Vocabulary Lessons

Someday soon (or not) I will delve into the myriad of reasons why I haven't posted in 6 months.  There are many memories that are stored in the recesses of my brain, hundreds of pictures to download, and even more snippets of stories that are saved on my phone.  I'll get around to them.  For now, without being bogged down by how or when to start, I'll give you a vocabulary lesson from S.

Me:  Hey guys, do any of you know what the word relieved means? 
S: Sure, relieved means "Phew!"
Me (unsure she really gets it): Can you use it in a sentence?
S: Phew!  I'm relieved I ran away from that tiger!

So yeah.  I'd say she has a firm grasp on "relieved."

Wasting Time

The first 5 years of my Salad's life were busy.  Busy in the sense that I kept the 4 of us busy.  I filled our days with playdates and field trips and adventures.  But even with all that, we had time to fill.  Hours that I didn't want to spend sitting in front of the TV or tearing up the house.  So sometimes . . . I'd waste time.  I'd drive past the "ladybug car" at the church up the street, we would drive home the long way so M could check the progress on house that was being built, we'd look up why electric trains can run in the rain without it being dangerous, we'd stop by the SPCA during an errand day, or walk to the pet store after we picked up the dry cleaning, or chased trolleys down State Street.  I loved those days. 

Now though, I don't have a second to waste.  We'll still do many of those things, though regrettably, I feel like I'm rushing through them, through life.  Always rushing, so sometimes I don't let us walk to the pet store and I drive home the shortest route. 

So here is my pledge to my Salad and myself - we will waste more time.  We will slow down.  Use our imaginations.  Tickle.  Cuddle.  Draw.  Listen to more music.  This summer, we'll swim.  We'll skip rocks.  We'll skip baths. 

I want to love these days, too.

Confession

I read back a few years on the blog.    2 year olds are busy.  3 year olds are hysterical.  4 year olds are sweet.  But 5 year olds?  At least mine - they are tough.  In retrospect, so much of this year in parenting has been hard for me - emotionally, that is.  So hard, that I haven't wanted to blog about it - the stories I have to tell are less than flattering pictures of our lives. 

M's behavior this year has been persistent, insitent and consistent.  My reaction to this behavior has been to feel disheartened, defeated and guilty.  He goes from 0 to 60 in mere seconds - tantruming and overwhelmed.  And I shut down.  I tell him to go to his room, calm down and speak to me when he's not crying.  I'm ashamed to admit that at my best in these times, I tune him out and at my worst, I yell.

But the other night, when he threw a fit because the girls had a different fort in mind to design, neither of those reactions felt right.  I flashed back in my mind to a time in 6th grade when I was so frustrated with my life, I spewed hateful words at my family.  I remembered the kind of cry that feels like it will never stop.  Like you may never catch your breath again.  Like screaming is the only way someone will hear you.

So I knelt down and told him he was being really clear with his feelings.  I told him I understood that frustration.  I asked him how I could help and he climbed right into my lap.  He buried his head into my neck and I felt his hot tears.  I sat quietly and hugged him tightly and soon he was calm.  After several minutes, he said "Girls, I just wanted you to listen to my idea."

Clear as day, he let us know what was going on in that emotional little mind.

Note to self - try to hear what is being said, even through shouting and tears.     

Repeat Performance

All too often, I find myself trying to recreate past perfect days.  I set up unreasonable expectations about the Salad's behavior, thinking something like "We've been here, we've done this, we loved every second and no one cried or yelled!"  But I don't take into account that particular day's details - maybe we got less sleep than the last time, maybe I woke up on the wrong side of the bed this particular day, maybe someone is coming down with strep throat and I don't know it yet.  Who knows?

So when my parents suggested taking a picnic to the Wings Field one warm October day, I though why the heck not?  We'd gone a very long time ago and had an amazing experience.  But I knew to lower my expectations.  Just in case.

Turns out, it was another awesome day.  We got to spend time with Grammy and Poppy.  We got some much needed vitamin D and watched plane after plane take off and land.  We also got to talk to a pilot and stand close enough to a Medical Helicopter when it was landing that I actually had to hold onto S, for fear that she could be blown backward.  It was as perfect as the last time.

And that my friends, is nothing short of a miracle.

Bookworm

Originally written October 10, 2012

Conversation from this morning:
Me:  "OK guys! Make sure your library books from school are in your backpacks. You have library today."

S:  "Oooooh! Yeah! Books are my most favorite thing."

Picture from this afternoon, as M and A dug in the dirt:

Imagine how awesome her life is going to be once she can actually read!

When FEELINGS need to be enough

I hesitate to write this post, lest anyone think I doubt our decision to send the Salad to half-day Kindergarten at a local catholic school.  Thus far, it has been an excellent experience, that my babes and I have both enjoyed.  There have been relatively few growing pains.  We are learning a lot and have made many liked-minded friends.  We have new sweet routines, like individual homework time and helping button uniform shirts. 

However, I have been feeling nostalgic since the weather turned cooler.  There are days when I would love to stay in our PJs all day and snuggle under a blanket and watch movies.  There are days I miss holding my gaggle of children's hands as I walk through the supermarket parking lot.  Certainly, we still do those things, but they are left for the weekend.  I prefer more spontaneous days. 

Lately, though I realize there are things we used to do each week, that we'll never do again.  I watched the toddler story time begin at the library this morning, as I searched for an advent book.  I got choked up as I watched little babes, back into their mommy's laps to settle in for a story and then hurry over to the table for a simple craft.  We've outgrown those story times and while we've moved on to other reading rituals, they aren't so sweet or simple.

I passed our playgroup building earlier in the week.  We spent 3 fall's/winter's worth of Wednesdays there - playing with our friends, sharing snacks, struggling to settle at the end for circle songs, watching out 2, 3, 4 year olds push bins of toys into the closet at cleanup.  I asked the Salad what they remembered about it later that day.  M said he couldn't remember what I was talking about.  My heart shattered.  Not for the growing up, not for the loss of routine, not for the 2 hours apart each day.  I'm not even sure why.  I guess I don't want the last 5 years to be for naught.  I've poured every once of energy into filling their days with joy, I'd prefer them to remember specific days, habits, rituals.  Though in the end, if they look back at their childhood and remember feeling joyful, isn't that enough? 

I guess so, though I'm going to be better about updating this blog.  For photographic evidence.  Look, dang it!  You had fun!

Win, Schmin

R coached the Salad's soccer team this season.  He wasn't supposed to, but when the email came that the person who was supposed to coach had backed out, he felt obligated.  Our last name is 1/4 of the roster, after all. 

Out of the 9 kids who regularly came to the games, one boy played in the dirt patches, one boy wore the sideline cones on his head during the games, one boy spent more time than he should have whining, and one boy's mom told me he was too polite to actually try and kick the ball away from other people.  So that left the girls to rally together.  And most of them played really well.  Just not well enough to, you know, win a game. 

I am so proud of my family.  The Salad didn't complain once about losing every game.  They just got out there and played their little hearts out.  Of course, the promise of snacks and playground time with a new soccer friend didn't hurt. 

And I'm proud of R too.  Those kids had fun.  Granted, they didn't know that each Saturday R would wake up and ask me "Do you think I can talk the opposing coach into 4 - 3 minute quarters?"

Listen, what people don't know won't hurt. 

There's no crying in Running!

Last spring the Salad ran in a local race series. It was a 50 yard dash against about 30 other preschoolers. M came in 2nd and the girls were maybe 6th and 7th? Most importantly, they all had fun. Our family rules for the races were:

1. Don't look back.
2. Don't stop running.
3. Finish with a smile on your face.

This fall, they bumped up to 1/4 mile race. It was not an easy transition. In each race, A broke at least 2 of those rules. Most heartbreaking of all was the "Finish with a smile on your face" one. It's tough to do with tears streaming down your face as you scream, "I can't do it! My side hurts!" I ran the second half of each race with the Salad, staying close to A to shout words of encouragement. But that's tough to do with tears streaming down your face and your side hurting. So even though she begged to quit after each of the 5 races, she finished every one, with both of us hiding our tears and clutching our sides.

Darn Post Office

The post office sent a piece of mail today with the enticing promise "Tips inside to save you time this holiday season!" Save time? I thought, who doesn't need that?  Except this ad was one of those folded over, perforated, possibly glued deals and when 5 minutes later I still couldn't open it, I realized I had just lost valuable time I'd never get back, even with all of this time the post office had just promised me.

Full of resent, I threw that bit of false advertising away. 

The Salad doesn't stand a chance at a normal childhood, do they?

Internationale

S:  Mommy? Can you French braid my hair?

Me:  I’m sorry, baby girl. I don’t know how to French braid.

S:  (after a moment of silence) That’s fine, Mommy. You can just do an English braid.

Me:  Well then, of course, I can braid it!

She pressed her hands together and bowed, as she said “Arigato Gozaimasu”

What the . . . ?

Real Make Believe Conversation

S:  Hello?

A:  Hi Goldilocks! It’s Mary had a Little Lamb. How are you today?

S:  Oh, I’m OK. I have to find a new house to live in now though. The Three Bears don’t live with me anymore.

A:  I’ll come help you move.

S:  OK, it’s over the river and through the woods.

M:  Ring Ring

S:  Mary had a Little Lamb? I’ve got to go. My phone is breaking up and I’ve got another call coming through.  Hello?

M:  Hi! This is Little Bear. Do you want to meet me at a new park?

S:  Sure, can you call Mary had a Little Lamb and give her directions?

Dreams

M:  Mommy, are the fuzzy things in my dream catcher dreams?

Me:  I think they must be, buddy.

His eyes widen, he catches his breath.

M:  Come here and see, Mommy!

He points to a small fuzzy in his catcher.

M:  See?  There's my dream!

Me:  Yep.  I wonder what is was about.

M:  I think it was the one about Army guys.

Keep your tonsils for as long as you can

A had her tonsils out Monday August 6, the day after we got home from our month long DC vacation.  It sucked.  And I don't just throw around crude words like that.  Not often, anyway.  But it really bit. 

She was exceedingly brave, marching into that surgery center, looking everyone in the eye, answering all of their questions.  She was given medicine, lead groggily away from me for 45 minutes, and then next time I saw my baby, she was a hot mess, screaming and crying, coming out of her anesthesia with "emergence delirium."  She was like a child possessed.  But I got to rock her and put ice on her neck and eventually she drifted off into an unsettled sleep on my chest. 

Where she remained for the next 10 days.  Seriously.  People who say their kids were fine the afternoon of their surgeries are liars, liars pants on fire.  I will say day 1 and 2 were the better of the days.  But days 3-10 were complete misery.  She wouldn't eat.  She wouldn't take her gross tasting pain medication.  She couldn't go to the bathroom.  She slept all day but hardly at all at night.  She had nightmares.  Her breath smelled.  She asked me 752 times if her throat would hurt forever.  She wanted to know if she'd ever be able to eat again.  She lost 6 pounds.  I lost 5 years off of my life.

M and S were lost without her.  They slept together in M's room for the first 4 nights, while I slept with A in the girls' room.  On the third night, M woke up at 1:30 in the morning crying that he "missed playing with his buddy."  Later, as I rocked A back to sleep after a crying fit of pain at 4:00 in the morning, I softly told her about M's and my exchange earlier.

"I miss him too" she whispered as she drifted off.

Finally on day 10, she woke up and her light had been switched back on.  S was so happy to have her "old A back" that she planned the "Great A Gathering," a party to celebrate A's return to the land of the living, complete with a tea party and a "pin the horn on the unicorn" game.

I love my Salad who love each other.

A little slice of Heaven

Original post written July somethingorother, 2012

On the Salad’s daily constitutional the other afternoon, we ducked into a DC metro station to pick up a map. We were greeted by a 200 foot escalator. M was thrilled. “Mommy, I’ve never been on such a long EX – calater!” Imagine then how happy he was when two armed guards with their police dogs, asked the Salad if they’d like to pet them. I laughed so hard imagining those 3 minutes in M’s mind. I think it went something like this “Ooooh! I like EX-calaters and this one is super long! Wait! This is a train station! Wow! These guys have guns! Oh boy! I love dogs! What?! We get to ride this super long EX-calater again?” He was literally vibrating with excitement.

In which I roll 3 days into 1 blog post

Our last days in Washington were a blur.  There were things the Salad wanted to do one last time - ride the elevator to the top floor of our apartment building, take a final swim at the indoor pool, say goodbye to Ms. Deborah - our favorite concierge, throw rocks in the courtyard fountain for the last time.  We did them all. Typing those last wishes out just now made me realize how innocent 5 year olds are still.  I think many adults forget that.  I'm getting sidetracked and teary eyed, so I'm going to continue. 

R had a few things he wanted to treat the Salad to, as well.  Trips to the Lego Store and American Girl doll store, for example.  Should you not believe that R was along on our trip, here is photographic evidence.

And finally my request was to walk the 9 blocks to the White House and Washington Monument (have I mentioned that the Salad nicknamed it the "Big Pencil"?) 

One of my favorite nights that last week, though, R and I got to see old friends that we haven't seen in 5 years.  R and Matt met 9 years ago.  Matt's wife and I met shortly after, when the menfolk were stationed in DC together.  We've managed to keep in touch, even though they have since lived all over the country.  Sometimes you are lucky enough to meet people you know will be in your life for a good long while.  That's Matt and Cassie.

The awesome thing about this night was that we picked up right where we left off years ago.  And the even more awesome thing was that our 6 kids did the same thing.  Despite the age difference, despite having met only twice before when the Salad was a mere 6 months old, despite having only 3 hours together, they were instant besties.

Maybe friendships are hereditary?

3 different kinds of crazy

I headed out to a dinner with the other triplet moms a few months ago.  I had kissed the Salad goodbye, but they were involved in a heated game of wrestling/dance class dress up, so it was lackluster at best.  I quietly walked out the door, yelling one final "So long!"  When I got to the van, I heard crazed pounding at the bay window and looked up to see this.

Good gravy.  That Salad is all kinds of crazy.  And I am all kinds of lucky.  I mean, look at A's lips?  And you guys.  S is wearing a choker!  And do I even have to mention M's penchant for headbands?

CRAYONS!

Original post written on June 29, 2012

We visited the Crayola Factory with our friends Maeve and Maura at the end of June. R was able to join us as well, so we were feeling doubly blessed that day. We had a great day, topped off by a trip to the Crayola Store, where we filled a tin with any color crayon we wanted.  Macaroni & Cheese orange?  Yes please!Crayons are probably our most beloved plaything, so this was a special treat.

Stacey and her family followed us out of Easton on the way home. Once we were on the turnpike, I realized we had lost her, so I sent her a text message.

Me: You ok? Thanks for a great day!

Stacey: We’re good. We had fun. Girls are asleep.

Me: Damn. You’re lucky. Mine are using their canteens as “breathe tanks” for their “outer space adventure”. Sigh.

For serious. They. Never. Stop.

It's all fun & games, 'til someone cries on vacation

Original post written June 12, 2012 (I know, I know!)

R has been so excited to take the Salad to Great Wolf Lodge all winter long. Took us until this week to get the timing right. We got up early Tuesday morning for an 8:25 AM ENT appointment for A and continued up the turnpike to the Poconos for 2 days of indoor water park fun. The Salad splashed and showed off their swimming skills. We ate at a buffet where we let them get anything and everything they requested, even though it meant a dinner of 6 cherry tomatoes, 1/2 slice of pizza, 1 lemon, some buttered ziti, and cranberry sauce for M. They were seriously giddy when they saw they would be sleeping in their own bunk beds! In their own room! With a TV! And R let them stay up until 9:30 to let them watch PBS! It would have been later, but A came and asked if we could please put her to bed, that "it was time."

We were back in the water the next morning by 9:00 AM. At noon, I told the kids it was time to wrap up, dry off and head out for lunch and then home. S cried. Hysterical. Sobbing. Sat at the side of the pool, refusing to move in protest. Demanding we bring her back someday. Begging for more time.

You know it's a been good vacation when your kid leaves in tears.

So long, Farewell

Real time update, I had a breakdown of epic proportions on Thursday of last week.  I am embarrassed to admit that I was overwhelmed by things that should have been done months ago.  Like unpack that last box from our month in DC or finally call the insurance company about that pesky bill I don't understand or clear a path in the laundry room, so at least I can, you know, DO the laundry?  The straw that broke my sanity came in the form of 3 red shirts that the Salad should have worn to school.  I didn't forget.  It didn't slip my mind.  I just flat out did not think it was Thursday they were supposed to wear red.  I think my brain is still in vacation mode, but the rest of my life is moving ahead in actual mode without me.  This blog is evidence of that.  Many important things have happened in the past few months.  And the blog posts either have not been written, or the pictures have not been downloaded or the dog ate them.  Not that we have a dog, but you get the picture.  Those red shirts gave me the push I need to get caught up.  So once again, I will be blogging about the past, while we continue to have playdates with new friends and hikes and soccer games that may never be recorded for posterity.  Rest assured, posterity.  Those things are happening too.    

Original post written on July 12, about July 2, actually posted on September 30, 2012

Our good friends Peter, Lucy and Thomas are moving sheer across the country. It took me months before I had the courage to tell the Salad. M was especially heartbroken. Most of our friends are girls, and while he usually prefers girls’ company, he definitely notices the lack of testosterone in our friendships. When he first realized that his best buddy would no longer be here in the fall to hike with, his eyes welled with tears, as he wondered aloud, “Now who will I catch my froggy friends with?”

The week we had to say our good byes, Philadelphia temperatures soared into the 100s. Ms. Amy suggested a South Philly sprayground and then a free lunch at IKEA. So we headed off and the kids ran and chased and splashed and played in the water for a good long while. We took a break to have our last “Pirate Booty party.” I’m not sure how these “parties” started, but they consist of me opening a fresh bag of booty and 12 hands wildly grabbing at the bag, shoveling fistfuls of popped goodness into their mouths. They usually take place in the privacy of our van and end in me having to vacuum out the car. I think these booty parties are going to be missed very much, as A has requested a virtual pirate booty party. I sure hope they sell Pirate Booty in California.

After we’d had our fill of the sun and water, we drove to IKEA for mac-n-cheese and chicken lunches. Yo Gabba Gabba was on in the kid’s area. It’s one of the Salad’s forbidden shows, mostly because it gives me the creeps. And Peter, Lucy and Thomas watch even less TV than we do, so the 6 kids sat and stared at the television like zombies, with one of us moms occasionally having to remove a child from actually standing in front of the TV. Not much food was eaten. Of course after lunch, there was a trip to the bathroom, where so much preschool humor takes place. The poop talk! The stalls! The hand dryers!

Then it was time to bid our bestest friends farewell. Each child hugged each other. I held back a tear as M got Peter in a bear hug and said “Bye, Peter!” I’m not sure anyone understood the finality of this moment. M occasionally will have a moment of clarity. Today for example, as he bit into his peanut butter and fluff sandwich on the steps of the Department of Government Accountability, he lamented “Now Peter won’t be here for me to share my sandwiches with.”

I’m hoping we see our friends again, but should life get in the way, I’m glad my baby boy will remember his sweet friend that way, catching frogs and sharing food.

Hike, interrupted.

This post was written in May.  Seriously.  May, people.  I have issues. 

The Salad wanted to take R to one of our favorite places to hike. So we loaded up snacks and sunscreen and headed out for the morning. It started out well, M caught a tiny frog just as we started down the path to the pond. But when we got to the bottom of the hill, we noticed how . . . different . . . the area looked since the last time we visited with playgroup. The pond was higher. The foliage was thicker. The ground was soggier. The bugs were . . . abundant.

But we pressed on. Suddenly a 9 year old boy showed up, literally out of nowhere. He just appeared and took a liking to us. It wouldn’t have been awful, this strange Lord of the Flies kid tagging along, except he was being a wise a$$ and the Salad is too naive to know. I couldn’t ditch this sarcastic punk fast enough. As R hacked a path through the woods, I came up with every excuse to end our hike. Finally, the promise of ice cream at Front Street Fountain lured the Salad away. I breathed a heavy sigh of relief as we trudged up the hill to our car, watching the orphan? boy disappear back into the woods from which he came.

I think we were all fine to cut short our hike, though, ‘cause like I said, the bugs and all.

Note to self – instate hiking hiatus until September – effective immediately.