I Scream

Sometimes the best laid plans... well, you know. This actually happened about a month ago, but it's too darn good to pass up.

During our trip to North Carolina this summer, my mother-in-law Mary gave me a clip from the local paper with a great at-home make-your-own ice cream recipe for kids. I immediately thought of doing this with Riley's Daisy troop, of which I'm the leader (and that's a whole other story.) Anyway, during a summer planning session with our sister Brownie troop, the one Logan belongs to, the idea was accepted and we chose this for our craft at the first meeting in September.

Allow me to set the scene: 24 girls arrive at our gorgeous neighborhood clubhouse - they have not seen each other in three months and are VERY excited. While they cartwheel and scream and laugh, I sit behind one of the kitchen counters with two other moms measuring amounts of sugar and cream, salt and ice in various sizes of ziplock bags. I realize now that I should have found some way to do this ahead of time.

I don't greet even one of the new Daisy members or their parents and as our precious hour ticks away, I have yet to complete the prep for our craft/snack combo. The girls are literally WILD. I am sweating. The room we are in has a migrane-inducing echo. Moms are throwing each other eye darts like nothing I've seen and finally.... we finish. We hand out the bags.

What ensures is nothing short of a horror movie, with the most unruly girls (who are always the same and shall remain unnamed) banging their ice-filled plastic bags over the high-end furniture, into the ping pong table, rolling it onto the couch. The idea of "kneading" seems to not have a home in their 8 and 6 year old brains. And then the bags start popping.

Salt water is EVERYWHERE - 24 bags full of it. As soon as we get one cleaned up, another pops, flooding the ping pong table, shimmering on the floor like a lawsuit waiting to happen. Some girls are laughing, others are on the verge of tears. Forty five minutes in, I'm hoarse, breathing like I've just finished an Insanity workout and I literally want to die. But even with the holes, at least half the girls are sitting and enjoying their DQ-style masterpiece, and liking it! We have a two minute break to clean before all hell breaks loose again.

While the older girls go completely bonkers on the indoor swing set (why are they on it? No one knows, but they are outside my jurisdiction), I try to wrangle my Daisies into a circle so I can at least introduce myself and my awesome co-leader, Jennie, to the girls. These sugared up 6 year olds do an amazing job of getting focused and we have a few "normal" moments together. As we walk through the 8 year old circus in the adjoining room to hand the Daisies over to their parents, I almost die of embarrassment and I'm certain they will never leave their children with me again. (As much as I hate my failure, the thought of this thrills me to the core!)

After an hour of rubbing salt water off every surface in the rooms we inhabited that afternoon, I drop my kids off with Mike and run to Jennie's house for respite and a recovery libation.

This job is driving me to drink.

Pain, Understood.

I love the phrase “you learn something new every day.” Or at least I did. In the past, I had no idea what people were referring to when they said they had back pain. Sure, I’ve had my share of aches and pains, but nothing constant or life-altering. Until now.

I cannot function. I want to cry all the time. I consider myself one tough cookie, but this is beating me. (I am venting so look out!) For three weeks, I’ve had an annoying soreness in my upper back between my shoulder blades, but this week, it has kicked in to some sort of sheer and awful pain radiating outward from the center of my spine at the bottom of my neck.

I can’t see a doctor until Friday, so in an attempt for any sort of relief I saw a chiropractor yesterday. Unfortunately, he was not able to move anything around in a way he was happy about, so the only relief I’ve had was from the four year old c-section vicodin I took last night. I can’t tell you how good it felt to have the edge taken off. And I only have two left! (Can’t take ibuprofen because it worsens my colitis.)

My kids, obviously too young to understand, are upset with me for canceling a swim date at a friend’s house today. I have several other weekend plans that I will change as well; I can’t handle the thought of cleaning the house or cooking to entertain this weekend, nor can I imagine attending a party that I really want to go to, because I can’t turn my head in either direction, much less stop furrowing my brow from this smothering pain. I am totally overwhelmed.

Isn’t this uplifting? All I want to do is crawl under the covers until it’s gone. I cannot wait to see that doctor.

What is wrong with people?

I am sitting in traffic in the city, well, south of the city, just leaving an appointment at the University of Chicago. All of a sudden this older gentlemen quickly approaches my window and knocks on it loudly. He delivers the following monologue, angrily screaming:

“I could not tell if you were black or white, but I came anyway. I ran out of gas and this %^&#$ joker won’t hold my license while I get some money. I work for Ford Motor Company and my name is #(*&#*&. Come with me now and buy me some gas. I can take your name and address and mail the money back to you if you want.”

First, I HATE any reference to racial prejudice, so he lost me instantly with his opening remark. Second, he was angry and yelling at me. Third, I was totally taken off guard and honestly, kind of scared. And finally, I would never consider handing over my name and address to some random angry guy in the city. I would likely help someone out who was in need if I had the cash. But this debit card queen didn’t and anyway, he really had no shot. Didn’t anyone ever teach this dude that you catch more flies with honey?

I said, “I’m sorry, I don’t have cash right now and I can’t come with you – I have to get home to my kids.”

Then he f-bombed me.

All this happened while I was talking to Mike on the phone. He was like, “Who’s that? What’s going on?”

This guy must be part of the contingency of folks that honk when I’m not off the block fast enough, or who shake their heads at me when my kids fuss in line, or who ride the back of my van when I’m already over the speed limit.

Seriously, what is wrong with people?

Stingy Subway Man

I had the strangest experience today. Riley, Finn and I were at the food court eating Subway and Finn spilled his chocolate milk everywhere: all over the food, table, floor and himself. After looking all over for a dispenser, I went back to the gentleman at Subway and asked for some napkins. He handed me two.

I said, “My son spilled his chocolate milk, may I have a few more?”

“No,” he replied. “Change tables.”

“Change tables?” I was confused at first.

He nodded.

Whatever! I could not believe his ignorance! I was supposed to move two kids, their sandwiches (drenched in chocolate milk), their drinks and yogurts, plus my veggie sub and drink, our bags and coats to another location, irresponsibly leaving a HUGE mess EVERYWHERE so that he didn’t have to share a rag or splurge on a few extra napkins.

I must have looked confused when I turned around and went back to attempt the mess with my two, super thin and anti-absorbent Subway napkins, because a nearby woman came over with a stack to offer. It was so nice. For the next five minutes or so I cleaned up the milk with a steady stream of passersby dropping off their unused papers. Riley and Finn kept saying how nice they all were and I went from uber frustration to super satisfied by the kindness of strangers in a few short minutes.

It was a great time to have a “pay it forward” discussion with the kids to whom I had doled out all the banana peppers and black olives on my sammy – something I would not normally have been too thrilled about.

“It’s funny, when people do nice things for you, it just makes you want to do something nice for someone else doesn’t it? I asked. They both agreed.

On her way out, the first nice woman who had donated her napkins stopped over. She looked like she must be a grandmother and had obviously been in my kid-saturated situation a time or two before. “You know,” she said, “When you were down on the floor trying to wipe that up, that guy was watching you. He saw all of us helping you and started to try and wave you down and offer you more.”

Hopefully next time stingy Subway man will just hand them over to begin with.

A Rant - In No Uncertain Terms

Fasten your seat belts; it’s going to be a bumpy ride. I don’t like to think of myself as a mom that has too many rules, but being one of the parents on our new block of kids younger than the average seems to be proving me wrong. Even Mike wonders why kids don’t seem to play here as much as other houses and I’m sure it has to do with the fact that Finn sleeps in the afternoon and like a good (and smart) mother bear, I am willing to do anything I can to preserve that. We also don’t have the same caliber of toys that other kids have – motorized scooters and cars, trampolines and enormous play sets. Some of those things will come over time, but while they’re absent, the kids migrate elsewhere.

This weekend, some parents that we’ve only met a few times were out there really playing with a group of the smaller kids. I kept checking on them every few minutes, thrilled to see them in a serious soccer game or wagon races with the parents doing the pulling. The kids were so happy – faces beaming in the sunshine. My mom, aunt and mother-in-law were over, so probably about seven minutes elapsed before I did my usual check up on them and just as my eyes searched my regular viewing points, my doorbell rang. It was the dad that had been pulling the wagon.

Now the rant begins – it’s not going to be pretty. This guy tells me that his wife took my kids to the park. With a more than confused expression I asked for clarification. “Which park? They’re 4 and 6! They should have let me know!” He said, “I know!” And “She piled all three of them (my girls and her daughter) into the bike carrier and headed out a few minutes ago.”

At this moment, I am very unhappy with my kids. They know that they are supposed to play in front of our house only, unless they let me know where they want to go. And the park? At about eight blocks away, going there without speaking to me first is an unimaginable offense. I grab my keys and drive over.

My minutes in the car were spent growing somewhat furious with the mother that took them. Who takes someone’s children anywhere without first talking to the other mom? Who piles three kids in a carrier contraption made for one? Again, who takes someone’s four and six year olds ANYWHERE without first talking to the mom?

So I get to the park and they are not there. I wait. They do not arrive. My anger at this mother and my kids for not even checking with me grows as I drive back to my neighbors and ask if I got the park wrong. He is totally irritated that I have interrupted his phone call and becomes even more agitated when I ask if he can call his wife and ask where she is. Let me just remind you – I barely know them. He calls and speaks to his wife in a language that I don’t understand. I’m sure he tells her that I am a big, crazy loser looking for my kids. Whatever. I want my kids NOW. He tells me she’s been riding around and will go to the park now, so I drive back.

And I wait again. For nearly twenty minutes, I pace in front of my car like some crazed pervert stalking the gazillions of kids there, searching out familiar faces in the sea of sun-kissed small people. They don’t come.

I, who almost never cries, am almost unable to hold it together at this point. I can literally feel my blood pressure soaring, my head pounding and I am fighting tears back like never before. I am beyond worried, so angry at my kids for not coming home and seething at the other mother. It has been nearly an hour. So I drive back home to get this dad to help me find my kids.

And a block from home, finally heading toward the park is this woman, struggling to pull at least 150 pounds behind her in the carrier. I am blind with fury now and cut another car off to get in front of them. They guy swears at me. The mom looks shocked.

I hop out and tell my kids to get in my car. I must have looked insane at that moment, because they didn’t put up a bit of a fight. They obeyed instantly. I think I spouted off about being terrified and going places without telling me and being 4 and 6, but I’m not sure. Then I looked the mom square in the eyes and said in a much too nice and composed voice that my kids were not allowed to go away from my home without me knowing and that I would be taking them home now. “Okay,” she matter-of-factly answered. Not even the smallest apology.

I locked the doors, shut the windows and completely fell apart while driving away. At the end of the block, I stopped the car to properly finish my dissolution. When I finally finished my rant, my girls asked why we were not going to the park and that revved me right back up.

Later, when I had calmed down and had a few regrouping moments, I found out from Logan that she had asked to come home and tell me they were going and that the other mom said she couldn’t wait for her and that she should just call me. She did, but with the visitors that we had, I didn’t hear the phone ring. So the mom said to just leave a message and come along!

And there it was, the tiny voice of my six year old on the line, sweetly doing what she believes to be the right thing as directed by another mom. This may be an acceptable form of communication at sixteen, but not six. I have NO idea what this woman was thinking. It would never occur to me to take anyone’s children anywhere without first personally talking to the mom – NO MATTER WHAT!

Can I get a witness? Am I crazy?

Ah-choo!

I feel like a walking Nyquil commercial. Sniffling, Sneezing, Stuffy head, Fever. Add burning eyes, sore throat and headache and you’ve got it all. The only thing I want to do is rest. It’s been lovely to suffer through this kid-intense spring break managing all these symptoms and just dreaming of my bed. I had one night of 12 hours of sleep, followed by a completely sleepless one last night – go figure.

Of course, the sicko factor has not bought me any perks. While I dote all over my kids when they’re under the weather, my obvious weakness only brings about louder noises, more bickering and crazier stunts by Finn, leaving me zeroed out when it comes to patience. It’s just not right that us moms don’t get the same treatment when our super-immune systems finally break down and catch the goods that our kids bring in the door. I mean, you’d think that when I’m sick I shouldn’t have to eat lunch standing at the kitchen counter while fielding at least 15 requests for other food, clean ups, different colored-straws and to hear tattling. Shouldn’t my dizzy, full head and aching joints buy me one peaceful meal? To top it off, last night was a bath night. I was so tired I threw them all in together with hopes I would be sitting down sooner to watch a movie with them. This three-in-one move just doesn’t work anymore. Finn and Riley fought for the end and Logan shivered, but of course no one was willing to get out when they were done.

This all came after FIVE – which I can’t believe is possible – milk spills during dinner. Ugh. And then Mike came home, unusually late, with all the beginning symptoms of this wonderful little bug, just in time for the weekend. I can tell it’s going to be a great one. And by the way, all the little carriers are just fine. Oh well, guess that’s parenthood for you.