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.

Job Title: Home Executive

I am always at a loss as to how to fill out forms that ask for employment and such.  I have a job.  I have a tough job, in fact, but because I don't get paid nor is it looked at as a "real" job, it's hard for me to answer such questions.

I remember when I was pregnant with B, The Doctor and I had decided I would stop working to raise our children.  I was 110% on board with that.  For as long as I could remember, all I ever wanted was to be a wife and mommy.  I was so excited about our decision and eagerly answered the question of, "What will you do after the baby is born?"

We were at a business dinner one night and one of The Doctor's colleagues decided to make small talk with me.  I'm fairly certain by the end of our short lived conversation, he was making a note to never talk to me again.

"So, what do you do?," Colleague asked pleasantly.

"I work in retail," I answered honestly.

"What will you do after the baby is born?," he asked, most likely out of politeness.

"Well," I answered eagerly.  "I plan on staying home with her!  Blah, blah, blah, blah."  (I remember his eyes glazing over and him leaning to the person next to him to ask how she liked her dinner.  I'm sure I said more than just "blah, blah, blah" but thinking about it is making my mind glaze over.)

I remember telling people that I was trading my monetary salary for the much more lucrative salary of hugs and kisses.  You can tell I was a soon to be first time Mom.  It never occurred to me how much of my pay would be in poopy diapers, spit up all over and lots and lots of tears.

I have had quite a few jobs in my life.  From working in the computer lab in college (in which either I was a very good mimicker or I've forgotten everything I once knew, because I know nothing about computers now) to all of those long retail hours, being a Mom is truly the hardest one.

I dealt with lots of grumpy people in my other jobs.  There were disgruntled students who forgot to save their work before closing Word, only to realize the printer wasn't connected and shoppers who fought trying to return items and trying to walk out without paying.  There was one time, I was cleaning the dressing rooms and a woman emerged from one.

"Ooh!," I complimented her.  "I love that top!  The color looks great on you.  Would you like to see some pants to go with it?"

"Um. . . This is MY top.  I came into the store wearing it," she said, clearly surprised (annoyed?) that not only didn't I recognize my own merchandise, but I sounded like all I was trying to do was make a sale.

Yep, I think it's safe to say being peed, pooped and snotted on is a pretty good gig.  Last night, The Doctor and I were in the process of leasing 2 cars (yay for great deals!) and while The Doctor was filling out a form, I was fiddling on my phone, wondering when we could go.  Suddenly, I heard The Doctor say to the Sales Guy, "Her name is on it too.  She has to fill this out as well!"

He then passed me the form and told me to fill it out, so I did.

Name: Curly Girly Mama

Place of Employment/Self Employed: Self Employed- SAHM

Annual Salary: Lots of Hugs and Kisses

How Long Have You Been Employed: 10 years, 10 months (by this point Sales Guy was laughing hysterically)

Job Title: Home Executive

The Doctor looked over to see why Sales Guy was laughing so hard.  He peered over my shoulder and said, "Great.  I'm sure someone in the credit department will get a big laugh, but a credit application is not the place to be funny."

"Whoops!," I replied, turning bright red.  "I had no idea what I was filling out!  Well, at least they have your information to go on."

I'm sure being a Credit Application Processor (is that an actual job title?) is not the most exciting job in the world, so if I was able to make someone laugh today, then my (second) job here is done.

L and the "Horrid" Substitute

Today was L's first day with a substitute teacher and according to her, it was not a good experience.

"Mommy, Mommy!," she cried, running to me.  "We had a sustitube in school today!"

"You had a substitute?," I asked.  "What's that?"

"It's when your teacher isn't there so a mean teacher comes in," she replied in a serious tone.

"So, it was a mean substitute?  Why was she so mean?," I asked.

"It was a he and he was mean because he wouldn't let us get up without asking," she recounted.

"Um, L," I said, laughing.  "You aren't supposed to get up without asking when your teacher is there, either."

"Well, he wouldn't let us talk unless we raised our hand!," she exclaimed.

"Again, L," I said, with a sigh.  "You aren't supposed to do that, substitute or not."

"Well," she said, clearly annoyed that I couldn't see the terribleness of the situation.  "He wouldn't let us walk around or go on the playground or play with play-doh!"

"Oh my," I commiserated. "Well, what did you do all day?"

"We worked on very hard work!," she declared.  "And now I am tired.  Yeah, I'm tired because we had to work so hard!"

Kindergarten has been a real eye-opener for both of us.  I figured given the fact that I've done this twice already, Kindergarten this time around would be a breeze, but I've been thrown for a complete loop.

Kindergarten now is what first grade was when B was in it.  Not only is the work harder, but the kids are learning that the same behaviors that were acceptable in preschool are not acceptable in Kindergarten.

L's teacher has a behavior system in which every child starts at a 3 (ready to learn).  The can either move up to 4 or 5, stay on 3 or move down to 1 or 2.  L is always on a 3 and I always tell her how happy I am she kept her 3.

"But L," I asked her last week. "What do you need to do move to a 4 or 5?"

"Well, we need to not blurt out and not follow Mrs. Teacher around," she answered.

"Do you blurt out?," I asked.

"Yes.  I do," she answered honestly.

"Do you followed Mrs. Teacher around the classroom?," I asked again.

"Yes.  I do," she answered.

The next morning, as she was eating breakfast, she exclaimed, "Today I am going to get a 5, Mommy!"

"That is awesome, L!," I cheered.  "I know you can do it!"

At school pick up, she came up to me and said sadly, "I only got a 3 today, Mommy.  Are you mad?"

"Did you try your very best?," I asked her.

"I did," she answered.

"Then, I am not mad, but I am curious.  Did you follow Mrs. Teacher around?"

"I did," she replied, looking down.  "I had to tell her something and she didn't see my hand raised, so I followed her."

Mrs. Teacher came over to talk to me about L's day and I brought up the number system.

"Oh, yes," she said with a laugh.  "Every time I turn around, L is there.  I nearly toppled over her today.  She over heard me talking to another child about how he is on track to earn a 5 and L said, 'I will get a 5 and I will get to go Treasure Box!  One day, I will get a 5!'  I reminded her of what she has to do and agreed that one day, she will get there."

L is determined, albeit stubborn.  She wants that 5 so badly, but the urge to follow Mrs. Teacher around the classroom is just too great for now.

"Today Was Difficult. Tomorrow Will Be Better"

These very wise words are spoken by none other than Mr. Slinger (Lilly's Purple Plastic Purse by Kevin Henkes).  This is my mantra for when I'm having a bad day.  My mantra used to be "I'm moving to Australia" a la Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day but I decided a few months ago that Mr. Slinger's words gave a more positive spin to a negative concept.

Today was definitely a difficult day.  I always find it amazing how one wakes up in a happy state and one little thing can mar that happiness, creating a snowball effect and painting the color for the rest of the day.  No matter what I do to try to wipe away the negativity, it just doesn't seem to go.  In fact, if anything, it just grows larger.

The saying "misery loves company" is so true, because when I'm having a bad day I find that my grumpiness tries to attach to anything that comes within 5 feet of me.  Am I not enough for this grumpiness?  Why does it need more?  When I feel that happening, I try to smile more at fellow shoppers but deep down, all I want to do is ram my shopping cart into theirs.  The experience I had at the grocery store today certainly didn't do anything to improve my mood.

The store wasn't that crowded, which is always a plus and I found everything on my list in record time. That always makes for a good trip.  As I was getting ready to walk down an aisle, a woman started walking towards me, backwards.  Backwards?  Really?  I could see she was going to hit my cart so I loudly said, "Excuse me!" and she, of course, walked right into my cart.

"Oh, I'm sorry!," popped out of my mouth, though I knew I wasn't at fault.  I received a dirty look in return.  I could tell this was going to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad shopping trip.  I got in line to pay and thought, "Oh, good!  It won't be too long, since it looks like she's almost finished!"

As the cashier finished ringing the woman in front of me, the woman handed her a bunch of coupons (all for the same product) and said, "I left my wallet in the car.  I'll be right back."

She came back about 5 minutes later, just as the cashier was telling me she was going to hold the other woman's sale to take me.  She handed the cashier another pile of coupons, for the same product.  The cashier tried to ring in coupon and it wouldn't take.

"I'm sorry, Ma'am, but this isn't the right product," the cashier explained to Coupon Lady.

"Yes it is," Coupon Lady argued back.  "The picture doesn't have to match."

After a few times going back and forth, a manager was brought in.  Now, when I was venting about this to The Doctor, he mentioned I could have gone to a different lane.  I would have had I known it was going to take forever.  I chose not too, really out of sheer laziness.  I did not feel like loading everything back into my cart to schlep it over to another lane, where I'd have to wait again.

After about 15 minutes, Coupon Lady was finally satisfied and took her 50 containers of toothpaste and left.  While I talked about my annoyance at the matter on Facebook, I was cool and calm in the store and the manager turned to me and said, "I am so sorry about that.  I never expected that to take as long as it did.  I'm going to give you $5 off because you had to wait so long."

I might not have gotten 50 toothpastes for $16, but being rewarded for my patience was just as good!  Sadly, though, it wasn't good enough to shake the grumps.  I know I wasn't pleasant to be around this afternoon and I must remember to apologize to The Doctor and The Curly Girlies for that.  They kept trying to give me tips to shake the bad mood ("Will a hug make you feel better?", "Mommy, you should go into the bathroom and yell into the toilet, then flush it.  That'll work!", "Do the Hokey Pokey, Mommy!").  The very sad thing is, I didn't want to feel better.  I guess sometimes, when you're having a bad day, you just have to allow yourself to feel it and know that tomorrow will be better.

Lose the 'tude, Dude!

This preteen stuff is going to be the end of me!  If it's bad now, how is it going to be in 3 years when B is a full fledged teen?  I'd like to say in 3 years I'll have a better handle on things, but I fear I'll end up cowering under the bed waiting for the storm times 3 to end.

B has always been a very sweet and demure child.  She has always been a pleaser, doing things she knows will make us happy, even if she's not so happy.  When she was little, it was great!  We always received glowing reports about her in preschool and elementary school (and still do).

When she was 7, The Doctor handed her a copy of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone because it was on her reading level and we absolutely adored the Harry Potter books.  Every time I saw her, she was doing anything but reading (and this is a child who is a born bookworm).

"How's the book, B?," I'd casually ask.

"It's great!," she would exclaim.

"You know, I really don't think B is enjoying Harry Potter," I said to The Doctor one night.  "I think we should let her know it's OK if she doesn't want to read it right now."

"No, no.  If she didn't want to read it, she would tell us," he replied.

A few months later, The Doctor asked B how the book was.

"It's great!," she exclaimed.

"What's going on in the book?," he asked.

"Umm. . .," she said.

"Has Harry made it to Hogwarts yet?," he prompted her.

"Umm. . . No," she said.

"You know, B, if you don't want to read it right now, you don't have too," he told her.

"OK!  Yeah!  I think it might just be a bit much for me right now," she said, very happily.

I pointed out to her that had she just told me in the beginning she wasn't enjoying it, she could have spent her Summer reading something more to her liking.

"Oh, yeah. . .," she said, thoughtfully.

For the record, 2 Summers later she picked it up again and read all 7 books in about 3 months.  That pretty much describes who we've been dealing with. . . up until now.

I'm not sure if the change is because she is maturing or if it's because we had a very long chat at the end of the Summer.

"B," I said, sitting on her bed, stroking her hair.  "I want you to know that you do not have to tell people you want to do something just because you think it'll make them happy, especially if it gets in the way of your happiness.  That includes Daddy and me."

"I know," she said, fiddling with her fingers.

There's more to it, but this is the gist.  I have noticed in the past few weeks that she has become more vocal about what she likes and doesn't like.  This is great and I'm happy she's finally putting herself first, but the attitude that is coming with it is driving me mental!

I have a friend who also has 3 daughters, the youngest being 6 months older than B.  When her oldest was B's age, she said facetiously, "You just wait!  The preteen years are such a joy!"

I knew she wasn't serious because I distinctly remember what a pain I was to my mother, but I do remember thinking, "Ha!  It won't be that bad."

I was wrong, plain and simple.

"Tone!," I call to B multiple times a day, when her words have a rude undertone.

"Sorry!," she says all snotty like, not sounding very sorry at all.

I recently found out about a book club one of her friends is in and mentioned it to her last night..

"B, do you think you'd like to join this book club too?  They meet once a month to discuss the book and do a craft pertaining to the theme," I asked.

"Yeah!," she said, her eyes lighting up.  "That sounds like fun!"

I told her a little about the book (The Glass Sentence) and she said it sounded OK.

"Do you want to read it?," I asked, figuring she'd tell me no.

"Yeah, I'll try it.  It sounds good," she said, playing a video game and probably not even really listening to me.

I used the pick up feature at our local bookstore and ran there as soon as they opened today to get her the book  I gave it to her as soon as I got back and a few hours later, I noticed she wasn't reading it.

"B," I said, "The book club meets at the end of the month.  While you don't have to have the book finished by that point, it would be nice if you had most of it read, so you can participate in the discussion."

"Well, I thought about it and I decided I don't want to be in a book club."

My jaw dropped.

"Why?," I asked, annoyed that I ran out to even buy this book (hardcover, I might add, because it's not out in paperback yet.  I chose not to go the route of the library because I knew she needed to have it quickly).

"Well, I don't like being told what book I have to read and I don't like being told I have to read it in a particular time frame," she replied.

"Oh, well, OK.  I just figured it would be a nice way for you to meet some new people who love reading as much as you do.  I'm really sorry you chose not to tell me this before I ran out to buy the book," I said, trying unsuccessfully to hide my annoyance.

"I'm sorry!," she grunted.  "I'll do it if you want me too."

All I could do was sigh.  "B, if you don't want to do it, I'm not going to force you too.  I just thought it would be something fun to try."

"OK.  I'll try it for now, but if I don't like it, I won't go again," she conceded, with only a little bit of attitude in her voice.

I guess that's all I can ask.  Actually, I could ask for the tone to change and the attitude to dissipate, but that's probably asking too much.

I Love You Infinity

A few months ago, as I was tucking L into bed, I bent to give her a hug and she said, "Make it a big, fluffy, juicy one, Mommy!"

So I did. 

"Big, fluffy, juicy," I started saying as I hugged her. 

"Don't forget infinity!," she said, sitting up. 

"Big, fluffy, juicy, infinity!," I said, 3 times in a row, while squeezing her. "Infinity, infinity, infinity. I love you infinity."

"I love you too, Mommy," she said, comfy and cozy in her bed. 

This went on for a few weeks. 

One night, as we were doing her hug, L, sat up and said, "Can we add squishy? I want a squishy hug!"

Sure. Why not?

"Big, fluffy, squishy, juicy, infinity," I said 3 times in a row while squeezing her. "Infinity, infinity, infinity. I love you infinity."

"I love you too, Mommy," she said, sounding tired yet happy. 

One night, a few weeks later, it was pouring. After we finished our book, I started to tuck her in. 

"Can we do our special hug?," she asked. 

"Of course," I replied. "Don't we always do our special hug?"

"Yes, but this time, let's make it a rainy one!," she exclaimed.

"Rainy?," I asked.

"Yes, rainy. It means 'I love you so, so, so, much.'," she replied.

"Ok," I said, agreeably. "Big, fluffy, squishy, juicy, rainy, infinity," I said, squeezing her. "Infinity, infinity, infinity. I love you infinity."

"Don't forget rainy! I love you rainy, infinity Mommy," she said, tucking in.

"I love you rainy infinity, L," I replied, feeling all warm and lovely.

A few months later, as I was getting ready to do our hug, L said, "It's been a long time since we added a new word! Let's add fat to our hug."

"Fat?," I asked.

"Yes, it means you love me super big," she replied.

"Ok. Big, fat, fluffy, squishy, juicy, rainy, infinity," I said, 3 times, squeezing her. "Infinity, infinity, infinity. I love you rainy infinity."

"I love you rainy infinity too, Mommy," she said with a smile.

This has been our special hug for a while now. I love that we share this and that a string of random words means "I love you" in such a special way.

We were out to dinner tonight, and L was quite tired. She laid her head on the table and started talking to herself. I caught a couple of snippets and when she finished, I leaned in to her and asked, "Did you just do our special hug?"

"I did, Mommy. I hugged myself and did our hug," she replied with a smile. "I love you rainy infinity."

My heart swelled, I gave her a huge hug and said, "I love you rainy infinity too."

Mama Freaks Out Again

The Curly Girlies and I met up with my sister, Auntie, today for a day of fun and amusement.  We went to "the best 1/2 day attraction in town" (this is the actual description on their website.  I do love their honesty.).  This was one of the best attractions we have ever been too.  All of us left saying how we definitely would be back.

One of the first things we saw when we walked into the first room was a hurricane simulator.  Our favorite ice cream parlor has a hurricane simulator in the parking lot and whenever we go B begs and begs to go in it.

"Really?," I always ask.  "We live in the hurricane capital of the world and that's not enough for you?  I shouldn't have to pay $10 for you to stand in a wind tunnel.  Next time a hurricane comes through, you can stand outside for free."

When I saw the Hurricane Simulator in this room, I grabbed be and said excitedly, "Look B!  You've always wanted to do this!  Let's go!"

The attendant gave us a brief explanation of what we would feel and then left.  The wind started up, the windows on the walls started shaking and showed lightening and we heard thunder.

"I'm scared!," cried L. 

"It's OK. It's all pretend, even if it doesn't feel like it," I said, calmly.

We were quite the sight as we exited.  We were all completely windblown and poor L couldn't even walk straight!

We did some really cool things, but I think the best entertainment for everyone was the roller coaster simulator.

If you recall from an earlier post (A Parent's Prerogative) I do NOT handle roller coasters (or water slides) very well at all.

Auntie and B went on the Roller Coaster Simulator first.  M, L and I waited and watched.  Before the ride started, L kept saying, "I'm going to go with you, Mama!  You and me together!"

The ride started and we were able to see what the girls were watching on the inside and  we saw the simulator spinning and twirling.  M took a step back and said, "No way.  I am not doing that!"

We heard a bunch of screaming, but when the capsule opened, we saw two smiling faces and laughter. L said, "Come on, Mommy!  Let's go!" 

"Oh, no," I said.  "Let me go first and I'll decide if you can do it." 

B offered to go with me, little did she know what she was getting herself into.

We got strapped in and I asked B, "Is this fun?"

"Very!," she replied.

"Is it scary?," I asked.

"A little, but not too much."

"Will you hold my hand?"

"OK.  Auntie wouldn't hold my hand, but I'll hold yours," she replied sweetly.

The capsule closed and I thought, "What have I gotten myself into?"

The screen came up and we started moving on an incline.  I started screaming.

"Mommy!," Abby laughed.  "We haven't even moved yet!"

I can't begin to tell you what the roller coaster was like, because I was too busy screaming.  We went loop di loops, corkscrews and straight down and I screamed pretty much nonstop.  I'm surprised B isn't deaf from hearing me scream.   . 

"Aaaugh!!!  Get me off of here!!!  I don't want to do this anymore!!!," I screamed over and over again.

I'm not sure whether I should be embarrassed or proud that B laughed the entire time.  Was she laughing at the ride or at me?  I'm not sure I want the answer to that.

As soon as the ride was over and the capsule opened, I said, "That's it.  I am not doing that again!"

Auntie, M and L were all laughing like crazy and Auntie said, "CGM, everyone heard you screaming! I videoed the whole thing!"

I was shaking so hard I could barely move, but I managed to move fast enough to get out!
 "Can we go again, Mommy?," B asked eagerly.

"N-O!  Absolutely not," I replied.

"I'll go with you again, B," Auntie offered.  The 2 got on and braved a different coaster while I tried to compose myself.

After they finished, B spied "The Astronaut's Challenge" an orbit simulator.

"Let's go do that!," she said, barely able to contain her excitement.

We walked over to it and the attendant looked at B and said, "She has to be 48 inches to ride."

"Great," I said.  "She's 50 inches."

The woman looked at B and said, "Well, if you say so."

"I do say so, but if you don't believe me, please feel free to measure her again."

At that, I started following L to a different part of the room.  I looked back a few moments later and saw B sitting in the orbiter with the attendant shaking her head.

"CGM," Auntie called.  "The attendant is saying B can't ride it because she's too short."

I walked back over there and said, "What's the problem?"

"Ma'am, your daughter is too short for this ride."

"Really?," I challenged. "Your sign says you have to be 48 inches to ride.  My daughter is 50 inches.  Did you measure her again like I said you could?"

"Ma'am, you daughter's feet don't reach the bottom.  She's too short.  She can't ride."

"Right," I said, beginning to get annoyed.  "If you are telling me that 50 inches is too short, then perhaps you need to change the sign to say 'You must be above 50 inches to ride'."

"No, Ma'am.  The ride is for 48 inches or above.  Your daughter is too short," she replied again, just as annoyed as I was.

"OK.  I got it.  Come on, B," I replied, not bothering to hide my displeasure.

B came off, fighting back tears. I took her over to the height sign and took a picture of her showing how she is definitely over 48 inches. Auntie, B and M really wanted to do the ropes course and I really wanted to get the whole Orbit Simulator height requirement sorted out.

One thing people learn about me is if I feel that my girls or I are wronged in any way, I will fight to the end, even if it's just to get someone to admit that their height requirements are wrong.

I found a manager and while I was conversing with him, I sent M and Auntie to the Rope Course to get started. 

I explained the situation, I showed him my picture of an angry B standing at the height sign showing she is definitely 50 inches. I ended with, "What really upsets me is your attendant was questioning my word.  Why would I lie about my child's height when I could be potentially putting her into a dangerous situation?"

"Well, Ma'am, I actually just finished talking to that attendant, because she was very upset about the whole exchange between the two of you.  I explained to her that the feet do not need to be flat on the platform; as long as her toes are touching, she's fine."

"Wait," I said, knowing how fickle I was sounding.  "Are you just saying she can go because you want me to be happy, or are you certain she'll be safe on it?"

"I promise I wouldn't tell you anything that would put your daughter's life in danger," he laughed.  "When you go back there, just tell the attendant I OK'd your daughter's ability to ride."

I thanked him very much and B started jumping up and down like a jumping bean!

"Let's go now!  Let's go now!!," she squealed.

"We can't.  There is no way I am going on it, so we need to get Auntie.  Let's go up to the rope course."

We found our way to "The Basement" which is actually the 3rd floor and found Auntie and M strapped in, but standing on the first landing.

M is very much her mother's daughter and chickened out.  She came down and B went up and as scared as Auntie and B were, they did great!  My heart was racing just watching them walk on all the ropes, up so high.

After they finished, I told Auntie about my conversation with the manager and her eyes lit up. 

"Great!  Let's go," she said excitedly.

We got back to the simulator and I went through the entire conversation with the manager with a different attendant.  She looked at me and said, "Really?"

"Yes," I said, annoyed.  "I promise I wouldn't put my daughter at risk.  If you don't believe me, though, feel free to call him and ask."

Finally, after much commotion, B was let on.

Auntie and B were a bit nervous as they were getting strapped in.  "Are you sure of this, B?," Auntie asked.  "It's not too late to say you don't want to do it."

"No way," said B.  "I want too!  It will be fun!"

"Just think," I said.  "If you survive, you are both one step closer to being astronauts!"

B was much more enthused at that idea than Auntie was.

The ride started and B screamed like I did when I was on the coaster simulator.

As soon as they got off,  B looked at me and said, "That was AWESOME!  I want to go again!  Can you go with me, Mommy??"

All I could do was look at her and shake my head.

"Do you not remember the Coaster Simulator?," I asked, walking away. "No way.  Nuh uh.  Not happening."

I took a video and texted it to The Doctor along with the video Auntie took of my screaming on the coaster simulator.

"They sound like they are having fun," he wrote.  "You sound like you're in The Nightmare on Elm Street."

Yup.  That pretty much sums up my thoughts on coasters, both real and simulated.  They are my Freddie Krueger, minus the claw, the scary face and the killing.

A Mad Dash

B.K. (Before Kiddos): Road trips were vacations. The Doctor and I would leisurely pack, and waltz out to the car knowing we'd be coming back to a clean house. We are both Harry Potter fanatics, so we would listen to the books on CD and while The Doctor drove, I would thumb through a magazine, read a book or look at the view. We would have conversations about everything!

A.K. (After Kiddos): I look back and wonder how I ever thought this was a vacation! I am a freaking out, frazzled mess starting the morning of our trip. My anxiety kicks in if I even perceive that we won't be leaving on time, even though The Doctor often reminds me, "As long as we are on the road before dusk, it'll be fine."  I have a hard time remembering that, because my m d is filled with thoughts like, "Does Psycho Kitty have enough food?", "Are the rooms cleaned up?" and "Will I be coming home to a clean house?"  The Doctor and I truly make the perfect team. He's the Yin to my Yang, the calm to my stress, the normal to my crazy.

The Doctor keeps me grounded and this is important because while I'm running around like an angry chicken, he's asking, "What else do we need?" and "Where's your list?".  Ahh, the dreaded list. Back in the days B.K., where while I wasn't frazzled, I was still forgetful (and didn't even have Mommy Brain to blame it on!). We'd get to our destination, start unpacking and realize that I'd forgotten to pack my toiletries, jewelry and worse. On one such occasion, The Doctor said, "I think you should start making a list for packing."

The ADD person inside of me was seething. The last thing an unorganized person wants is to be reminded they are unorganized by getting organizational tips from people who may or may not be more organized then they are. The normal person, however, knew this was sage advice and took it.

After that, I always had a list and I never forgot anything...Unless I forgot the list. There was one time, when B and M were 4 & 2 and we were driving up to visit The Doctor's parents.

2 hours into our drive I suddenly gasped and moaned, "Oh no!"

"What is it?," The Doctor asked, glancing over at me.

"I left the girls lovies!," I answered guiltily. They both slept with special stuffed animals and I knew there would be no sleep without them.

"Did you check the list?," he asked, trying unsuccessfully to keep the annoyance out of his voice. See, just as we had gotten on to the road, I remembered we (I) had forgotten the antibiotic M was on for an ear infection. The Doctor had patiently turned around asking, "Is there anything else?"

"No, no," I assured him. "I've got everything else!"

So you see, his annoyance was quite warranted.

"Well, I guess I didn't check the list given the fact that I forgot both the medicine and the lovies," I replied testily, as I was annoyed too. Right then I hated that darn list and my failing to print it out and check it.

"What would you like me to do?," he sighed. "Turn around?"

"Don't be ridiculous. The girls will be fine!"

He didn't seem to think so and stopped off at a Wal-Mart (at 10:00 at night) and bought them new lovies. They loved those new lovies and always remembered that trip.

The List always keeps me calm. When I have it, I have absolutely no panicked moments of running through the house tossing in odds and ends that I'm not sure we need. So, the question must be asked: if that's the case, then why is it on most trips, I forget to even print the list? I'm so proud of the fact that I remember the correct number of clothes, toothbrushes and lovies for each girl that I don't bother to print it out. It's not until we've been in the car for an hour and I'm writing about my distain for the list I so obviously need, that I gasp.

"What's the matter?," asks The Doctor.

"I just realized I forgot the music!," I groan. At this point, all The Doctor can do is shake his head. He doesn't even bother reminding me about the list.

School Days: Then & Now

I am so thrilled B, M and L love school.  Out of the three of them, B most definitely loves it the most.  She is the child who wonders out loud why school can't be year round.  When I explained to her that while she doesn't need a break the teachers most certainly do, she came up with the idea that teachers should work in 3 month cycles, thus, school could go all 12 months.

L is in Kindergarten and it's been a real adjustment for her.  We learned last week that today's Kindergarten is yesterday's first grade.  Aside from Play-Doh there are no toys and lots and lots of work.  She really likes her teacher and she enjoys seeing her friends, but I know if I told her she could stay home, she'd take me up on my offer in a heartbeat.

M is the perfect combination of the two others.  She loves school.  She loves her teacher and her friends and just like B, she loves learning new things.  Unlike B, however, she lives for weekends and school breaks.  When B starts talking about how she thinks school should be year round, M always chimes in with a rousing, "No way!"

As a child, I wasn't anything like them!  I loathed school.  With the exception of third grade, elementary is a giant blur of dejection.  I didn't have many friends, math and spelling weren't easy and I was an easy target for bullies.  Every time I'm in my daughters' school, I think how much different things would be if I were a student there now.

Would they really be different for me?  Probably not.  But as an adult, I love- no adore!- their teachers.  I love how they are learning in the classroom.  Things have changed in the last 30 years and all of the subjects seem a lot more hands on than they were when I was in elementary school.

As much as I hated being in school years ago, I absolutely love being there now.  I tend to volunteer quite a bit mostly because I love it so much.  I have always been Room Mom, well except for last year. Last year, while I filled out the volunteer forms for B's and M's classes, I completely missed the box potential room parents were to check.  I found out later, when I realized neither of their teachers (one of them a good friend of mine!) didn't pick me for Room Mom.  My friend called me to find out why I didn't check the Room Mom box and I felt like a complete heel.  B was pissed that I wasn't as involved in her class but M didn't really know the difference.  While I wasn't Room Mom, I made sure I was present for just about everything.

This year I promised myself I wouldn't miss that box.  Every day I anxiously awaited the arrival of the forms in the girls' backpacks.  Finally, after 2 weeks, they arrived in M's backpack and I received L's at her open house.  I eagerly checked the "I would like to be Room Parent" box on both forms and I  was so eager, I checked every "yes" box after the first one.  After I turned in the forms, another friend pointed out that one box was volunteering to be the Room Parent Lead for that grade.  

"Wait, what?," I asked incredulously.  "I thought it meant I wanted to be the head Room Parent in the class!"

"Nope," she said.  "Room Parent Lead is something new the school is doing this year.  That person is the one all the other Room Parents for the other classes in the grade go to for help and advice."

She told me this while The Doctor and I were leaving L's Open House.  My jaw about hit the floor and The Doctor started laughing.

"Well," he said, as we were walking to the car. "Last year you were upset that you didn't check the box at all and this year you've signed on to be the Lead for everyone!"

Honestly?  All I could do was laugh.  This is so typical for me.  The only grade I didn't sign up to be the lead was B's and that's because we just got the forms tonight.  As soon as I saw the form, I cried excitedly to The Doctor, "Hand me a pen!"  I had gotten to thinking that perhaps B's teacher didn't want a Room Parent and I was thrilled to see she was just waiting for the upper grades Open House to hand out the forms. Knowing what that second box meant, I purposely didn't check it.  I promised The Doctor I wouldn't overextend myself this year but here I am on the Yearbook Committee, possible Room Mom for 3 classes and possible Room Parent Lead for 2 grades.  

As busy as my life might get this school year, you won't hear a complaint fall from my lips. . . about that, anyway.  The elementary school is one of my happy places, my home away from home.  Whenever I walk into the office, I instantly feel happy.  Most times, as I'm walking through the door to the office, I think about the great turnaround I've had from when I was a student and dreaded walking through the doors of school.  Back then, had you told me that one day I'd love being at school, I would have said you were crazy as I walked to my class wishing I were any place but there.