Hump Day? I Think You Mean Bump Day!

I hate Wednesdays with a passion.  I was talking to a friend yesterday morning and I mentioned how much I hate Wednesdays and she said incredulously, "More than Mondays??"

Yes.  I am so burnt out by Wednesday morning that I have a hard time getting myself out of bed and making sure The Curly Girlies are up.  I don't want to get breakfast and I don't want to pack lunches.  Because of this I move so much more slowly than any other day.

We are always late out the door on Wednesday mornings.  I like to leave our house between 7:35 and 7:45, definitely no later than the latter, but on Wednesdays we tend not to walk out the door until at least 7:50.  I always know this will be the case, but every time I get stressed.

This week is the Book Fair!  I adore the Book Fair.  It is my most favorite event our school has.  I volunteer every day because it makes me happy.  Yesterday, I was planning on being in early to help with Make Ups (we open early to allow the children who've gone with their classes but didn't have money then to come buy what they want).  We pulled up to the school at 7:55, just as the warning bell rang.  I parked on the swale, opened my door and said, "Let's go, go go!  Come on!  Move it!"  The girls jumped out of the car with backpacks and B and M both cried out at the same time, "My lunchbox!  Oh no!"

"Oh well," I said to them, not so sympathetically.  "I don't have time to run home to get it right now."

"What am I supposed to do for lunch?," whined B.  "You said you didn't want us to buy!"

"I will go home in a little bit and bring back your lunchbox before you go to lunch, OK?  It's not really my responsibility."

We started to walk to the driveway to cross and I said, "Oh no!  My badge!" (and you wonder where my darlings get it from! Ha!).  I ran back to my car and grabbed my volunteer badge.

"Come on!," I said, maybe a little too excitedly.  "We have to go!"

I grabbed L's hand and ushered the girls across the driveway.

"You know you can't park there, don't you?," someone from across the street said.

I had no idea who they were talking to, so I continued walking.

"Excuse me!  Ma'am!  You know you can't park there, right?"

I looked across and saw the police officer who stands in that spot every morning pointing to my car.

"Uh?  No.  I didn't," I said, followed by a thought bubble above my head that read, "Obviously.  If I knew that I wouldn't have parked there."

"There's a sign right there that says 'No Standing'," she informed me in a rude tone.

"Oh, I'm sorry!," I apologized.  "I didn't see the sign!"

"Well, you can't park there.  That's why there's a sign," she so kindly pointed out.

I turned to the girls, who were all standing there like deer in the headlights and said, "Go!  Go to class.  I have to move my car.  Be spectacular! (I tell them that every morning)"

I turned and walked back to my car (my hands were full, by the way, with cookies, my badge, my bag and my keys) and the thought bubble above my head read, "Really, lady?  You couldn't have told me that the first time you saw me getting out of car?  What about the time you saw me running back to it?  Or before I crossed the driveway?"

I managed to find another space (even better than before!) and ran in to the office, juggling everything.  I made it to the media center a few minutes after 8 and managed to pull myself together.  After all that. no one even came until 8:45.

I wasn't disappointed though.  My terrible Wednesday dissipated as soon as I saw my friends.  See, one of the reasons I love the book fair so much (aside from all of the wonderful books) is I get to be with my wonderful friends.  We all lead such busy lives what with kids, husbands and PTO that we hardly get to spend nonPTO time together.  It was such a breather to be able to sit and just chat about everything for 45 minutes.

Bump Day ended pretty much as it started, as a whirlwind of running.  I know Wednesdays will always be my stinky days (for now) so I'm going to come up with a way to make them more palatable for myself.  I haven't figured out what that will be yet, but I'm sure it'll be something good.  Then perhaps Bump Day can go back to being Hump Day.

On a side note:  I managed to get B's and M's lunches to them with just seconds to spare before B's lunch.  Just a typical Wednesday, right?

Little Frustrations. . .

Today started out great and nearly ended on a very sour note. Thankfully, I managed to pull out my silliness and turned things around.

There was no school today, which made for a very lax day. Things were going swimmingly until about 4. That is definitely my witching hour. If I'm going to lose my patience, it'll happen between the hour of 4-5 and then, after 5, I'm back to my sweet self.

I was in the process of making cookies (low fat chocolate chip cookies, which I've decided might be good for a low fat cookie, but my feeling is: if you're going to make cookies, full fat is the way to go, taste wise), and each of The Curly Girlies needed something, at the same time.

"Can I have a junk snack?," B pleaded. "See, I ate this teensy bit of pomegranate."

"I'm thirsty!," whined L, apparently incapable of getting a cup and water from the fridge.

"Aw. . . B went to Build-A-Bear too?," M whined, disappointedly.

{Side Note: M spent the day with my Mom, Bubbie, today just like B did last week. Bubbie took her to Build-A-Bear and I took B there because today was "B Appreciation Day". M had hers last week and I offered Build-A-Bear to her as well, but she declined.}

I replied to each of them and was met with whines.

"Why?? I ate something healthy!!!," whined B.

"I can't do it," chimed in L.

"It's not fair! Now she has two!!," added in M.

I took lots of deep breaths and reminded myself that it's nearly been 1 full year. I am NOT blowing this now.

After my cookies were in the oven, I reminded B that she's on kitchen this week, thus she needed to unload the dishwasher. Can you guess her reaction?  Yup, more whines.

When it was time to leave for karate, M remembered she'd forgotten her book in her room. 

"Tough," I said, as she marched out the door.

I was standing near the door, alarm beeping it's countdown until the dreaded blare of the sirens, and rifling around in my bag (AKA: The Blackhole) for my house keys. I couldn't find them! 

"We can't leave until I find my keys!," I called to the girls.

"Great!," cried M, running back for her book.

Just as she stepped through the front door, I found them.

"M, we have to go!," I said, rather excitedly.

She yelled at me! I'm not sure what she said, but it was definitely yelling. 

I very nearly yelled back. Just as I started to open my mouth, I thought, "So this is how it ends?"

I took a great big deep breath and said evenly, "Don't you ever speak to me like that again."

We walked out to the car (The Doctor's new-fangled contraption that unlocks when you touch the handle). It took a few good minutes to get into the car, because I couldn't get the doors to unlock.

After digging around for the car keys,unlocking the car the old fashioned way and getting L buckled in, we were on our way- 10 minutes late.

We pulled in to the parking lot, I threw L's gi and belt on her and told M to walk her in.

I pushed the button to lock the doors and B said, from her side of the car, "I wonder why the doors won't lock?"

I tried unlocking them again and I said, "I wonder why I can't get them to unlock?"

While I was struggling, B came over to me.

"Uh, Mommy? You keep locking them."

"What? No, I'm not. I'm pushing the button."

She grabbed the handle and I heard a click.

I looked at her and said, "You mean, I've been doing it wrong all day?"

"Yes!," she laughed gleefully. 

So, all of this to get to the point. 

On the way to karate, the girls were chatting and I though, "Wow. No matter how frustrated I get with them, I do love them tremendously. At the end of the day, I'd have the same stressful day again, just because it means I have them."

That being said, each of them came up to me wanting to converse, or asking for something while I was writing this, and at a few times, I felt my blood pressure rise, but then I remembered: The blog will always be here (I may not always write, but it'll still be here), but my Curly Girlies may not always want to sit and chat about the book they're reading or the sticker they received for doing a great job in class.  At the end of the day, that's not so frustrating after all. 

The Rudeness of Others

If you have more than one child you've heard the comments from perfect strangers in stores:

"Are they all yours?"

"Are you going to try for the {opposite sex}?"

"Oh, you poor thing!"

"My, you certainly have your hands full!"

Not one of these could even be construed as constructive.  None of these convey the message of, "Wow Mama!  You are doing a great job!"  In fact, if anything, these just dig at an already insecure mother (because let's face it, every Mom has her own insecurities).

After reading a post on Facebook about hideous things Moms of more than 1 child hear, I remembered some doozies I've heard.

One time last year I was in the grocery store with B, M, L and my friend's twin daughters, Darlin' and Lovey.  5 girls who were hyper and excited to be with each other and not very calm or quiet.  As I was picking out my plums, an older lady came up to me and asked incredulously, "Are they all yours?"

"Oh, no," I replied, with a smile.  "Only 3 are mine."

"Oh, thank G-D," Ms. Busybody replied, with a sigh of relief.  She quickly retreated before I could point out that I'd rather have 5 daughters than mush for brains.

Darlin' was standing with me her mouth dropped open. "Wow!," she exclaimed.  "That was beyond rude!"

"Yes, it was," I acknowledged. "But sadly, I'm used to it by now."

Since then, when I'm out with all 5 girls, I don't correct people when they assume they are mine.  I have decided that when Darlin' and Lovey are in my care, they are just as much mine as B. M and L are.  Plus, there is something fun about seeing the glint of awe (or is it horror?) when people see me wrangling all 5 of them.

What gives someone the right to comment on someone else's life choices?  Why is it that when people see a woman in a store with a gaggle of children, or even just 2 children close in age, they feel like they have an automatic right to comment?

The worst is when the question, "All girls??  So, are you going to try for the boy?" is asked in front of my girls.  It poses the thought that perhaps my daughters are not enough.  Let me tell you, they are plenty!  I'll never forget when another mother came up to me (in the same grocery store, no less) and said, "All girls??  I feel so bad for you.  I have one daughter and I'd kill myself if I had more like her."  Her daughter piped up with, "Gee, thanks Mom" and walked away.

Is there an unwritten rule that people can say whatever pops into their head when they see something they can't understand or don't agree with?

I'm kind enough not to comment on your hair rollers or outfit of choice.  I don't just go up to someone who is scantily clad and say, "Dear, you look chilly.  Why don't you throw on a jacket to cover up a bit?"

How much nicer would it be if instead of spouting of critiques over another mother's lifestyle choices, the would be critics said, "Mama, you are doing a fine job!" or "3 girls!  How blessed you are!"  I promised myself a while ago that when I'm the woman shuffling about the store with my hair in rollers and wearing a housedress, I'll smile at the Mom with 5 girls and say, "Oh, honey. . . Watching you brings back such memories.  You are so incredibly blessed and your daughters are lucky to have you."

Put on a Happy Face

I am fortunate it enough to have been blessed with the ability to stay home with our children.  When I was pregnant with B, The Doctor and I discussed child care and we both agreed that as long as we could afford it, I'd be a stay at home mom.

Staying home with them has been a blessing and it's not something I take for granted.  We make our sacrifices in different ways, mainly financial, but those are sacrifices we are fine with making.

All of this was brought on by an article I read today entitled "Dear Stay-At-Home-Moms, Please Shut Up" (http://www.lifetimemoms.com/parenting/stay-home-moms-shut-up).  My first thought was, "Great.  Another Mommy Wars article" and then I saw the article was written by a SAHM (stay at home mom).

After reading this article, I must say, I am very torn.  To sum it up, it's a SAHM who doesn't like it when other SAHM's complain about staying home with their kids. Anyone who knows me knows how much I love staying home with The Curly Girlies.  I love witnessing their antics, eavesdropping on their conversations and taking care of them.  However, I'd be lying if I said it was all roses all the time.  Let me tell you, it's not.  There are days I want to run away.  There are days I am so stressed I could pull out my hair.  Enough about me, though. . . Back to the article.

The author writes:
"To the SAHMs who can’t be thankful and instead view life at home with their children as one putrid event after another, I say this: If you despise constantly being in the company of humans who drool, if you are completely unsatisfied and miserable and longing for a way out, then, pretty please with a cherry on top, get a job, volunteer, find a hobby, go out with the girls. Do SOMETHING." 

This is the part I have a problem with.  Every SAHM I know loves staying at home and feels very blessed to be able to so.  Like any job, though, burn out does occur and it can be very difficult to have the same day, every day, without any change.  There are only so many times you can clean the kitchen, tell your kids to put away their shoes and trip over a toy before you need to vent about how frustrating this job can be.

Take this morning.  As she was putting on her shoes, M was coughing her head off and said, "Mommy, I think I'm wheezing again."  She has been coughing all weekend, and we've been making sure she's gotten her puffs from her inhaler.

"Go tell Daddy," I said to her, hoping this was nothing more than a ploy to stay home from school.  No such luck, though.

After The Doctor listened to her breathe, he said, "You need to take her to the doctor, today."

I fully admit, my first thought was not, "Yay!  I get a day to spend with my daughter!"

We happen to be friends with The Curly Girlies pediatrician and The Doctor texted her while I went around my morning routine.  I walked into M and L's bathroom to get a hair band and barrette for L and before I did, I laid my head on the door jam and cried.

At that moment, I did not want to think about having to take my daughter to the germy doctors office.  I wasn't thinking it might be fun to have a day home with her.  All I could think about was how I might end up missing Kickboxing and how my entire daily schedule would be thrown off, because this would not be an in and out visit.  It never is.  Not my greatest moment as a mother, but I didn't cry in front of M and I pulled myself together before I walked back into the kitchen.

One of the things I've learned through The Orange Rhino Challenge (http://theorangerhino.com), is things are likely not as bad as they could be.  "At least it's not the throw up bug," I said to The Doctor as I was getting ready to take the girls to school.  After that, I felt instantly better.

My beef with this article is this: Why are SAHM's not allowed to complain when things are tough?  Does venting to our friends mean we don't like what we do?  I know plenty of people who work in offices and out of the house and they love what they do, but still have moments where they need to vent.  Just because you are having an off day (or week) doesn't mean you don't feel blessed to have what you have.

For the record, once my Pity Party for One was over, I found out the pediatrician didn't want to see M and I still made Kickboxing.  My daily scheduled cleaning didn't get thrown off course and as a bonus, M got to see that I'm not kidding when I point out to the girls how hard I work around the house.  See? Always a silver lining and at least M can go to school tomorrow!

It Has Been Too Long

I apologize for the lateness of this post, but to be fair, I did state that I wasn't very good at keeping up with blogging.  Believe me, I've thought about blogging many times over the last 3 weeks, but something has always stopped me before I could get started.  Actually, it's been 3 little things that have taken over my house and are attempting to take over my life.  Hmm. . . That's not true.  If they wanted to take over my life, they'd take over the laundry, cooking, cleaning and shopping duties, but whenever I offer those up, they go darting off in different directions saying, "No way!"

We have a rotating chore schedule which the girls rotate through weekly.  Every week one of them is on laundry, one on kitchen and one on bathroom.  This week is M's turn for kitchen duty.

"M, when you are finished eating breakfast, please empty the dishwasher and load it up with the dirty dishes," I said to her this morning, while getting ready to make eggs for everyone.

"Aww," she groaned.

"Why does everyone do that when I ask them to empty the dishwasher?," I mused.

"Because," M explained. "None of us like being on kitchen."

"I am well aware of that, M, but think of it like this," I said to her. "All 3 of you take so long getting ready during the week, that ultimately I end up doing kitchen duty after you go to school.  The only time you really have to do it is today."

"Oh!," she exclaimed, with her eyes lighting up. "That's great!  Thanks, Mommy!"

"So, do you think you'll be able empty the dishwasher and load it up again after breakfast?," I asked her while scrambling the eggs.

"I'm getting started on it now!," she exclaimed happily, opening up the dishwasher.

And so she did.  That dishwasher was emptied in a jiffy.  Sadly, breakfast dishes sat out for about 2 hours before she finally got along to loading them, and in reality, her version of loading of them was to stick everything into the sink.

I came into the kitchen in the early afternoon to get my shopping list together and saw the sink was overflowing with dirty dishes, a huge pet peeve of mine.

"M!," I called out, taking deep breaths (I've been not yelling for nearly 11 months now and I'm breaking that over this).

"What??," she shouted from her room.

Sometimes I truly feel like we are the Wolowitz family (The Big Bang Theory) with all the shouting across the house we do.

"Come here!," I called.

"I'm cleaning my room!," she shouted (read: playing with all the toys she took out this morning).

I marched over to her room and said, "Great.  When you're finished with that, please load up the dishwasher."

She gasped and said, "I can't believe I forgot to do that!"

Uh huh.

"Cleaning the kitchen is such hard work," she whined, putting a shoe on her Barbie doll.

"Yep.  Believe me, I know.  I clean the kitchen 3 times a day," I told her, with no sympathy.

"3 times?," she exclaimed.

"3 times," I agreed.  "I love a clean kitchen and I'd love it even more if you would please load up the dirty dishes."

"I will, Mommy," she said examining the now dressed Barbie doll.

I left for my journey to the grocery store, and what a journey that was.  The place was a zoo, my patience was tried several times over and I didn't even have a Starbucks to keep me company since our grocery store doesn't have one (though they should).

I got home nearly 2 hours later and started unloading the car.  Now, normally I put The Curly Girly Trio to work unloading, but B and M had been begging to watch last week's Once Upon a Time before I left.  I had called from the store to tell them if they were both showered, they could watch.  L was sleeping and that girl is a bear when woken up, so she was exempt from helping.  The Doctor was doing some work and the last thing I wanted was to pull him away (have I ever mentioned asking for help is not my strong suit?).  I started to drag in my bags and saw the sink still overflowing.  I ate a Ho Ho to keep from yelling.

After I put everything away, we left for dinner and as we were coming home, I gave out directions to the girls.

"When we get home, girls, B has to shower {because she negotiated her way out of showering before.  This kid is going to end up an attorney, I tell ya!} and M and L have to get ready for bed.  Oh, and M, you need to load the dishwasher with the dirties from the sink."

"Ahh!," she cried out.  "Why do I keep forgetting to do that??"

"Well, you are the one who pointed out no one likes kitchen," I said wryly.

I guess the third time really is the charm, though, because after she was in her pajamas she went into the kitchen and loaded up the dishwasher.

"All done, Mommy!," she said gleefully, after the 5 minutes it took her to load up the dishwasher.  "May I watch some TV now?"

"Sure, " I replied.

It took all day, but at least it's done. . . until tomorrow.

Manic Mondays? How's About Stressed Out Sundays?

The Doctor has a shirt that L loves quoting.  The shirt has 3 half filled glasses on it.  The first glass is smiling and says, "I'm half full!".  The second glass is frowning and says, "I'm half empty!" and the third glass looks disgusted and says, "I think I'm full of pee."

I try so hard to be the half full glass.  I don't like being grumpy and I always try to have an optimistic view on life.  It takes a lot of strength to be sad, bitter, angry and I'm quite a lazy person.  I'd rather save my energy and be happy.  Sometimes, though, being happy isn't an easy choice.

Every once in a while, I wake up with a gray rain cloud over my head.  My sweet, sunny disposition is replaced by the grumps and it is a shock for all of us.  No matter how hard I try, I only see the half empty view.

Days like this, I need to try even harder to choose happy.  Days like this, not yelling is very hard and while I've gotten pretty good about not yelling, my poor pen got the brunt of my frustration this morning when B's tweeny ways got the better of me.  "But, you didn't yell," The Doctor pointed out facetiously.  Perhaps my next challenge will be being nicer to writing utensils.

When the girls are grumps in the morning, I always hit their do-over button.  I push their belly button and make a few "beep, boop, beep" noises.  It always gets a smile and their attitudes suddenly change.  I need a do over button (that doesn't involve my body).  

Sundays are the worst.  I love weekends, don't get me wrong, but by Sunday I'm overwhelmed with what has to take place to get us ready for the week.  Usually, Saturday was a Sloth day where we lounge around doing nothing, so Sunday is spent putting the house in order, making my grocery list and updating my weekly lunch and dinner menus.  The girls still lay around complaining when I put them to work and I end up feeling frustrated beyond belief.

I often feel like I need to do something to shake the grumpies.  The first thought that comes to mind is running.  In my head, I envision myself lacing up a pair of sneakers and going out for a run around the block.  Then, I come to my senses and remember why I don't run.  I don't even like thinking about running!

By Sunday night, when the girls are in bed with clothes laid out, lunches are made and I'm sitting down with The Doctor to veg out, all is right again in my little world, the gray cloud having dissipated into a sun again somewhere in the late afternoon and I feel more like myself.  If only I could feel like that throughout the day. . . Sundays would be great.

Flu Shot Fun

I took the Curly Girlies to get flu shots yesterday.  We don't do the mist and for us, that's not even an option.  Last year, I made the mistake of telling the girls what we were doing and when we got to the clinic in Target (of course!), L took one look around and went running out, managing to get half way down the store before I caught up to her.  This year, I decided to be more sneaky.

"We have to run to Target," I told the girls after they had finished their homework yesterday.

"Why?," M asked.

"I forgot to get something this morning," I said, not really fibbing, since I really did forget 2 things.

"Can we get a cookie?," she asked eagerly.

"We'll see," I said.  "Maybe when we're finished."

We walked into the store and directly to the clinic.  L was none the wiser and just followed along.

"Why are we here?," asked M.

"Oh, just because," I replied.

"I know why we're here!," exclaimed B, rather happily.

"Do not say a word," I said, nodding my head towards L.

"Wait," M said, hesitantly.  "Are we here for a-"

"Do not say it!," I said through clenched teeth.

"I'll spell it.  Are we here for a s-h-o-t?"

"Yes," I answered, giving my insurance card to the girl behind the desk.

"A shot?!?," L asked fearfully.  "We're here for a shot???"

The good news is, L knows how to spell "shot"!

"I don't like shots!," she sobbed, crying big, fat crocodile tears.  "I'm afraid of them!"

"You aren't getting a shot right now," a nurse practitioner said, trying to calm her.

"I'm not?," L asked, instantly perking up.  "Only B and M are getting it?"

"Nope, you are too!," I answered cheerfully, popping her bubble.

That set off a fresh set of tears.  While we were waiting, L calmed down a bit and I explained how we were going to do this to the girls.

"I go first, then L, M and lastly B."

"I want to go last!!!," L cried.

"What??   You hate being last," I reminded her.

"No, I don't!," she argued.  "I don't want to be first."

"Can I be first?," B begged eagerly.

"Yeah!," L exclaimed, brightening up. "Let B go first!"

"But, L," I replied.  "You always say how much you hate being last."

"I do hate being last," she finally agreed, with her head cocked to one side.  "But I think it would be nicest to let B go first."

At that, we were called into the room.  I popped up on to the examine table and said, "See, this is going to be just fine."

The nurse gave me my shot, and it didn't hurt a bit!

"Wow!," I smiled.  "That didn't hurt at all!  OK, L, you're next."

"No! No!! No!!!," she cried.

The nurse suggested B go next, to show her sisters how to be brave.  Now, B is the oddity who loves shots and finger sticks for blood samples, so she's really not your average child.  She took the shot like a champ and agreed that it didn't hurt at all.

"OK, M.  Your turn, let's show L how to do this," I said, turning to M.

"Aaaguh!!!," M screamed, backing away.  "NO!!  I don't want too!"

For a minute, I forgot who I was dealing with and thought it was L.

"Come on, M," I said.  "How old are you?"

"8, but I hate shots," she sobbed, sitting in the chair and not on the table.

"You know, the nurse can give you the shot anywhere,  You don't need to be sitting on the table," I told her, quite annoyed.

She put out her arms and said in a robotic voice, "I am not M.  I am the chair.  Chairs don't get shots."

"Alright.  Enough of this," I grunted, heaving her up.  Finally, after much cajoling and tears, we finally got M onto the table and she took her shot like a champ, well a scared champ.  Perhaps the vowel is wrong and the word should be chimp.  Yeah, she took her shot like a scared chimp.

"Wow!," she exclaimed to L.  "That didn't hurt at all!"

"Great," I said dryly.  "All L is going to remember is how you screamed and carried on like a 4 year old."

"I did not!," she retorted.  Right. . . OK.

"Come on, L," I said cheerily.  "Let's get this over with."

L started screaming the way I scream on roller coasters.

"Aaugh!  Aaugh!!!  Aaugh!!!!  I hate shots!!  Aaugh!  Aaugh!!  Aaugh!!!  I'm afraid of shots!!  Aaugh!   Aaugh!!  Aaugh!!!!," she was sobbing and screaming at the same time, while running for the door and trying to open it.

"Nope," I said, lifting her up.

"I don't want to get a shot," she hiccuped.

"Look," the nurse said, showing L her open hands.  "I'm not holding anything.  Let's just talk."

"I'm not getting a shot?," L asked cautiously.

"Oh, you are," I said.  "The sooner we do this, the sooner we can leave."

"Aaugh!!!," the tears and the screams started up again.

I sat down on the table and lifted her on to my lap.  She was so wriggly and as hard as I tried to keep her hands away, she kept getting her right hand up to push away the needle.  Finally, the nurse called in one of the other nurses, and it took the 2 of us to hold this 35 pound child down.

You never realize how strong a 5 year old is until you go to give them a shot.

"L," I bribed.  "If you get your shot, I'll buy you a present."  I am not above bribery, though I admit, it's not my finest parenting moment.

"Aaugh!!!," she screamed.  While she was screaming, the nurse poked her with the syringe.

"It's over!," the nurse exclaimed.

"It is?," asked L, with tears streaming down her face.  "That wasn't so bad!"

"Really?," I asked.

"Really!," she agreed.  "It only hurt a pinch and I was very brave!  Can we go get my toy now?"

I suppose since she actually stayed in the clinic, this is a step up from last year.  We walked out of the room to stares from the full waiting room. "Well, that wasn't so bad, was it?," I asked the Curly Girlies as we marched into the store.

"It wasn't bad at all," crowed L.  "Next year I won't scream at all."

I only wish I'd recorded that so I can play it next year when the screaming resumes.

Home Sweet Home

After our adventure filled weekend, we took the girls back in time with a car ride straight from 1985. Sadly, they have never known a car trip without movies. Even though they bring books and toys in the car, the items are soon forgotten as soon as the DVD screen comes down. Insert glazed over eyes and vacant stares. It's a small price to pay for the peace and quiet we get while trapped in the car with these little people for hours on end.

"How are we going to get home?," M asked The Doctor this morning.

"We're going yo take the rental car," he replied, packing up some things.

"But there are no movies!," she protested.

"You're right!," The Doctor said, looking up. "It'll be like going back to 1985. The best road trip era ever."

I remember my family's car trips from 1985. The 3 of us were crammed in the back of my Mom's Buick and my parents were up front with their carafe of coffee (to this day, the smell of old coffee makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside) and cassette tapes of Billy Joel and George Michael. My Mom had her big bag of toys that rode up front. When we wanted something, she'd hand it to us with the warning, "Don't lose any pieces!" and "I need it back before I give you anything else!"

My brother, sister and I did plenty if whining. We tried dividing the backseat equally, but ultimately, one of us sat in someone else's zone and the tattling and bickering would begin.

While we had a bit of a throwback trip our car was modern and for that I am grateful. Gone were the whines of, " She's breathing on me!!" and "she's on my side!" They found other ways to cause mischievous. L had to go to the bathroom every 45 minutes or so and H figured her stuffed animal made a great ball and threw it too L.

The Curly Girlies survived their first no frills car trip. I'm not so sure The Doctor and I can say the same.

My Guardian Angel

I am very blessed to have 2 sisters; one whom I talk to and see quite a bit and one who lives in my heart. My oldest little sister tragically died in a car accident 22 years ago. She would have been 33 today.

We talk about Aunt Ashley all the time and when I told the girls what today was, all three of them looked up at the sky and chorused, "Happy Birthday, Aunt Ashley!!!"  In the beginning of life without Ashley, I used to feel she was with me all the time. In later years, though, that feeling has slowly dissipated. I still think about her, but she seems farther away than ever.  Last night, though, it felt like she was watching us.

I am an iffy spiritual person. Sometimes I really feel like G-D is with me and other times I'm not so sure. I remember after Ashley died, someone said to me, in an attempt to be comforting, "You have a guardian angel now."

"I don't want a guardian angel!," I sobbed. "I want my sister!!!"

I never really thought of Ashley as a "guardian angel" before last night. In fact, I didn't really think of it until a couple of people mentioned she was totally watching over us. I have played and replayed this accident over and over in my head. I don't know how I knew to over steer the wheel to keep from hitting the guard rail head on. I don't know how I knew to shift into park when my car wouldn't stop, ben with my foot on the break. I managed to not hit any other cars. All of this occurred at the exact same time The Doctor's flight landed. Coincidence? Probably, but maybe not.

We celebrated Ashley's birthday with ice cream sandwiches for lunch. I think she would have approved.

It's Always an Adventure on the Road

The Curly Girlies and I were driving up to meet The Doctor at his meeting 4 hours away from home. The Doctor has been on a business trip since Wednesday, and all of us were excited to meet him at the hotel.

We got on the road about an after school let out. The trip started off uneventful enough. The girls tuned in to their movie, I jammed to some tunes and talked to my Sister From Another Mister. After we hung up, I got into a great groove and started to enjoy myself.

Doing this drive by myself is a huge deal. I hate driving. I try to avoid it at all costs. I've driven long trips by myself before and my transmission died on the turnpike about halfway to our destination. I was hoping this trip would be less adventurous.

There is about a 2 hour stretch of turnpike where there are no rest areas whatsoever. Before we left the house I told the girls to go to the bathroom.

As we were walking out, I asked, "Did everyone use the bathroom?"

"Yes!," the girls chorused in unison.

We stopped off at MickeyD's for a snack of fries and juice boxes and hit the road.

About halfway across the long, no pit stop stretch of highway, one of the girls cried out urgently, "I have to use the bathroom!"

"My darlin', I'm sorry. We have about an hour to go before we come to a place to stop."

"Unnh!," she replied.

About 10 minutes later, she cried, "How much longer, Mommy? I really have to go!"

"A little less than an hour," I replied. "Didn't you go before we left the house?"

"I tried," she retorted.

"'Tried?' When I asked if everyone went, you replied 'yes'. If all you did was try, you should have told me. I would have had you go before we got on the highway."

"Unnh! I have to poop now too and I can't hold it," she said tearfully.

"Ok," I said, easing my car onto the shoulder and putting on my four ways. "Get out the passenger and do your business right next to the car."

"Here?," she asked incredulously.

"Do you have to go or don't you?," I asked impatiently.

"I do! I do!," she cried, scampering out of the car.

"I have to go too!," another sister called.

10 minutes later we were back on the road and my girls had a new experience to file away. The drive was going swimmingly and I was thrilled I was doing a great job.  All went great up until 30 minutes away from our destination.

I was traveling in the right lane and it had been raining nearly the entire time. There was a car on the right shoulder (potty break, perhaps?) and without looking, the driver swerved into my path. I immediately moved into the left lane, to avoid hitting this guy head on and felt us get hit from the back. My car went careening into the left grassy median, heading straight to the guardrail. I spun the wheel and ended up hitting the rail with the drivers side of the car. We kept careening down the median until I shifted into park and we coasted to a stop some 300 feet away from the point where we were hit.

I pulled out my phone to text The Doctor and as I was writing, I received a text from him saying he had landed. All 3 girls were hysterical, but completely uninjured. My car, however, wasn't so lucky.

Now, I know the most important thing is that we are all ok and we are. Totally and completely. I must admit, I'm devastated about my car. It was a brand spanking new Honda Pilot that I've only had for a week. I love this car so much that I actually felt like hugging it the other day (I settled for caressing the steering wheel and proclaiming my love for it). It wasn't totaled, but it'll likely be close to a month before I get it back. *sob*

I did my best to keep calm in front of the girls and The Doctor scrapped his plans of going to his meeting. He rented a car and drove out to meet us. It was only after we were all in the rental car that he pointed out that I never bothered telling him all, of us were fine until he asked a bunch of times. I told him we were in an accident, airbags deployed, EMS was coming and I was on with 911. How he  managed to stay calm enough to rent a car and find us is beyond me. Had it been me, I would have been freaking out. I guess that's why he's The Doctor!

At some point during this, B moaned, "I've always hoped I'd never be in a car accident, and now I have been!"

"Everyone gets into at least 1 car accident in their life, B. I hope this is the only one you're ever in," I told her.

After The Doctor arrived in the rental car, he settled the girls in  while I gathered my things and my emotions in my Pilot. After I got into the rental car I asked the girls, "Are you all OK?"

"Yes, Mommy," said B. "How are you, Mommy?"

My heart about melted and a fresh new wave of tears started.

I keep thinking how much worse this could have been. I wish it hadn't happened, but you know what? All of us, including the driver who hit me, walked away without any injuries. That is the best thing in an awful situation. I know I have a guardian angel, but that's a story for another time.

It's the Little Things

It's no secret, math and I do not get along, we never have.  M blows me away, because there are times I'll ask myself, out loud, what 2 numbers added or multiplied are and she blurts out the answer before I've even had a chance to write down the full problem.  I try not to help the kids with their math homework, because one time when M was in second grade, I helped her and she got all of the problems wrong.  She still hasn't let me live that down.

I was so thrilled today, though, when I was able to B and her friend with their math!  I sat down and looked at it and it instantly clicked.  That never happens!They are in fifth grade math hasn't been terribly easy. Right now, they are covering double digit division.  I learned how to divide when I was in elementary school, and like most people, I can do simple problems.  But I don't ever recall learning to divide using a 2 digit number.  

When I told B this yesterday, she was appalled.

"What?!?," she gasped.  "You never learned 2 digit division?"

"No, I didn't," I replied.

She walked away with her mouth agape and shaking her head.  

I was elated when I saw I was able to help B's friend with her math homework, even though it was double digit division.  For the most part, I think this whole "Common Core" curriculum, or whatever they're calling it now, is for the birds, save for one thing.  Had I learned the technique of rounding up or down to divide, I bet I wouldn't have turned my pencils into Mommy Pencils and Baby Pencils.  I would have been more focused on the lesson at hand and less on having the Mommy take the Baby to the park (see?  These are the things I remember).

I am always blown away by how much my daughters love school, especially since I so greatly did not. Looking at them now, I often wonder- Had I had their teachers or this curriculum, would I have enjoyed it more?  I don't know, but I can say with upmost certainty that had someone told me back then that as an adult I'd love school and would miss learning, I never would have believed it.  

Absent Minded- Oh Look! A Chicken- Professor

I know I have a tendency to be a little, um, forgetful.  One could say I have a touch of ADD (my Mom would say "A touch?  Try a truck load!").  I was diagnosed with ADD as a child, but learned lots of coping mechanisms that I use to this day.  My friends think some of my schedules are crazy, but it's the only way I can keep track of things (and sometimes, even with my schedules, things get off track).  I am much more organized now than I ever was as a youngster, which gives me hope for B, who is as disorganized as I was.  There are some days, though, where I'm more disorganized than not and today was one of them.

Every Wednesday night, my Dad comes for dinner while my Mom is at her weekly "Girls Night Out".  The Curly Girlies love having dinner with Pop and I know Pop loves it just as much (if not more).  Today, B had a doctor's appointment and it worked out perfectly that today's meal was Turkey Chili in the crockpot (it was outstanding!).  Before we had to leave for the appointment, I figured I'd roast some broccoli so that my Dad could let my Mom know I served a green veggie.

I put my broccoli in the oven and started to set the timer.

"Nah," I sad to myself.  "We have to leave in 20 minutes.  I'll just turn off the oven before we walk out the door."

20 minutes later, I started calling to the girls, "Come on!  Shoes on!  Grab your book!  We have to go!  Let's go, go, go, go!" and like good little duckies, they lined up and marched out to the car.

About 25 minutes later (nearly at the doctor's office), I turned onto a street and said, "Oh no!"

"What is it?," asked B, looking up from her book.

"I forgot to turn off the oven," I replied, trying to keep my anxiousness at bay.

"Should you turn around?," she questioned, sounding older than her years.

"Nope, if we do that, I'll have to cancel this appointment and it took me forever to book it."

Ever thankful for Bluetooth, I called my Mom.

"Hello?," she answered.

"Hi Mom.  Listen, I'm going to ask you to do a favor, but I don't want a lecture and I don't want you to freak out, OK?," I asked, keeping an even tone.

Asking my Mom to not freak out is like asking a Kardashian to not shop.  It's pretty near impossible.

"OK," my Mom replied.  I could hear the anxiety in her voice, but she did a good job at trying to sound calm.

"I need you to go to my house and turn off the oven," I said, praying I wouldn't get a lecture about how I have to pay more attention.

"OK.  I'm on my way," she replied, with a little more anxiety.

10 minutes later, as I was pulling into the parking lot, she called back to tell me she turned it off and all was fine.

"Oh," I sighed a breath of relief.  "She didn't lecture me!"

"Not yet, she didn't," stated B. "But she probably will tomorrow."

I said nothing, knowing B was most likely right.  After we came home, I took out the broccoli and was shocked to see it was somewhat salvageable.  It wasn't quite green, but it tasted pretty good!  I guess being forgetful has it's perks! (This is not, in whatever way, condoning leaving your oven on unattended. Don't do it!)!

Happy Birthday To Me!!!

I love my birthday.  I truly do.  I don't see it as another year of getting older (though I certainly felt like that when I awoke this morning), but instead it's a day that's all about me!  I don't call out attention to myself in the days leading up to my birthday and I don't usually announce it in restaurants.  To this day, I wake up feeling the same excitement that I felt when I was a kid.  I always feel young and wonderful and just. . . happy.  Nothing takes away that happiness on my birthday.  I wish I could say that every day of the year, but I guess that's what makes my birthday so special.

In years past, The Doctor has asked me what I've wanted and I've always answered, "I don't know."  This year, though, I knew exactly what I wanted.  My sister, Auntie, tuned me in to Alex and Ani bracelets when she told me what she wanted for her birthday a few months ago.  After I saw them, I knew that was exactly what I wanted.

I sent The Doctor an email with a link to their site and the subject "Hint, hint" and left it at that.  A few weeks ago, he said, "So, those bracelets that you want: do they have different charms that you put on them?"

"No," I answered markedly.  "I sent you a link to their website.  Did you not get it?"

"No, I got it," he replied.  "I just don't understand.  I'll have to look again."

"What's not to understand?," I thought to myself.  "The website is pretty self-explanatory."

What I said out loud, though was, "Would you like me to go pick them out?  They can still be from you."

"No, no!," he asserted.  "I'll pick them out.  Otherwise they won't be meaningful."

 Last week, he turned to me and asked, "When is your birthday again?"

"It's on Tuesday," I replied, a little surprised that he didn't know.  He's always been very good about remembering.

"Oh.  Well, I'm not sure your stuff will be in on time," he said.

"That's OK," I answered, not terribly upset.

On Saturday, I walked into the room where he was and he looked up.

"Your birthday is on Wednesday, right?," he questioned.

"Uh, no.  It's on Tuesday," I said, trying to hide my annoyance.

"Oh!," he cried, with a deer in the headlights look.  "Your things aren't going to be here for a few weeks."

"It's really Ok," I said calmly.  "I'm really OK with that."

Yesterday, he texted me on his way home from work that he was going to get a haircut.  He walked into the house 2 hours later holding a giant pink bag.

"I felt bad that you won't have anything to open, so I went shopping while I was waiting for my haircut."

"Oh," I crowed.  "That was so sweet of you!  You didn't have to do that!"

"Don't get too excited," he replied, cooly.  "It's only from Party City."

This morning, before everyone got ready for school and work, The 3 Curly Girlies piled into our bed and The Doctor handed me the bag.  I pulled off the first layer of tissue paper and saw a bag of buttercream mints (my favorite kind!)

"Oh!  I love these!," I exclaimed.

"I know," he said proudly.

I pulled off the second layer and unearthed a pair of knee high Halloween argyle socks.  They are orange with skulls and crossbones on them.

"These are nice," I said.

"I got them because they are orange and I know you like that color."

Under the next layer was a package of pink Mardi Gras style bead necklaces.  At this, all three curly girlies started clambering, "Can I have those?"

The next layer was a pink bandana, a gaudy birthday pin and a key chain with my favorite hockey team's logo.

"There's one more layer," The Doctor said.

I pulled off the last layer of tissue paper to find a pink bucket filled with Alex and Ani bracelets.

"Uh. . . Oh my. . . Oh my. . .," I stammered.  "Uh. . . Doctor!  I can't believe you got them!  You told me they weren't going to be in for a few more weeks."

"'Rule 1:  The Doctor lies'," he quoted.

I was truly gobsmacked.  He really got me.  Just yesterday, while out birthday shopping with my Mom, I said to her, "I really think The Doctor has forgotten my birthday.  He keeps asking me if it's Wednesday and then acts all surprised when I say it's not."  The sales associate overheard this and started laughing.  Really?

"No, you don't understand," I explained to her.  "My husband NEVER forgets my birthday."  (That just brought on more laughter.)

As it turns out, my Mom was part of this big secret since The Doctor had the bracelets shipped to her house.  How she kept her mouth shut while I was complaining about the fact that for the first time in 14 years my birthday had been forgotten is beyond me.

As soon as I was dressed, I attached the pin to my shirt.

"Are you going to wear that?," asked The Doctor.

"You betcha!," I replied.  I may not verbally announce to the world that today's my birthday, but nothing is wrong with a little hint.

"I knew you would, which is why I bought the gaudiest, loudest one I could find," he laughed.

It was big and loud and I turned red when perfect strangers wished me "Happy Birthday!".  I was also shocked at how many people asked, "Is today really your birthday?"  That was one question I wasn't expecting to hear today.  I guess it beats, "And how many birthdays have you celebrated thus far?"

My wonderful day also included lunch with one of my dearest friends, who gave me the most sentimental gift (she made me cry and that's not an easy feat!) and it ended at Benihana where we enjoyed a wonderful dinner and I realized that Sept. 16 isn't just CGM Day.  There were at least 4 other people celebrating their birthdays too.  

This was an awesome day.  I wish I could bottle the awesomeness of it so that on my next bad day, I could just open up the bottle a little bit and let some of it out.  As I say every year on the close of my birthday, "I hope I am still this excited next year and I really hope the excitement I feel on my birthday never goes away."

My Very Own Ramona Quimby

When I was little, I loved the Ramona books by Beverly Cleary.  These were books that stuck with me throughout all my years, well into adulthood.  When I had daughters, I hoped they would read and love the Ramona books too.  I gave the first one to B when she was 8.  Much to my dismay, she was not a fan.

I remember I had asked her one day how she was enjoying the book.

"It's not really my cup of tea," she had said.

"Really?," I asked, trying to hide my disappointment.

"I'll read it if you really want me too, but I'm just not that into it," she said, clearly surprised that I was upset.

"Nope.  I'm not going to force you to read something you truly don't like," I answered.  "I know how hard it is to read a book because someone is telling you too."

Bring on 8 year old M.  One day, last year, I had told her to go read and she complained that she had nothing to read.  Our house is filled with books!  Each of the girls have overflowing bookshelves in their rooms, plus 2 shelves of books on one of my bookshelves.  Not reading because of a lack of material just isn't possible here.

"Really?  Well, look at this," I had said, grabbing Ramona the Pest off her shelf.

"*Whine* I don't want to read that!," she whined.

"Why not?  It's a great book!  In fact, this was one of my favorite series when I was your age," I replied, handing her the book.  "You have to at least try it, before you decide you don't like it."

"Fine," she huffed, stomping off, book in hand.

A few days later, she came to me.

"Mommy!  Guess what?"

"What?," I played along.

"I love Ramona the Pest!  I'm almost done and I can't wait to read the next one!"

Hooray!!  Another Ramona fan in the making!

M ended up reading all 8 books in 3 or 4 months.  I loved watching her enjoy them and I especially enjoyed reliving Ramona's adventures through my daughter's eyes.

Even though M finished the series last year, she'll still randomly bring up Ramona moments every now and again.  Last night, as I was putting lunch together, M came into the kitchen and it seriously felt like she was channeling Ramona.

"Hey, M, please feed Psycho Kitty," I asked her.

"OK," she replied, skipping off to get some cat food.

"Mommy!  I just came up with a great commercial idea for this," she exclaimed, holding up the container of food.

"'Meow Mix'," she continued.  "'Cats love it so much, they can't stop meowing for it!'  Then Psycho Kitty will go, 'meow, meow, meow, meow' and I'll say, 'Mix!'!  Get it?  'Meow' Mix?"

I looked at her, with a smile on my face, and thought, "Just like Ramona!"  She saw me smiling and said, "Funny, right?" and then scampered off.

A few minutes later, I heard her talking and realized she was reading to me from a National Geographic Weird but True book.  After every little fact, she would either ask me if I knew that or make up some comment,  "'There are more plastic flamingos in the world than real ones.'  Oh!  That's good.  If I ever see a flamingo on someone's lawn, I'll know it's fake!"  Really?  The plastic of it wouldn't have been enough for you?

"'When ladybugs get scared, they spray a stinky smell from their knees.'  They LIED!"

"How do you know they lied, M?"

"Because, I once saw a scared ladybug and it didn't spray anything!"

"Well, maybe it wasn't scared."

"Oh, no.  It was.  I took a close look and it looked like this: [insert big eyes, mouth like an 'O' and hands waving]"

"Ahh, OK then," I said laughing.

This is a huge change for M.  She has always been very funny, but up until a few months ago, she would cry if people laughed at what she said.  She is the best kind of funny. . . the kind where you are funny without even trying.  The only issue with that is a lot of times, you say something in which you are serious, but because it comes out so funny, people laugh- even when you don't want them too.

As I was tucking her into bed, I said to her, "You really reminded me of Ramona tonight."

"Why?," she asked, grabbing her bear and snuggling under the covers.

"Oh, just some of the things you were saying.  You really made me laugh.  I'm so lucky to have my own real life Ramona!"

"Thanks, Mommy," she replied sleepily, with a smile, finally embracing one of her best qualities.

A Do Nothing Day

I have always loved the idea of a "do nothing day".  A day where I can laze around in my pajamas with nary a care in the world except for what book I'll read next and whether I can find my "Dirty Dancing" DVD.  I wake up nearly every Sunday morning with that hope in mind.  Alas, I am not destined for a "do nothing day" in the foreseeable future.

I just couldn't get myself going this morning.  I halfheartedly made my shopping list and listlessly thumbed through my coupons, even going on Cartwheel didn't excite me.

"Oh, how I wish I could have a 'do nothing day'," I said to The Doctor while walking into his office where he was working.

"OK, so have one," he replied.

"I'd love too, but I really have to go grocery shopping," I sighed.

"Can it wait until tomorrow?," he asked, looking up from his computer.  "Is there anything you need desperately now that can't wait?"

"I need lunch stuff to make the girls' lunches."

"Can they buy?," he implored.

"Well. . . Yes.  I guess they can!," I replied, excited that I was going to get a "do nothing day" after all.

I picked up my kindle and leaned back into my pillows.  Just as I was getting settled in with my book, lunch popped into my head.  Rather, the lack of lunch items for today popped in.

"You know," I said.  "If I go grocery shopping, I can pick up sandwiches for lunch."

"That's fine," The Doctor replied distractedly.

"Yup.  I think that's what I'm going to do," I said, feeling disappointed that once again I foiled my own "do nothing day" plans.

I got dressed, grabbed my list and M and headed out to the store.  I loathe shopping on Sundays.  I always forget how crowded the store is, but at least there were no crazy couponers this time!

"I'm happy I came with you, Mommy," M said happily, while pushing the cart.  "It's like our 'Middle Child Day celebration!"

"Uh. . . sure," I replied.

"Don't you remember?  In August?  You took me to Starbucks by myself and we celebrated being middle children?  This is like that!"

Well, I'm glad she remembers that, because I most certainly don't.  Mental note to self:  Spend more one on one time with M and make Middle Child Day an annual celebration.

After we got home, the lazies set in again.  It took all afternoon for me to put away the groceries, because all I wanted to do was get back into bed with my book.  I've heard of "Lazy Sundays" before, but this was really ridiculous.

"When you do take your "do nothing day" let me know and I'll take it with you," The Doctor said, cuddling up to me towards the end of the afternoon.

"I'll definitely let you know.  It likely won't be for another 13 years, though," I sighed.

The girls will all be in college and I'll get my "Do Nothing Day" wishing I had a things to do with 3 Curly Girlies.

Letting Go

I am not too much of a control freak. . . except when it comes to baking.  Whenever I start pulling out my ingredients, the Curly Girlies all eagerly ask, "Can I help?" and I inwardly sigh and think, "Ugh. . . what a mess."

Usually, their helping consists of them supervising me (read: sitting on a chair in the kitchen, but having their eyes trained on the TV in the family room) and being my taste testers.  It's always worked out wonderfully for me, because baking really isn't a 2 (or 4) person job and it's a form of relaxation for me.  I can't relax if I'm worried someone is going to spill flour, knock over the vanilla extract or drop an egg.

One of B's friends is sick and B asked to bake cookies for him.

"Sure," I said.  "I'll bake him some cookies."

"No," replied B firmly.  "Not you.  Me.  I want to bake them."

"Uh. . .," I said, unsure of what to say.

"Please??," she begged.  "I really want too.  I won't make a mess and you can supervise me.  Please??"

"You know what?  I think that's a great idea.  Yes, you can bake the cookies," I replied.  "You will do everything but the oven part.  That includes cleaning up."

"Oh, thank you Mommy!," B exclaimed gleefully, running to give me a hug.  "Best mom ever!"

I needed a day to psych myself up, so this morning, when B came bounding in to our room bright and early asking if she could bake, I told her "Sure!  Grab the recipe and start taking out ingredients."

She needed a little help finding the recipe, but after that, she was on her own.  I'm not sure of whom I'm more proud:  B for doing the majority of the process by herself or me for not flipping out when she spilled flour on the counter and sugar on the floor.

After the dough was mixed and put in the fridge to chill, B took off her apron and went to sit down in the family room.

"Oh, ho, no!, I said.  "The rule is if you bake, you clean.  Go to town."

"Can you help me?," she asked with a pout.

"Absolutely not," I answered, sternly.  "You wanted to bake, you have to clean.  It's as simple as that."

"OK," she huffed, walking back into the kitchen.

My child who managed to bake cookies by herself became an incompetent fool when it came to cleaning.  She's cleaned for me before, in fact sometimes she'll wash dishes by hand because she says finds it fun.

"B, make sure you clean the paddle," I reminded her.

"What's the paddle?," she asked, gathering up the cups and spoons.

"You know?  The thing that was on the mixer?," I answered.

"This?," she asked, picking up the plate that the scraper had been resting on.

I just stared at her.

"Does that look like it was on the mixer?," I asked without even hiding my annoyance.

"Oh!  I'm sorry!  I didn't know!," came her reply.

She finally found the paddle and started washing.  I noticed she picked up a measuring cup, looked at it and put it in the drain rack.

"B!  If it was used it has to be cleaned, even if it looks clean," I admonished.  "You wanted to bake, well, cleaning is part of that."

After she washed everything, I told her to clean off the counters.  She took a wet paper towel and started swiping it haphazardly around the counter.

"No, no, no," I explained, guiding her hand.  "You cup your hand so you can sweep the crumbs into it."

"Ohhh," she exaggerated.

"Is that how you were going to do it?," I asked, thinking maybe I stepped in too soon.

"No, I was just going to wipe them onto the floor," she answered honestly.

All I could do was laugh.

Later, she scooped the dough into balls and put them on the baking sheets.  She did it much differently than I would have, but I kept my mouth shut, because really in the end, they still come out the same.

After all the cookies were scooped, I took a spoon and scraped up some of the remnants from the bowl.

"Here, taste this," I suggested.  "Every baker gets a taste of the dough."

"Really?," she beamed, grabbing the spoon. "Mmm. . . These are delectable!  My friend is going to love them!"

"Did you have fun?," I questioned, while taking a bite of her cookie.

"Yes!," she exclaimed.

"Would you want to do it again?," I asked.

"Yes!," she exclaimed again.

"Even the cleaning?"

"Well. . . ," she answered, stuffing the rest of her cookie in her mouth and walking away.

Watching her today made me really see B for the preteen she is now, not the baby I see every time I catch a glimpse of her in my eye.  The days are long, but the years are short and today proved that perfectly.

And the Glasses Go To. . .

My girls are infatuated with glasses.  So much so that B and M have multiple pairs of fashion glasses from Claire's and L bought her first pair over the Summer.  Last year, after Spring Break, B went to school wearing her fashion glasses and had most of her class fooled.  She wore them daily for a week and then one day forgot to put them on.

"Mommy! Guess what?," she cried as she came out of school.  "My teacher asked where my glasses were!  She wanted me to go to the office to call you to bring them but I told her they were fake.  She said she was completely fooled!"

Sometime after that, though, B's desire for glasses faded.  During the Summer, M and L would complain about headaches and blurry vision.

L wants glasses so badly that at her last appointment a few months ago, she attempted to throw the exam.  I never even knew that was a possibility.  Her attempt was unsuccessful and she left dejected that once again, her vision was fine.

We had the girls annual appointments today (L was being followed up for a small astigmatism).

"I hope I need glasses!," exclaimed M.

"Me too!," L chimed in.

"Not me," said B.  "I hope I never need glasses.

All the way to the eye doctor all M and L could talk about was how much they wanted glasses.  When I was little, glasses were square.  We did everything in our power to avoid them (and I started wearing them when I was 2!).  How times change, that now glasses are such a coveted item.

As soon as we were escorted into the exam room, M and L started asking, "Do I need glasses?  Do I?"

"Woah!," said Beau, the eye tech.  "We need to examine your eyes first before we can determine that.  Who's first?"

All 3 of them shouted at once, "I am!  Me!  No me!"

After we figured out who would be first (M), Beau started the exam.  After every part, M asked anxiously, "Do I need glasses?"

"We have to wait for Dr. G," I said in an annoyed tone.  

We get it.  You want glasses, I thought to myself.

After Beau finished with M, it was L's turn.  

"So, L, I understand you get headaches sometimes.  Can you tell me when they happen?," he asked her.

"Yes.  I usually only get them in school when Freddie annoys me," she said matter-of-factly.

Beau started laughing.

"What?," asked L.  "It's true.  Freddie is very annoying and gives me headaches everyday!"

"Well," Beau told her.  "Unfortunately, I can't help you with those kinds of headaches."

After L, it was B's turn.  B has been being followed for strabismus for a few years now and is an old pro at the exam.

"So," asked Beau.  "Do you ever have double vision?"

"Only when I'm very tired," B replied.

"I do!," piped up L, from her seat where she was looking at a book.

Both Beau and I looked at her and I said, "You do?"  I turned to Beau and said, "This is the first I'm hearing of this."

"Yes.  Whenever I do this, I see double!," L said, stretching her eyes up and out.

She looked perplexed while Beau and I were laughing.  

"It's true!," she insisted.

"Then don't do that!," I laughed.

The girls had the joy of having their eyes dilated and based on the screams they emitted, you'd have thought we were giving them shots or sticking bamboo shoots under their nails.  

An hour later, we were back in the room with Dr. G.  She examined all the girls.

"Well, L's astigmatism is getting worse, so we're going to put her in glasses and see how that works," she said.

"L needs glasses?," M asked.

"Yes," I replied. "Now shush."

"L!  You need glasses!!," M told her excitedly.

"I know, M.  I can hear, you know," L said pointedly.

"Do I need glasses?," M asked Dr. G.

"Nope.  You have perfect vision!," Dr. G happily told her.

"Oh," said M.  To her credit, she did not cry like I thought she would.  She has been wanting glasses for years now and I'm sure there was a part of her that was quite green with envy.

B was so excited to find out that she didn't need glasses, she let out a huge "Whoo!  Perfect vision again!"

"Do I really need glasses?," L asked, with a change of heart.

"You do," I answered, gently.  "Aren't you excited?"

"I am," she answered.  "But what if no one recognizes me?"

"Oh, my love," I said gathering her up in a hug.  "People will always know sweet L!"

Secretly, I have always hoped for at least one of my daughters would need glasses.  I love seeing kids in glasses.  Is it because they remind me of the little me?  I don't know, but I always thought I'd be excited when Dr. G announced that one of my girls would need glasses.

Strangely, today when I heard the news, my first thought was, "Oh!  I'll never see that sweet face without glasses again!"  

In the very next second, though, my excitement shined through.  We listed all the people we know who wear glasses and by the time we left the office, L was super excited at the idea of going tomorrow to pick out her very first pair of glasses.

Epic Parenting Fail

Like most kids, my girls love going to birthday parties.  Sure, they like the cake (that is MY favorite part!) and the fun, but mostly they just love hanging with their friends.  Before school even started this year, B had an invitation to a birthday party, which we had to decline since we had plans for the same day.  B was upset, but understood and got over it.  When she received another invitation on the first day of school, she was over the moon!

"Please, Mommy?  Can I please go?," she begged.  "It's a song recording party!  I have to learn these three songs and then I'll get to record them."

"I'll take a look at the date and we'll see," I said, trying to wrangle the kids into the car. "If we are free that weekend, I don't see why not."

As soon as we got in the house, she opened up the invitation and showed it to me.

"Please, Mommy?  Can I go?  Can I go??  Can I go???"

I checked the calendar and said, "Sure!  I'll RSVP right now."

I was so proud of myself because I am terrible at RSVPing.  I am a horrible hypocrite, you see, because when it comes to parties for The 3 Curly Girlies, I get so mad when people don't RSVP and yet when it comes to other parties, I'm the parent who never calls.  Anyway, this time I was on top of my game.

After I called, I put it in my calendar and on my weekly schedule.  We were NOT going to miss this party!

For 3 weeks, B practiced those songs.  She sang them everywhere!  She memorized them after about a week, but that didn't stop her from singing them nonstop.

One night, The Doctor walked into the kitchen while I was cooking and said, "Since we couldn't go to visit my parents last weekend, I think we should go in a few weeks.  I was thinking we could go up the weekend of the 13th."

"Wait," I said, putting down my knife and picking up my phone.  "Let me check the calendar.  I think B has a birthday party that day and I know she's really been looking forward to going."

Upon hearing her name, B came running into the kitchen and said with a puppy dog look, "Can I still go?  I had to miss the other party and I really don't want to miss this one."

"She does have a birthday party that day," I said to The Doctor.  "How's about we go up this weekend instead?"

I then turned to B and said, "Please find out if Belle (one of her good friends) is going too.  I'd love to carpool with her Mom."

"Oh, thank you!  You are the best mom ever!," B exclaimed.

Ahh. . . What wonderful words those are!  Whenever I do something my girls deem great, I am blessed with those words.  Thankfully they do not take them away when I have an epic fail, but neither do I feel like I deserve them.  If the words were a trophy, it would be stuck in the way back, on the top shelf of a closet right now.

This morning, I decided to treat myself to a Starbucks (in my little world Starbucks is more than a shop. It is the essence of the coffee and pastry delights.  It's not a what, but a thing).  As I was waiting for my coffee and sandwich, I heard a voice telling a very familiar story and looked up to see Belle's Mom.  I walked over to her, kissed Sweet Boy (Belle's adorable baby brother) and started chatting with my friend.

Towards the end of our conversation, I said, "Oh,  I hope I'm not being uncouth, but would you like to carpool with me to the birthday party this weekend?  B told me Belle was invited and I meant to ask you earlier."

"Oh, CGM," she said, looking crestfallen.  "The party was this past Sat.  We missed it too and Belle was devastated."

"No," I said, with a huge smile.  "It's Saturday!  I have it in my calendar.  We even changed our plans because I didn't want B to miss it."

"No," she said, looking a little baffled.  "I'm pretty certain it was this past Saturday.  When I spoke to J's father to apologize for missing it, he didn't say anything about it being this weekend."

"No," I said, determined I was correct (it was in my calendar after all!) "I'm certain it's Saturday."

"You might be right," she said.  "But I threw away the invitation."

"The Doctor is working from home today.  I'll text him and ask him to send you a picture of it."

We walked away all happy, thinking Belle didn't miss the party after all and B would be going.

About 30 minutes later, I received a text message from my friend, "Oh, CGM.  The Doctor texted me the invitation and it was this past Saturday."

What?  How can this be??  I put it in my calendar.

I felt awful!  Telling B was going to be heartbreaking.  I immediately texted The Doctor and he texted back, "I know.  She'll get over it."

She might, but I'm not so sure I will.

All day, all I could think about was breaking the news to B.  I was dreading it.  I figured she'd throw a fit, tell me she was angry at me and lock herself in her room.  I joked with some friends that she'd probably threaten to run away (one of them lovingly offered to house her!).

"I am dreading telling B," I texted The Doctor.

"Let me handle it," he texted back.

After I picked up the kids and came home, The Doctor walked over to B, grabbed the invitation and said he needed to talk to her. I was not involved, but he told me what happened afterwards.

"When is the birthday party, B?," he asked, handing her the invitation.

"It's from 11-1," she said, looking at it.

"Yes, but when is it?," he asked her again.

"Sept. 6," she answered.

She then looked at her watch to check the date, looked at The Doctor and moaned, "I missed it??"

The Doctor said she cried and when he asked her if she was upset, she said she was.  He then pulled out a book he had just bought for me because of my bad day I had a few days ago.

The book is called Stick Man's Really Bad Day.  It is told entirely through signs that you see around town and actually tells a cohesive, hysterical story about poor Stick Man.  The Doctor said after B finished looking at it, she laughed and agreed Stick Man has it worse than she does.

"Mommy feels really, really bad about this, B," The Doctor told her.  "She feels so bad she was really worried about telling you."

B came into the kitchen where I was prepping dinner and gave me a huge hug.

"It's OK, Mommy.  Everyone makes mistakes.  I know you feel bad, but I forgive you."

"Thank you, B.  I really needed to hear that," I said, giving her a huge hug and kiss.  "So, does this mean you don't want to run away?"

"No," she said quizzically.  "Why would I want to do that?"

Later, I called the birthday girl's father and apologized profusely.  He sounded a little annoyed and I could hear his thoughts of, "How does one make this mistake?"

"You weren't the only one we had this happen too," he said.  "There's always next year. . . I guess."

"Yup.  I hope there is next year," I said, thankful that I'm not the only Mom who messes up sometimes.