Ride or Die

M and S are daring, in life, yes.  But most glaringly when it comes to amusement rides.  Which is a dang shame for them, because R and I are decidedly not daring, preferring to ride the Merry-go-round, rather than anything that goes fast, or high, or upside down.   So when M and S asked, nay - begged, to go on the Scream Machine while on vacation, I had to suck it up, slap a smile on my face and beg God that I wouldn't stroke out.  A is like R and I.  Though not as comfortable with it, fearful that she will miss out on something. She whispered in my ear that she didn't think she would like the ride, but that "I should tell her all about it when we got off."  Unfortunately, we were the last 3 people to get on the ride, so there were 2 seats left next to each other and another down 4 spots.  I put M and S next to each other and took my place at the end, next to a girl about 6 years old.    Poor, poor girl.  The ride was like the worst, most turbulent plane ride you could imagine.  You know that horrible belly feeling you get when your plane drops 2 feet?  I had that feeling for 3 solid minutes.  And every time they would raise it up and drop the ride again, I would scream "I hate this!  God, when will it end?!"  The girl may have learned a few choice curse words too.  I'm sorry for that, but I couldn't help it.  It was an involuntary reaction.  Is there such a thing as situational Tourette's Syndrome?

Oh, my aching belly!

My girls have taken to school like ducks to water.  M has had a harder time.  He seems to be suffering from separation anxiety.  Not from me, but from "his girls".  Even though they are in the same classroom, the girls seem to be a bit more open to meeting new friends.  And that Pisses.Him.Off.  I know 'cause he told me the first day of school.  Came out all smiles and half way home, he broke down and growled in a hurt/confused/angry voice that "his girls didn't play with him and he wants them to only play with him and not make any new friends!"  Though he has continued to go willingly into the classroom and comes out full of stories about rice bins and songs he's learned, he still won't make any new friends.  And then, his belly started to hurt him.  All the time.  After breakfast.  In the bath.  Many, many times during the night.  For 1 week.  I took him to the doctor, just to do my due diligence.  She felt his tummy, asked me all sorts of bowel-related questions, told him he was doing a great job of eating and growing and sent him from the room, so she could speak to me alone.  Physical manifestation of Separation Anxiety was the official diagnosis.  Like pediatric irritable bowel.  Poor boy.     

As a real time update to his stomach woes, he had a great week in and out of school and miraculously, his belly no longer hurts him.

However, I know how he felt.  On Wednesday, when the kids were in school, I stopped at the dry cleaners.  The old lady there smiled widely and said "Ahhhh, free from your kids!"  The lump took over my throat.  My eyes welled up.  I wanted to scream that I didn't want to be "free" but I couldn't speak.  I shrugged and nodded.  She noticed my reaction and asked "How many days are they in school?"  I still couldn't speak.  I held up 2 fingers, paid my bill and walked to my car.  I drove to my sister's to drop something off and along the way, I saw a dump truck.  "Look M, a dump truck!" I yelled.  I turned to see his excited reaction.  He wasn't in the car.  The water works stared again.  I popped into Target to pick up a few things.  I took the elevators, out of habit, so the Salad could press the buttons.  But there was no Salad.  While I was shopping, I heard a sweet little voice singing "Itsy Bitsy Spider."  Help.  I can't stand these constant reminders  anymore. 

I raced to the school and picked them up a half hour early.

Because my belly hurts without them.  Damn irritable bowel.

Ocean City, Cliffs Notes, 1 month later

"Cool Rider"

 To Infinity and Beyond!

Girl Time with Sophia, Mommy, Grammy and Aunt Jo

Just a few things to mention about this vacation, so we don't forget.

* Hurricane Irene cut short our vacation by hitting the east coast Saturday and Sunday.

* The Salad slept in bunk beds.  They told everyone that we met for the 2 weeks before we went away "We are going on a beach vacation.  We're sleeping in a bunk bed.  Then when we get home, it will be our first day of school!"

* We took the Salad miniature golfing.  At one point, R was trying to tell S to hit the ball harder.  His exact words were "Hit the ball like you're angry at it."  So she did hit the ball like she was angry at it.  Except that it wasn't a golf ball, ifyouknowwhatImean. 

* Weeks before the trip, S mentioned that she wanted to "ride the tree that was cut in half, where you get wet."  So of course, we rode the log flume.

* We had family and friends in and out of the house all week. I think it was our best beach vacation yet.

The Salad goes to School

The Salad started preschool Wednesday, September 7.  We had talked about it, visited the school 2 times, pretend played school more often than I can count.  Our preparation payed off, for they got up, got dressed, fed and out the door by 8:15, with excited smiles.  They bounded through the front doors of the school and practically ran into their classrooms.  M and A gave R and I big smooches and S punched it out with fireworks, then asked for permission to go play.  Clearly, I have well adjusted children. 

I bit my tongue so I could make it out of the school without crying.

Thankfully, we made it to the car before the tears came.  And they kept coming on and off for the next 4 hours.  Little things brought them on - being alone in the Target dressing room, listening to adult music in the car, having an uninterrupted conversation.  Ok.  Those things don't sound like they should bring on the waterworks.  In fact, those things were pretty awesome.  But they were painful reminders that my normal is changing.  And I didn't like it one bit. 

Much like the Me and my Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad day post, the I-cried-on-my-kids-first-day-of-school post seems so tired, so passe.  But here it is nonetheless. 

We have very good friends that are homeschooling their babes.  I think they rock.  They are committed and confident that they can raise intelligent, well-adjusted, socialized children.  If I had even 10 percent of that confidence, the Salad world still be here, safe in our bubble - taking our time eating breakfast, wearing stained clothing with unbrushed hair, playing with friends who overlook such things.  Not an hour after we dropped off the Salad for their first day of school, R and I saw one of these homeschooling friends in Trader Joe's, with her brood following along.  I welled up immediately.  When she caught my eye, I gave her the "I can't talk right now, my heart - it's in my throat" look from across the store.  She nodded.  She got me. 

I bit my tongue so I could make it out of Trader Joe's without crying.

And while I admire these women, I know that homeschooling is not the right path for our family to take.  Wanting to protect your babies from boys who tell your daughter that her cheese stick is yucky, or girls who tell your son that he can't play because he's a boy is not reason enough for us.  Wanting to shield your 4 year olds from knowing who the "Transformers" are or ever seeing an episode of "Sponge Bob" is not reason enough for us.  Fearing your son will be made fun of because he still shares his room with his sisters is not reason enough for us.  Worrying that your baby daughter, who often becomes too affectionate too quickly, will be pushed away is not reason enough for us.  Dreading the day that your babies might be negatively influenced by their peers is not reason enough for us.  I feel like these lessons, which seem so big and looming at this tender age are stepping stones, to the bigger, harder lessons that are sure to come.

So I have to remember to tell my babies that people aren't always nice, but we need to be good examples.  That some people aren't blessed with siblings, so they will never understand the closeness that being born at the same time brings.  That affection may not always be returned, but when it is, there is nothing more special.  That peer influence is fine, so long as it is positive. 

My heart and mind are tired and a little heavy.

Now, I am going to bite my tongue so I can make it up to bed without crying.

Can you find the Kevin Bacon reference?

M spotted a big nest that had fallen from our front tree and was laying in the street.  He begged me to take him down to see if there was anything in the nest.  Unfortunately, there was.  We saw 2 tiny squirrels, so small their eyes weren't even open.  R used a stick to move the nest away from any passing cars and I went in to call the SPCA.  Unfortunately, due to Hurricane Irene, they were closed.  M suggested making a baby squirrel stretcher and quickly set to work.  He also suggested calling the police.  Before we took such drastic measures, I researched what to do online.  Thank you, Google for giving us this site. http://www.mary.cc/squirrels/foundababy.htm

R and I were skeptical, so mostly just to humor M, we followed the instructions.

I found a low cardboard box, the Salad set to work gathering some leaves, acorns and dirt from the tree the nest fell out of and R scooped the nest up with a snow shovel and placed the whole thing in the box.  Something we learned from the site was that if the babies were hurt or cold, the mommy would reject them and that even on a hot summer day, a baby squirrel gets cold very quickly.  So, I filled up 3 latex gloves with warm water, placed them under the nest and moved the whole box to the base of the tree.  The site said if the mommy squirrel was coming back, she would do so in 3 hours.  We went inside. 

About 20 minutes later, I happened to sit down at the computer and look out the window.  The mommy squirrel was just leaving the box with a baby in her mouth, running for the next tree in our yard!  I yelled for R and the Salad to hurry quietly to the front window.  We sat and watched that mother squirrel, move not 1, not 2, but 7 babies from the nest!  She diligently would dig through our box of leaves, grab another baby in her mouth and run for the other tree.  What a blessing to watch "This Woman's Work".     

The Catchall Post

We've done so super many fun things in the last few weeks, I've been unable to keep up the blog.  I have the intention of blogging the night of each super fun thing, but I'm exhausted after most of them.  So let's quickly recap last weeks of July, first week of August. 

* Ian came over and turned our brand new swing set into a water slide. Ahhhh, the benefits of older cousins.

* R and I took the Salad into Media to walk through an Antique Car Show.  The brightly colored cars (Purple!  Pink!  Orange flames!) kept them properly interested.  Though, I suspect the promise of ice cream after the show played an important part, as well. 

* I braved taking the Salad to the movies by myself for the first time. It was, by far, our most successful movie adventure yet. I chose Winnie the Pooh, because I knew there wouldn't be anything "scary". S is particularly sensitive to "scary". We haven't made it through the first Cars movie because the night time scenes are "scary". The shark in our Little Mermaid book is "scary". Fire works and people in costumes? "Scary." Our bravado faltered a bit when the lights dimmed and the previews became loud, though we rebounded quickly, once I doled out popcorn.

* Aunt Jo had an unprecedented weekday off, and so she was finally able to join us at the pool.  The Salad and I both love bringing guests to the pool, because there is someone else besides myself to scream at . . . "Look at me!  I can swim under water!"  "Did you see me?!  I jumped in the pool!"  "Watch me!  I can float!" (though none of them can just yet).  And Aunt Jo was a semi-willing participant in many underwater piggy back rides.  Thanks for the break, Joanna!

We hit the ice. Literally.

Ian called us from his brand new cell phone this morning to see if we'd go ice skating with him this afternoon.  I almost said no, because I wanted to take the Salad to the pool.  Gotta soak up these sunny days while we can.  But then I remembered I had told S I would take her ice skating back in February and then my colon went wonky, and I never took her.  So I told him we'd go, but that we were heading to the pool right after we were through.  I set to work, digging winter clothes from the depths of our storage bins and gathering our bathing suits.  It was a strange mix of supplies we needed for our outings - mittens and sunscreen, fleece pants and flip flops.  The Salad was confused when I handed them long sleeved shirts.

We arrived, strapped on our skates, and gingerly stepped onto the ice. 

Even with her walker, A fell immediately.  I thought for sure that was the end for her.  It would have been for me.  But she got herself right back and took off and never turned back, though she fell about 50 times in the 75 minutes we were there.  Every single time, she'd say "I'm alright, Mommy" and get back up, my heart felt proud. 

M used the walker for 2 seconds and begged me to let him try without it.  Which I did, and down he went.  He asked for his walker back immediately. 

S told me she just wanted "to go fast."  She was fast, though she ran more than skated.  She didn't understand the gliding without picking up your skates, so mostly she just looked like she was jogging behind the walker. 

Now, I know you're wondering.  No.  I did not fall.  No.  I did not use a walker.  But that's all I'm gonna say about me.

M got a blister after about 7 laps and sat with Aunt Jen in the stands, cheering us on after that.  The Zamboni machine at the end more than made up for a boo boo foot.

On our way out, we stopped at another rink to check out 2 sets of figure skaters that were having a private lesson.  The girls were amazed at the "beautiful dancers."  So was I, truth be told.   I probably trip or fall more often walking than these people do on skates.   

I wonder, did these skaters start out using walkers?