be better than last year. By God, it WILL be better than last year. The twins have achieved the ability to play in the backyard by themselves (it's fenced). And they will play out there for hours, no matter how hot it gets. And, devoid of other human contact, Mason plays with them. There are plenty of arguments, fights and tattling in the process, but they play. We'll have some trips to Yaya's pool. My sister promises to make weekly trips out here with my nephew. And the Three Martini Playdate with two of my best friends and their kids will be in full swing. (Got to love having educators as friends- they can play all summer long!!) So we're going to survive summer if it kills me!

But you know from previous years that summer means a major blogging draught. It's not that I don't have anything to say, it's just that I'm too hot, tired and mired in chaos to actually sit down and write anything. I'm sure I'll manage some sporadic updates, but it will probably be kind of ghost-towny around here for the next couple of months. But the good news is, once August rolls around, the kiddos head back to school. And since the twins will go four mornings a week (YAHOO!!!) I'll inundate you with more bloggy goodness than you can imagine ( or stand). Happy summer, everybody. May your cocktails be cold, your kids content, and your days sunny!!

The Prayer of The Frustrated Mom

Dear Lord,
     I need your help. I need you to hold me back and keep me from killing this child. Because, Lord, I don't know if I can do it on my own. Honestly, how many times can you be argued with? How much smart-mouthed back talk can you take before you finally snap and knock his head clean off his shoulders- sending that sass-mouth rolling clear across the kitchen floor? I'm not sure exactly how much, but I'm afraid I'm going to find out.

     So hold me back, Lord. Please. I don't want to kill him. I love him more than my own life. And there are so many times that I'm amazed by how cute, sweet, smart and funny he is. But, Lord, this is not one of those times.Quiet my nerves and hold my tongue, because it's about to get away from me. I need you, Lord. You and a glass of wine.

                                                      Amen.

In Defense Of Crafty Moms

The mommy wars- stay at home vs. working, cooking from scratch vs. takeout, organic vs. enough artificial coloring to give your kid rainbow poop- are as old as time, and I really don't have anything new to add. But as Mother's Day approaches, there's a slew of articles about how we should be parenting, why we should ignore the books that tell us how to parent, and how it doesn't matter what we do because we're going to be crushed under a sea of mommy-guilt that makes us feel inadequate whichever way we go. I tend to ascribe the the latter theory. And if you can't win for losing either way, I figure every mommy has to do what works best for her. But within these articles that encourage moms to follow their hearts, do what makes their family happy, and not feel guilty if they don't follow all the rules, a theme has started to arise. The idea that crafty moms, make-it-from-scratch moms, "I have a craft room" moms are crazy, condescending bitches that just want to prove that they're better than you. Not true.

Well, okay, I'm sure it's true for some. But that's not the case for all, or even most of us. I'm a total crafty mommy. I love to make stuff. I love to cook and bake from scratch. I wish I had a craft room, but in my tiny house, I'm settling for a craft closet. But I do not, for one second, think that this makes me a better mother than anyone. In fact, most of the time I feel like 99.5% of women I know are much better mothers than me. And the remaining .5% are at least equal. I'm not cooking from scratch because I could never allow a preservative or red dye #40 to pass my little angels' lips. Please, my cabinets are stuffed with oreos and cheetos, and today I fed the twins frozen pizza for lunch for the second time in a week! I just like to cook. I like watching something start off as a pile of ingredients and become dinner. And when I make party decorations or valentines or birthday cakes, it's not because I think store-bought just won't do. It's because I like to make stuff.

I am a girl that has never had any real, discernible talent. I was passable at stuff, but I was never a standout. I never felt like I could do anything that I was particularly proud of. Then, as I got older and became a mother, I discovered talents that I never knew I had. I found that I liked to cook. I think it's fun and interesting, and much to my surprise, I'm pretty good at it. And then Martha Stewart started putting all her ideas out there with a smug, "Sure, go on, Just try to do this. I dare you" attitude. And I decided to show her that she's not so special. Sure, I may not be able to knit my own getting-out-of-jail poncho, but I can sure enough make some tissue paper flowers. You're not so special, Martha. I've got a glue gun and feathers. I can make a chicken costume every bit as good as yours, so ha!!

And once again, to my surprise, I found that I could do this stuff. I was even good at at least half of it. I mean sure, some attempts were big, fat disasters. But sometimes I turned out things that were really cute. And I was AMAZED  And when I put it on Facebook, it's not because I want you to feel inferior. It's just because, honestly, I'm proud of myself. I can't draw a stick figure, and at those drink and paint things, I can't turn out a decent-looking picture, even though the outline is stenciled on the canvas!!! But I can make things. I can see something cute, and make it, and that amazes me. And makes me proud.I don't have a job, and the only proof of my abilities are my children- and let's be honest, they provide a lot more "can you believe that honestly happened?" stories than bragging rights. So I'm posting my cute cupcakes on Facebook, by God!!!

So cut the crafty mommy some slack. Don't mock her for feeding her child homemade graham crackers. She probably just wanted to see if she could actually make crackers. And remember, I might bake from scratch, but you probably yell at your kids less. And in my book, that makes you a much better mom. No matter how many springtime garlands I make, I go to bed every night feeling I could have done a much better job with my kids, and hoping that they don't wind up in therapy due to bad mothering. At the end of the day, crafty or not, we're all just trying to keep our kids alive and make sure that they feel loved. And if we can keep our sanity and feel okay about ourselves at day's end, all the better.

Remembering

This morning I've been thinking back and reflecting. My mind is going back four years to the time we spent with our tiny, sick babies in the NICU. On one hand, it seems like so long ago that it takes on a dream-like quality. It's nearly impossible to reconcile the loud, boisterous, hurricane-like forces of nature they are today, with the helpless little beings they were back then. It almost seems like it happened to someone else. But even though I have a hard time seeing the boys as they were then, all I have to do to remember the place, and the feeling of being in those rooms, is close my eyes and be still.

The NICU at St. Mary's hospital is a place unlike any other. The lights are dim, and it's quiet, broken only by the occasional cry of a tiny baby. The rhythmic beeping of SAT monitors and the sometimes shrilling alarms are a constant reminder that things can change here in an instant, but over time they become background noise that's easily tuned out. I remember the sounds, and the quiet bustling of nurses who are kind beyond measure. But the thing I remember most is the presence of God.

I have never been in a church, or ceremony where I felt His presence, love and comfort more clearly and constantly. In our time there, we saw joy and miracles, and we saw sorrow beyond comprehension, but we also saw God in every single moment. Through every bit of fear and every bit of hope, I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that God was with us, holding us tight as we struggled through the hardest days of our life.

And today I remember all of that clearly. Today is the fourth anniversary of the passing of Zach Kirk. He was our NICU next door neighbor, and his parents became our friends and guides through the sometimes treacherous waters of hospital life. Despite spending months in the NICU with their sweet boy, they never lost their faith. Not only did they stay strong day after day, they shared their hope and strength and encouragement with others. To this day, they are one of the most amazing examples of faith and grace that I have ever seen.

I am thinking of them today, and reflecting on a the time that we shared. I am sad that we didn't get the chance to see Zach become a wild, rambunctious little boy. Based on the tales his mama tells about his adorable little brother, Samuel, I have no doubts Zach would have been a pistol. But I will always be grateful for the example that his family set. The way that his parents showed that you just keep going, day after day, no matter how hard it gets. That you keep your faith and your hope, and you just keep loving each other through the darkest days. Faith, hope and love- and the greatest of these is love.

Spring Breakdown

I had to wait until it was official, but I can now proudly proclaim- We survived spring break!!!!!! I know that may not seem proclamation-worthy to everyone, but it is here. In fact, I thought about renting confetti cannons to fire this morning in celebration of the glorious return to school, but I thought that might be going too far.

The best part is, we didn't just survive our week of non-stop togetherness, I'd dare say we thrived. I wanted to do everything I could to make sure that I didn't spend every minute of the break yelling at bored, whiny, fighting children, and simultaneously developing a fairly worrisome drinking problem. The only way to avoid this was to keep them busy. And keep them busy I did. We started small. Monday was declared "Muck out the Mommyvan" day. It looked like homeless people had been squatting in it, and hadn't been washed in far too long. Before we could even consider any spring break adventures, that disaster had to be reckoned with. And if you don't think cleaning out and washing car could fill the better part of a day, well you haven't seen my car. Or tried to accomplish anything with my children's "help."

Once I could see out the windshield, and we could feel fairly certain that you couldn't catch any communicable diseases from the upholstery, we were ready for fun. Luckily, my mom had taken the week off work to lend a hand with spring break-o-rama, and an extra helping of adult supervision opened up a world of possibilities. So we headed out to the Yellow River Game Ranch on Tuesday. I love that place. You can pet the deer that roam freely, chase the chickens, feed bears- it's cool. Totally lives up to its motto, "Like a zoo, only better." The kids had a great time racing down the paths with me and Yaya sprinting behind, yelling, "Slow down!! Wait!!!" But no one got lost or eaten by a bear, so I consider it a total success. And I would like to say, with all sincerity, thank you, Yellow River Game Ranch, for making your gift shop affordable. I was able to let all three boys choose a small souvenir for $10. That NEVER happens. I always have to be the mean mommy that denies them the $40 stuffed animal at the end of every absurdly expensive adventure. But this time I got to be the nice mommy, and say, "Sure, have a stuffed chipmunk. You want a plastic eagle? It's yours." And I gotta tell you, that's a darn good feeling.

Will feeding a deer

Gimme that carrot, kid!

What are you lookin' at??

Please just sit still long enough for one picture!!!

Haysie and a bunny

Wednesday was my project day. So I drug the boys to Lowes, then attempted an ill-fated trip to TJ Maxx to get a few things to revamp our pitiful excuse for a master bathroom. They played outside and watched Power Rangers, and I painted and gussied things up. By the time Matt got home, we had a whole new bathroom. Go, me!

Tiny but improved bathroom

Thursday was by far my most impressive day. I was helping a friend with an ill father by watching her kids that day, so I had a total of five kids- four boys, one girl. In a move that would make home-schooling sister-wives proud, I teamed up with a friend that was watching a little boy in addition to her daughter, and we took all 7 kids to pick strawberries on a farm, then to lunch at McDonalds. AND EVERYONE SURVIVED!!!! (Disclaimer: My mom and one of her best friends came along for the strawberry picking. I'm not sure we would have had complete success without them.) The sister-wives might not have so proud to hear we spent the better part of the afternoon drinking wine while the kids played, but only I after I made a casserole and pie for my friend with the ailing dad. Good deed cancels out questionable behavior, right?

Seven crazy kids

Sweet Mason

Annalise and Jack

My sister-wife, Miriam, with Lainey and the other Jack

The kids were exhausted by Friday. Mason went to a friend's house to play, but the twins and I stayed home and did as little as possible. Well, I tried to get my house back into reasonable shape after its week of neglect while the twins vegged out on Power Rangers. But I knew that I was in the home stretch. That gave me enough strength to give Matt a pass on bathtime/bedtime for the twins so he and Mason could go hit balls at the driving range. Yes, it's true, I'm the nicest mommy ever. (riiiiight)

We made it through the weekend, and we were even fairly productive. A hall bath make-over is in the works, and we've waged war on the public urinal smell that plagues us thanks to the boys' less than accurate aim (but that's a whole different post). And now Mason is back at school, we're back on schedule, and spring break can officially be called a success. The secret seems to be a near-constant stream of fun outings and adventures, so I'm going to need a sizable entertainment budget for summer. Would anyone care to sponsor that? Anyone??

Probably Not Our Best Week

In the past week, Hays gave himself a concussion bad enough to need a CT scan, Will rode a bike down a set of brick steps, the twins were determined to be almost, but not quite, special ed, and Mason proved to be too lazy for the gifted program. Not exactly a banner week.

Let's start with the injuries. Those are common around here, but this was the first time one has sent us to the ER. Not that we're not familiar with the ER. Will's respiratory issues guarantee that we'll visit at least once a winter, and there was that time that we thought Hays might have swallowed a battery (http://theamazingtwinadventure.blogspot.com/2010/12/after-midnight.html). But this was the first time one of them had gotten hurt badly enough to require a hospital trip.

It happened in typical backyard fashion. He and Will were outside swinging with my sister, Paige, while Mason and I were inside baking a cake for his class. All of a sudden, Paige comes in carrying a crying Hays and looking terrified. She explained that he had let go of the chains while he was swinging, and we all know that gravity is an unforgiving force, and he wound up bearing the full brunt of that force on the back of his little head. He was already sporting a sizable goose egg, but it was his odd-sounding cry that was worrying me. When he started losing consciousness and throwing up, off we went to St. Mary's.

That was the most harrowing drive of my life. Traffic was bad, and I kept talking to him to try to keep him awake, shaking his foot every time he didn't respond. Once we finally got to the ER, we had to wait through a line of people (that didn't even look sick, much less like they were in the midst of an emergency) just to check it. They finally took him back after 30 minutes or so, and he was already starting to perk up. He sat through a CT like a champ, and once they determined he had neither a skull fracture or a brain bleed, they finally released him. 4 1/2 hours after arriving, we were on our way home, and you would never know he'd been hurt.

I thought we might be on our way back yesterday with Will. We were at a friend's house, and he was riding her son's bike on their very wide front porch. Even though we were sitting 15 feet away, we weren't close enough to stop him when he decided to coast down the front steps. Luckily, there are only a couple of steps, and he hurt his pride more than anything else. He's got a couple of scrapes, but nothing bad enough to keep him from climbing back on the bike two minutes later (Though we did block the stairs. I'm not convinced he wouldn't have given it another shot.)

The bike incident occurred just hours after my meeting with the school psychologist and speech therapist. Testing had shown that while the boys both have some mild to moderate developmental delays, especially in the area of fine motor skills, they weren't quite severe enough to qualify for services. They did stress that they had just missed the cutoff. Ummm, yay? But they did qualify for speech services, which was our main concern, so they'll be getting 30 minutes of speech therapy twice a week next year at preschool. And they'll monitor their progress in other areas, and if they're not coming along like they need to, they'll reassess later in the year.

Then I had my second school-system meeting this morning to see if Mason qualified for gifted. Nothing like the irony of testing on both ends of the spectrum, right? In a decision that really came as no surprise, he did not qualify based on low motivation. He's plenty smart, and the test scores for skill and intelligence were high, but motivation was abysmal. That's my Mason- smart as a whip, but always looking to do as little as possible to get by. On one hand, we're bummed because we think he would have enjoyed the PACE program. They do some really interesting things, and Mason always does better when he's interested and engaged. On the other hand, we're not wailing and gnashing our teeth because he didn't get in. We know this doesn't indicate that he's not smart or capable. He's both, and we know he has what he needs in those areas to be successful. Our concern is finding a way to make him WANT to work to the level of his ability, rather than just sliding by. The same thing we've been struggling with since kindergarten. The same thing my parents struggled with every day of my educational life. Oh, Karma......

But next week is spring break, and I'm hoping that it will be uneventful and relaxing. Yeah, right, relaxing. Like that's gonna happen. Maybe if I send the kids somewhere and just stay home by myself! But since that's not likely, I'm just aiming for a week with no trips to the ER.