Livin' la vida Mommy

10:41:41 AM MST

The boy returned from band camp Friday just fine.  It was a little shaky there, for a day or two...where his phone calls were enough to make me want to zip right up there and bring him home.  

By Wednesday, he sounded more like himself, just tired, and I was able to put my car keys back down.

The imprint of where they were gripped in my hand just wore off yesterday.

Now, it's on to bigger and better things.

We start school Monday.

I vowed this year to wait until school starts to by school supplies.  This is a novel concept for me, as those who know me well can attest.  The prospect of reams of pristine paper, new pens, and the smell of a new box of crayons is usually enough to make me veer into the nearest Target and load up like I have to supply the entire neighborhood.

I was doing quite well until a friend of mine told me that spiral notebooks were 5 cents at Walmart.  5 cents!  And so the ball started rolling in my mind, the wheels turning...I mean, having gone through this so many times before, I kinda know what they're going to need anyway...and I can get those things first, the stuff the teachers want later....and I won't go crazy.

As I stood in the checkout at Walmart yesterday with Nolan beside me,  stacks of 5 cent notebooks in front of my, I felt that pang, that good pang of "this is a great deal!"  

There was also that control-freak pang of "I'm on top of things."

It was enough to carry me through the day, even though I resisted the siren call of "special edition" Sharpies in colors I'd not seen before but love.  Later, I whispered to them, as I placed them back on the shelf gently, with the care of a lover.

I saw my friend last night, and I told her I'd checked out Walmart.  "Did you see the Walgreens ad?"  "No."  "Five pack of Bic mechanical pencils, 5 cents each, you can buy 3 packs at a time.  We bought like 30 packs, I cleaned out the one I went to, I'm hitting two more tonight."

I felt feverish. 

So I went to Walgreens as soon as I got everyone home.

I am certain that by the time school starts, my friend's picture will be posted by mine---right next to cash registers all over town.

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2:12:32 PM MST

"...at band camp..."

I just thought I'd get that out of the way.  You'll see why in a minute.

I dropped off Nolan today at the school.  He is going up north, a few hours away, to band camp.  He'll be back on Friday. 

All last week he would alternately sulk or make a face every time I reminded him of it or asked him about it.  I was getting pretty irritated with him over his attitude until I decided to make a stab at why he was being such a pill.

"Is it because you know this means school will start soon?"

I opened the flood gates.

"Yeah.  I'll only have ONE WEEK after I get back off, and then school starts again.   That sucks."

Are you kidding me? I thought.  A week up in the cooler climes, doing something you enjoy, away from us.  No parents.  No siblings.  It's interrupting his busy schedule of sleeping in, playing Halo, and complaining about Ben; what was I thinking?  Of course he's upset.

Suck it up, buddy.

Anyway, as with most camps, there was a list of items to take along.  I've been collecting what he needed to take over the summer, and I was fairly comfortable (okay, and maybe, a little smug) that I had it under control.   Missing him aside, this should be a piece of cake, I thought, as I drifted off to sleep last night.  I went through the list in my head again.  Check, check, check...I mentally ticked. Forms.  Don't forget to fill out those extra forms, was the last thought I had before I nodded off. 

This morning, I had him in the shower, all his stuff laid out to be put in his bag.  I was filling out the forms, and I was copying the list of "field trips" aka 'away games and festivals' for myself when I got to "ASU Band Day."

This, for some reason, conjured up an image of...marching bands.  (duh) More importantly, it conjured up an image of the thing that holds the music onto your instrument...because playing with two hands and holding your music, for someone who plays with two hands, like a clarinet, is probably important.  (Although, I have seen music held in one hand, while the player wobbily held it and played his trumpet, while swaying, thanks to pregame libating...I won't name names; suffice to say, I know it can be done, just not in my son's case.)

I didn't even know what the thing is called, but was set straight soon enough after consulting the expert swayer, and as soon as Nolan was packed, we set off for the music store.

I managed to mangle the pronunciation of "lyre" but the guy understood what we needed, and I also picked up the flip-chart music holder that attaches to it.  (I may be slow on the uptake, but I am thorough.)   We brought the lyre home only to discover it didn't fit right. 

Back to the music store, this time with all his gear as time was getting short.  He went into the store, receipt in hand, as well as the part of the barrel he thought he needed to fit it on.   A few minutes later, he emerged emptyhanded.  I assumed he needed more money, but no, he needed the entire clarinet.  My eye started twitching as I bit my tongue--I'd suggested that to begin with--and I waited long enough to wonder what was up, when suddenly, he reappeared.  I couldn't resist asking, "What happened?" "He was putting it on the wrong part."  "He was?"  "He was.  I was.  We both were."

I kept my laughter and further comment to myself.

I got him a bite to eat, and dropped him off at the school.  He probably would have bid me adieu in the parking lot, but there was a sign that said "Parents must check in". 

To think, I shaved the "annoying overbearing mother" mole off my forehead, this would have been a fabulous opportunity.....

Once inside, we were directed on where to place his luggage and such, and I tried not to wince at the gross state of his pillowcase ("at least I'll know it's mine") and we got his nametag (haha!) and I handed over the forms.  I looked around the room at these kids, none of whom I knew, and I spotted a neighbor of ours.  I don't really know her either, just in passing, but when you are sending your child away, it's nice to see a familiar parental face.  I said hi, introduced her to Nolan, and could almost hear him groan inwardly. 

"Are you coming?"  she asked.  I knew already, from her past record, she was more than likely going along.  "No.  I was going to, but by the time I put my name in the hat, there were enough parents along."  "Is this his first time?"  "Yes."  "I'll keep an eye on him."  This time, I know I heard Nolan groan inwardly.

We stepped aside together, and I asked him if he was okay.  "Yes."  He paused.  "I'll be fine."  "You want me to leave, don't you?"  "Yup."  I stood there, not wanting to leave, knowing I had to...stalling, I asked, "Do you see anyone here you know?"  "Yes."  I thought, foolishly, he'd take me over to them, but he stood there, 'mom-go-already' all over his face.  I told him to call us later tonight, and I left.  Before I went out the door, I looked over my shoulder at him.  He was already with the kids he knew.

When I was driving away, and I felt the pang I knew I would, but I swallowed it.  I wouldn't want any of the people driving up to see me wiping away a tear or two in the car, lest I embarrass the boy.  (As if anyone would recognize me.)

I hold my children close (sometimes too close to those on the outside) and that always makes separations like these difficult.  The truth is, I wanted to go along, I did want to chaperone.  But I know that the child needs his space, he needs to have these experiences away from me in order to grow.  And so do I.

I know he will be okay and I hope he has a good time.

Hopefully, on his return, he's not going to begin any of his stories...the way I started this one.

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4:05:36 PM MST


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7:41:50 PM MST

My forearm is riddled with little red slashes.

A sign that I should be under surveillance in the padded room of my choice?

No.

(Although, if the padded room was equipped with air conditioning set to "artic", I might consider it.)

No, these marks I bear are from my seatbelt.  I miss the hole every time and when hot metal bumps up against your skin, and you hear a sizzle...well, it's bound to leave a mark.  Who knew that taking Audrey to her swimming lesson would be such a challenge? 

As I breathed in the superheated air of my van, I could feel my lungs crinkle in protest.  So I felt kind of bad urging Audrey into her seat while at the same time, I have to chuckle at her ingenious way of buckling her seatbelt.  She has taken an old knit hat, part of her winter hat-and-mittens set, and uses it to hold her seatbelt as she guides it in.

It's a sad day when your six-year-old outsmarts you.

Unfortunately, this happens a lot.

The boys are visiting with their uncle, three hours away, and it's down to me, the princess, and Mr W.  I'm trying to focus on the boys having a good time, making memories with their cousins and family; and not that they are taking classes instructed by Professor Tio E, in "Porn 101:  How the Internet and Cable TV Are Your Friends"; "When to Tip a Stripper";  and "The Physics of Quarters", accompanied by the seminar "Alcohol:  Lowering Inhibitions or Broadening Horizons?"

I exaggerate, of course.  My brother is a good guy and he enjoys my childrens' company. Besides, as he put it--"I'm not going to corrupt your kids."  It's just that he is way more fun than I am, I know it.  Less filter.  Less "no, that's inappropriate."  They will have enjoy their time there, no doubt. 

I am, admittedly, a little overcome by the emptiness of the house.  Not the quiet.  Audrey takes care of that, no problem.  And it is nice to not have to be feeding people all daylong.

However, even though I assured them that I rented their rooms out while they are gone, I miss them.

Maybe I need my own seminar.

"Yes, I'll Have a Margarita."

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12:47:08 PM MST

"I won't use it,"  he said flatly, with the disaffected air of a teenager. 

We were in Costco.  During a trip there earlier in the week, I'd spied backpacks and a Camelbak.  I took the oldest boy along with me so I could show him the stuff and so that he could pick out his own backpack color, even though I knew he'd pick black (he did).   It was the Camelbak, though, that was supposed to be the main attraction.

Nolan's going to band camp next month and while he is going to be someplace cooler, he will be out on the field all day practicing, marching, and I thought (and it was suggested) that the Camelbak would be a good option.   Hydration in the summer in AZ is not something to mess around with.  And he's...well, he's what the old guys in Westerns would refer to as a "tenderfoot".  That boy hasn't seen real physical labor ever, whether it's 75 or 110 degrees.  I was just looking out for him.

Judging by his response, perhaps I should stop doing that.

It seems every attempt I make these days to guide him along is met with, at best, a sigh and an eyeroll.  I know he's growing up, and would prefer to be left to his own devices.  I get that, and for the most part, I rein myself in more often than not. 

But.

But it's hard.  It's not so out of character, really, to look out for the kids.  It's been a part of my life, everyday, for the last 14 years.  Surely he could find it in his adolescent heart to cut his mother some slack.  Over the years, I padded corners, I locked drawers, covered outlets, and cut up his hotdogs--among myriad other things-- to keep him safe.   Sleepless nights spent feeding him and fastidiously changing his diaper (no rashes for my boy) are ready in my memory as I walk by his room at night, doing my last lap of the house before bed.  It's just that now, where I used to stand and marvel at chubby, cherubic cheeks, I find myself standing and marveling at cheekbones, lanky, long limbs, and the whisper of a mustache.

During the day, I find myself torn---letting him take his steps away from me while simultaneously fighting the urge to babyproof the world for him as he does it.  

When we got home, I told Mr W what had happened, and that my feelings were hurt.  And that Nolan's general bad attitude of late and his constant bitching about Ben were pushing me closer to the edge by the minute.

"If he wants to go to camp, ill-prepared, get sunburned, and dehydrated, and have blisters on his feet because he doesn't want to listen to me, then that's fine!"  I exclaimed, exasperated and near tears.  Mr W pointed out to me that perhaps I should let just that happen.  I found myself sputtering, incredulous, at the thought.

(He obviously has not met the Good Mother Police.)

I was pondering his ideas when I overheard him talking to the boys in that tone he uses, the one reserved for affronts to the Mama.  It's a 'she's upset, so I'm upset' kind of thing, where he has my back, and I am grateful for it.

Consequently, this week has been better.

And Nolan has learned how to ride his bike to friend's houses within a couple of miles of us....while encased in bubblewrap.  :p

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10:32:08 PM MST

Towards the end of the school year, I had a brainstorm.  I have been increasingly concerned over Ryan, he's gaining weight, and was trying to think of a way to up his activity level without making him feel like I was picking on him.

I realize that he may have a growth spurt in his future, but maybe he doesn't.  And having a lifetime of "you'll grow out of it" still ringing in my ears experience behind me made me start thinking.

I decided that although our summers are brutally hot, we could do things together, as a family, that could be fun and get the kids off the couch, late in the day or early in the morning.  I told them they would have to earn their video game time, and just to sweeten the deal, I made it easy--15 minutes of activity for 30 minutes of game time.  I came up with things like kickball on Monday evening, maybe walking on Tuesday mornings, etc.  We would all play, and it would be good for every one of us.

I invited another family with four kids to come and play kickball with us, and tonight we had our first match up.   We had a lot of fun, even though I failed to take into consideration that they are quite athletic--soccer and running kids---and we are....not.  LOL 

We still had quite a good time, in spite of the fact that Mr W was not along this evening, and Audrey was not feeling well.  The other family readily stepped in and rotated people onto our team once it became apparent that we were in need of help.  :p

At one point, I was running to third base, my brain urging me to run faster to make it, just as my eyes noted one of the other kids moving towards me.  I put on the brakes. 

And still managed to trip.  In a most spectacular, play-of-the-week fashion.  It was not pretty, and it dispelled my thoughts of ever being a contestant on the Amazing Race, as clearly my talents are more of the MXC variety.

As the earth sped up towards me, I thought, sweet Jesus, this is gonna hurt, and I was right.  My hips and legs came up off the ground, and I scraped up everything from my right boob on down. My hands are scratched up, my knee and ankle really hurt, and there's a fabulous bruise on my calf.  Although I would have blamed no one for erupting in peals of laughter, my friends were good and asked me how I was before commencing to tease me and chuckle heartily.  (My children later assured me it was hilarious.)

All in all, as I sit here nursing my wounds, I realize it's not such a bad thing to remember how hard the ground really is, and not so bad to embarrass myself publicly. 

What's a little dirt amongst friends?

Besides, I'll be okay.

Once my ego stops smarting.

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12:08:18 AM MST

Ben, Audrey and I were hanging out in my room.   We were lounging in my bed, and they were watching tv while I was surfing iTunes. 

(I have to admit, I should be in a twelve-step program for my iTunes habit.  It's that bad.)

Suddenly, Ben starts laughing.  "Mom!  Didn't you hear that?"  "What?"  I ask, removing a headphone from my ear so I could hear him.  Audrey stood in the doorway of my bathroom, laughing maniacally.

"She was sitting here, watching tv, with me, and all of a sudden, she jumped up, ran into the bathroom, pointed her butt at the bathtub, and shouted "Fire in the hole!" and she let one rip.  She farted!  It was loud!"  he starts laughing.

I couldn't help but giggle too, reminded that our resident delicate flower is not so delicate....in spite of what the pink dress says.

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10:36:21 PM MST

On Monday afternoon, Ben had to stay afterschool for a rehearsal.  I offered to take his trombone and backpack home with me so he wouldn't have to lug them all the way as he walked home.

Now, I've watched him struggle under the weight of that backpack for quite some time now.  I'd sigh, roll my eyes, and tell him to clean it out at least once a week.  However, once we're in the door, and the backpack is in his room, I/we don't think about it again.   At least not until the next time I'd see him take a few steps backwards as he put it on, in an attempt to maintain his balance.

He handed it to me and I swore gently under my breath.  "This thing weighs more than your sister.  I thought I told you to clean it out."  "I know, Mom,"  he responded, as I held up my hand to shut him up.

I lugged it to the car (oh my aching back) and once I got it home, I put it on one of my dining room chairs (I heard it swear under its breath) and cautiously opened up the zippers.

I half expected a clown to jump out.

Nope.  This is what was inside:

*Lots of useless papers.  Some from December.

*A roll of aluminum foil, on a roll that was forever oblonged by the crush of items it was in between.  Been there since the Science Fair....which took place months ago.

*Hey, a couple of field trip slips. 

*The enrollment form I asked him to turn in for his siblings...in March.

*Four, yes four,water bottles, 3 16.9 oz and one 8 oz, all about 3/4 full, one of them cloudy enough that I didn't bother emptying it out, I just threw it away

*A dog eared book

*Math text and 3 ring binder

*3 pencils and a Pokemon keyring

*A few Valentines and Valentine candies

*A 100 pennies (finders keepers)

*4 batteries--3 C and one 9 volt (Science Fair)

Then there was the pocket I kept pulling sticky stuff out of.  I had no explanation for this, and as he has a separate lunchbox, I had to wonder what the hell was making the stuff sticky--the Valentine's candy was sealed and non-chocolate.

I spied something putty gray-beige and for a minute, I thought that I was looking at the bottom of the backpack.  But something made me reach in and poke it.  It looked like clay or something.  I pulled it out.  It was a quart size ziploc bag and I was perplexed at the contents.  I wracked my brain, no, I didn't make him Playdoh, no, that's nothing from any lunches...what did I send him to school with.....

Oh, yeah.

A couple of months, maybe more, ago, I made him salt dough for a project.  Salt dough is flour, salt, and water--so it's white to start out with.

And definately not bubbly.

Yay, fermentation!  (I got your Science Fair right here, beeyotch.) 

After I was done with the "eeewwwww" dance, I stuffed the baggie in the trash, threw the backpack in the washing machine......

.......and made a beeline for the shower.

I may need a tetanus shot too.

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10:20:18 PM MST

This weekend marked an unprecedented event in my house:  Nolan went out of town, out of state, without us.  Specifically, without ME.  

His school band travelled to California for a band festival and they left on Friday.  They spent Saturday at Disneyland, and he came back early this evening.

Initially, I wanted to chaperone, but of course, being an 8th grader, he asked me not to volunteer.  Then I plotted a trip with me and Mr W, but I ultimately talked myself out of it.  We were just there.  Who would watch the other kids?  Who would watch the dogs?  When am I going to trust I've been raising him right and let him go?  He is going to be in high school next year.  I gotta learn to do it sometime.

Not only did I let him go, but I made him pack his own bag.  That I lovingly picked out for him, complimented by travel sized toiletries.  Because nothing says lovin' like a teeny travel sized deodorant. 

I didn't even call him.

Which was fine, as he called us.  When he got there.  In the morning.  A text or two throughout the day, all of which made me smile; while he may not have been willing to admit it, he missed us.  He missed ME. 

Hey, everyone knows Mama is the most important.

He returned, triumphant (the band did well in the competition), tired, hungry.  His siblings were ALL over him, and the only loud noises I heard were the cheers they let out as they played their games.  Not a bicker in sight.

I think he even let Ben get a couple of digs in, without retort.

Good times.

Speaking of which, I was reading another journal and stumbled on the Saturday Six.  I've not done it for a while because the last few have not floated my boat.

And I am tired of the Sunday-night AOL purge that usually eats my entries.

At any rate, I took the quiz Patrick included this week, and after that, I could not resist doing the whole thing. 

Saturday Six - Episode 211

1. From your earliest memories, how many different career choices did you seriously consider?

Two. (Doctor.  Scientist.)  

2. Is the career you actually wound up in among those early possibilities?

The one I'm in was never on any list, although, I guess technically, I'm a scientist.  I kinda fell into it and it wound up working for me.  The Mom-gig, I always wanted; while I never considered it a career, it has turned into one.  The toughest job I never knew I'd love...and to be honest, sometimes hate. 

3. What’s more important to you: being successful in your professional life or your personal life?

I decided a long time ago that if one had to be sacrificed, it would be the professional one.  Do I grit my teeth sometimes, because I know I could do other things or advance within my field?  Of course.  But my personal life is what I have to live with, what I come home to each day.  Children are only children for a while; it's not time you get back.  Besides, Mr W's job is hard enough, without my pushing my career goals ahead of everything else too.  It's a delicate balance we have here, but it's a balance.  I've got my foot still in the door, I can conquer the world after recess.

4. Take the quiz: What’s your priority?

Here, it is, the culprit....(and, hell yes, that's accurate :p)

What's Important to You... And What Isn't:

For you, sex is usually your number one priority. You find getting things done to be fairly satisfying. You like feeling accomplished. You attend to almost every priority in your life. You don't neglect much. You want thinking to be a high priority, but you don't take enough time for yourself.

5. Are you more likely to let your personal life get in the way of your career, or to let your career get in the way of your personal life?

I answered this already, but personal trumps professional, every time.  It all works out in the end.

6. If you were to make a list of things you will look forward to doing on Monday morning, would going to work be at the top of the list, the middle, the bottom, or not on the list at all?

I'm off on Monday.  The only work I have to worry about is getting kids out the door on time.  And keeping Mr W out of trouble.

Because it's his day off too.

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4:28:50 PM MST

I pack the kids their lunches pretty much everyday.  I broke down and started to do it once I realized it doesn't take up that much more morning time.  I figured, if they are gonna eat junk for lunch, at least it's junk from home.

Initially, my big battle was for the kids to return the boxes to me, so I could refreeze their cold packs.  (A necessity here in AZ, like air conditioning and sunglasses.)  It got to be ridiculous, my foot stomping and cursing when they'd forget.  My morning would become an episode of Magyver, with me fashioning an ice pack out of common household chemicals and duct tape.  (Really just a baggie within a baggie and regular ice, don't bring it back home to me.) Arrrgh--They couldn't remember, I couldn't remember...the punishment was "you have to eat at school, then" but I thought about it.  I felt like this was a battle not worth fighting, not when the remedy was so easy. 

I bought some more freezer packs, so that would no longer be an issue.

My morning irritation-stress-level dropped enough so that I could actually enjoy our time together in the morning.  So zen.

Anyway, this last Monday, I looked for Ben's lunchbox, and it wasn't in the usual spot in the pantry.  I asked him to bring it to me, *deep breath* not-a-big-deal in my voice.  He brought it to me, and with a little dread, I realized it felt a bit heavier than it should.

Cautiously, I opened his lunchbox.

I think you know where this is going.

I looked inside, and there sat....half a tuna sandwich.

That I'd packed on Friday.

All I can say is that I have never been more grateful for the power of Ziploc, the ingenuity of cold packs, and the miracle of air-conditioning.

I also found another application for Lamaze breathing.

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