Calling Names {and crushing dreams}

Posted By on September 7, 2014

The times that I’ve called the husband terrible names with true intent behind the words are few and far between. Sure, we mess with each other with the loving sort of name calling, but some instances just need a heavy hand behind them. Take the times that we can remember me calling him a “fucking moron” and actually meaning it . . . Once, he and his brother installed a sliding glass door backwards, lock on the outside, and tried to convince me it would be perfectly fine to leave like that while he deployed and left me alone in our rather sketchy neighborhood. Perfectly justified on that occasion.

And then . . . then there was tonight . . .

We all sat around the dinner table, happy conversations flowing. The kids were talking Halloween costumes, which then led to talk of witches and wizards and fairies and what is real and not real. Tater was being a royal pain over eating his dinner, so I was fussing with him on my side of the table, while the husband fielded the girls’ questions on the other. No, fairies aren’t real but they are fun to imagine. Yes, it would be cool if a wizard could make you into a fairy. But no, wizards aren’t real either. Harmless stuff really, mostly fluff I could tune out while fighting over a spoonful of mashed potatoes.

And then . . . then . . .

“So, if fairies aren’t real then, hey Dad? Is the tooth fairy real?”

“No.”

*record scratch*

I glanced up as a look crossed over E’s face and shush, shush, shushed her as fast I could as she started to open her mouth. The wheels were turning about where on earth those eight dollar bills had appeared under her pillow from over the last two years. MJ sat thoughtfully chewing, blissfully unaware of the crumbling childhood ruse around her, still dreaming of beautiful Halloween costumes. Tater was still intent on pushing food around his plate. All we needed for damage control was to keep E’s mouth shut until I could spin it into a great responsibility for her as the older sister which, thankfully, I managed to do after diner. Here’s hoping the pep talk will work for a few years.

Seven, five and nearly three. If you need any dreams crushed for your still gullible children, send them on over for some harmless dinner conversation. Perhaps next week we’ll cover Santa.

As for the husband, just like that other time, he fully admits that this evening was a perfectly justified usage of calling him a “fucking moron.”

(one of these faces bears great responsibility now. no pressure or anything.)

 

Sevens of Summer {wrapping it all up neatly}

Posted By on September 1, 2014

September. How on earth has it gotten to be the beginning of September already? I’m convinced this summer flew by faster than any other before, long days running on overtime. There’s so much to catch up on, so I’m going to do my best to shove it all into one condensed little bit and move on to pretending to embrace being back to the grind of schedules and school days.

The Summer of Fun (or something like that) . . .

As school wound down last year, I looked to the weeks ahead with determination. We were going to learn. And grow. And have mandatory fun. Dammit. Summer bridge workbooks were ordered, craft bins were stocked and a list of outings was made. This was going to be the best summer yet.

By the second week, the craft bin was a jumbled mess of glitter and pipe cleaners. The workbooks were shoved off to a corner, discarded after the third or fourth temper tantrum over missing one question (problems in raising perfectionist children). And we lost count of how many days in a row it was that we never left the driveway.

Turns out, it was indeed the best summer yet. The yard was full of endless games of make-believe and we all perfected the art of blanket forts during the hot afternoons. Hardly a day went by that wasn’t ended with dirty feet being hosed off on the patio, or sticky popsicle smudges on chins. We went through three jumbo packs of chalk, a million gallons of bubbles and only a half package of bandaides.

The Summer of Learning  . . .

Spring brought Miss E a new found determination when it came to taking the training wheels off her bike. Something about all the other kids riding to and from school lit a fire under her and, before long, she was off and pedaling like a pro. A trip to my mom’s house with grassy hills and a steep gravel driveway gave her confidence and a few stunt master skills. We all watched and said that surely MJ wouldn’t be far behind, wanting desperately to do what big sister was doing.

Sure enough, on a ridiculously hot afternoon, we ended up in the school parking lot. It was full of puddles and MJ’s bike was without the training wheels. She started off by coasting down a tiny hill to splash through a puddle and ended the day pedaling gleefully through every puddle she could find. The ease at which she figured it out was well worth the solid coating of mud we left with.

Overly excited with her progress, we rushed out to replace her far too small bike with one that she would grow with a little better. Unfortunately, the size difference completely threw off her confidence and we’re back to a bit of a wobbly ride. I’m just waiting for another rainy afternoon to tackle those puddles again.

The Summer of Amusement . . .

In addition to it being the summer of fun, we made it a point add a little extra in. A little over the top fun. After experiencing Busch Gardens for the first time back in the spring, we schemed about going back when it would be warm enough to take advantage of the splash pads and water parts of the park. On the ridiculously hot August day that we went, it did not disappoint. In between roller coasters and kiddie rides, the kids spent hours splashing and laughing as they jumped through the splash pads.

Miss E was thrilled to have the chance to go on all the roller coasters again, adding a few new ones to her list. She rode everything she possibly could and left dreaming of the bigger ones she’ll be allowed on next year. Tater surprised us by being the most daring and voicing the injustices of being short. He’s also banking on being quite a bit taller next year so that he can also ride all those roller coasters. We haven’t had the heart to break it to him that it’s going to be a while on those. MJ held steady on being our girl who loves all things spinning, grinning from ear to ear as she spun around in the teacups or tilt-a-whirl.

The Summer of (just a smidge of) Jealousy . . .

For quite a while, we had been anticipating the husband beginning a rotation for work that would take him to Singapore on a regular basis. Towards the end of summer (and conveniently right before school started) he rushed off to gallivant on the other side of the world in the name of business. Hours after we dropped him at the airport, I came down with a *thankfully* short run of the flu and muddled through preparations for school. Despite being thrilled on his behalf for all he gets to do with work, there is nothing like barely standing upright, packing lunches and backpacks, while getting emailed pictures (like below) of beautiful sights from far away. Little compares to scraping smashed Cheerios off the tile floor while hearing of awesome cuisine and an amazing city.

So yes. Jealousy. Just a smidge of turning green.

The Summer of Travels . . .

Alright, so maybe they weren’t the most exotic (see above *ahem*) or extensive travels, but we did still manage to cram six trips of some sort into our ridiculously short summer. After hitting the beach and Ohio early on, we kept planning and looking for adventures to get into. There were a few overnights to Shenandoah National Park which, despite being right in our backyard, remains a fun getaway. After that, we headed down to the Great Smoky Mountain National park for some more camping (about which I have lots to say, so that gets its own entire post later). And then, we just got back tonight from a trip back up to Ohio for one last hurrah at the county fair.

Summer may be over, but I’m still eying the empty weekends on the calendar and dreaming about where else we can go.

The Summer of Back to School . . .

The girls started school again last week after what seems like the shortest summer break ever. Miss E went in to Second Grade beaming with happiness, ready to use all the words that she had been saving up. She came home complaining that lunch was too short and they had hardly any time, which definitely means she put those words to good use during that half hour. MJ skipped into the building on her first day of kindergarten, barely looking over her shoulder as she requested me to stay outside and let E walk her in to class. So far, the only final report on how kindergarten is going is that it is SO! FUN! and she is making tons of new friends.

And, Oh Yeah, That Pregnancy Thing . . .

I’m  . . . 30 weeks now.

(I had to go count and figure that out. How sad is that, poor fourth, neglected pregnancy).

Things are moving along as they should be in all their third trimester glory. The expected heartburn, the aches and pains, the miserable nights flopping back and forth in a nest of pillows, it’s all there. My usual, debilitating, lower back, omg-I-can’t-walk fun hasn’t quite hit in full force yet though, so there is that to be thankful for. But . . . at the same time, I’ve discovered that I literally am allergic to being pregnant. Which is absolutely no fun, as my arms, legs and stomach are covered in bumps that itch worse than chicken pox and there isn’t a thing that will cure it . . . aside from half a bottle of Benadryl and a solid night of drooling on my pillow. Which I rarely come by.

So. There’s all that. The summer of everything in seven quick bits. Now . . . onward to fall and countdowns and cramming in one or two last trips while keeping steady to school and holding that jealousy at bay when the next time comes . . .

Amigos

Posted By on July 29, 2014

Coming Home {can be such a drag}

Posted By on July 18, 2014

We’ve been home from our hometown vacation for two days and already the kids have been mourning the loss of their freedom to roam all over Grammie’s huge backyard. Apparently our measly lot doesn’t lend well to exploring and adventuring and they’re ready to just pack up and move to Ohio if it means the same level of completely unsupervised play that they went and got used to. I don’t really blame them for holding the place so dear in their hearts. After all, we crammed a lot into those two weeks and coming home is always a bit of a let down.

I’ve heard a million times about all the things they miss . . .

Cousins. All the cousins they could possibly wish for.

Holding the littlest cousin. Miss E would still be over there holding him and poor Tater couldn’t understand why we couldn’t bring him home.

Partying hard. Especially with glow necklaces and balloons.

Zip lines in grandparent’s backyards. Which also goes along hand in hand with partying hard.

Their fancy new room at Grammie’s.
(Before & After, our room on top, kids room on bottom. Still works in progress but so nice to come “home” to.)

Taking naps in the new bunk beds.

Playing with all of Papa’s awesome toys, and earning those naps.

Eating out a million times more than we do at home.

Trying all sorts of new food brought home from a morning at the most wonderful market.
(Cleveland’s West Side Market. Makes me miss Russian markets, and hate Charlottesville markets at the same time.)

Playing on the newly redone tire swing at Grammie’s. Over and over and over again.
(I’d put this at the top of the list of things they miss, since I’ve heard about how we need a tire swing eleventy million times already today.)

I haven’t told them exactly how long it will be before we head back up there. If I had, they’d be swarming the calendar and counting down for the next six weeks.

 

The Fourth {and the fifth}

Posted By on July 5, 2014

Yesterday, we had the obligatory burger cookout, put on our patriotic colors and stayed up way too late watching a bunch of these . . .

Happy Fourth of July from the holiday grinch that only celebrates things anymore to make sure the kids have those happy childhood memories.

Then came today. As most of the nation continued making things go boom, we found out who the biggest kid in the bunch is.

Spoiler, it’s Papa.

As early evening fireworks sounded throughout the neighborhood, we all got in the spirit when he pulled out an old toy cannon.

Here’s to the Fourth and the Fifth. May you all make it through the entire weekend with nary a burn and all ten fingers still attached.