The problem with a summer bucket list

Well, that's it, people.

Party's over.

Summer--at least for this family--is officially done.

Hubby and I were back to work today. It's amazing how quickly you can slide right back into routine. It almost felt normal to wake up when it was still dark out, rustle two sleepy boys out of bed groggy and complaining, walk back into our classrooms, and start unpacking the books and binders again.

When teachers return to work after summer vacation, most of us spend at least a few minutes (some, hours) catching up. Today, when anyone greeted me with the usual "Hiiiiiii! How are you?" I mostly answered: "Fat, sun-damaged, rested, and happy."

Which led me to reflect upon my previously posted Summer Bucket List....

Here's the problem with having a summer bucket list (when you're me, anyways): because of my generally Type A, slightly obsessive, greatly perfectionist nature, it tends to go completely against the whole purpose of having two months off of life.

Yes, there were many items on the list that were checked off.
Hang out by the pool? Check!
Take the boys to an art class? Check!
Read? Check!

But the one about waking up super early and taking two little boys to see their first sunrise on the beach? Yeah, not so much. I don't know where the hell I got the idea that waking up at 4:00 in the morning might be a reasonable and exciting plan when one is able to sleep in until whenever (which usually meant when our youngest son started watching TV, around 9:30 a.m. Not bad, huh?).

And the one about working out outdoors more than in the gym? Well, let's just say I didn't hit the gym a whole lot this summer, so we can check that one off (unless you want to count the part about actually working out).

Then there were the housekeeping type goals on the list: items #21-23 all involved some kind of organizing project. Although I can be a glass half-full kinda gal and say that I did manage about 50% of those (I sorted about half of my pending photos and completely organized my closet, but totally ignored the make-up drawer), those three items on my list just haunted and taunted me every time I had a free minute. The relief of having my closet done really wasn't worth the self-imposed stress of nagging myself about it all summer.

I think I might be too goal-oriented (and anally retentive) to have a summer bucket list. Although it was fun to create one and a few times we actually referred to it to remind us to do stuff (Watch the night sky for shooting stars! Run barefoot on the grass!), it really just gave me a nagging sense of "To Do." Every once in a while, I was like: Oh yeah, we haven't done the colored hairspray thing, or We didn't play Frisbee while we were on the trip, or I should be having more post-sex waffles! Now, admittedly, that kind of To-Do List is waaaaay better than the usual To-Do List, but it's still, in the end, a To-Do List. And if you know me, you know I can't fully relax when I have a To-Do List.

Maybe my Bucket List should've consisted of:
1. Get some more sun-induced wrinkles
2. Gain some weight from too much beer and too little exercise
3. Destroy blond highlights with a mixture of chlorine and salt water
4. Sleep in

I may not look my best for the start of the new school year, but I sure had a good fucking summer.

Last day of school back in June: Cheers to being OFF DUTY!

This can certainly be nicknamed The Summer of Stickers...we added quite a few to the old RV this year

If you drink beer that was purchased as a souvenir,
it should not make you gain weight, right?!?
Right?!?!

 

Let's make Mommy a mermaid!

One of our favorite Summer 2013 memories: crab hunting on the beach at night

Boys' first waterfall hike in GA

During a summer RV road trip, this is our version of going out to dinner:
walking a mile down the beach from our campsite for ocean side (literally) dining!

Anyone remember the movie "Point Break?" Look it up...my little Bodhi & Utah
(Can you believe that background?!?)

Annual summer trip: Dave Matthews Weekend

 

Girls behaving badly

 

Plenty of pool time acrobatics & goofiness

 

Made it to painting class...check that one off!
 

Me & my girls attempting (but not succeeding!) sexy snarls



Me + Hubby + Beach  = Perfect Summer Day

We are incredibly lucky enough to have two whole months together off as a family, with nothing to do but enjoy life. And we certainly did that...and then some.

Maybe next year, I won't have a Summer Bucket List, because, after all, summer is all about the glory of not having to do.

Or, maybe, my list next year will be very short:
Do whatever we want to, whenever we want to and enjoy it.
Check!!!

An update on yesterday's post (or: Watch me rationalize my craziness)

Totally worth it.


 

A post in which I officially declare my craziness as a mom

 

Today is my son's 5th birthday. Except he thinks it's tomorrow. And we are all pretending it is, too.

I believe this is further evidence that motherhood has made me crazy.

Let me explain.

We have fallen into a particular birthday tradition with our boys. Nothing fancy or especially unique, but its sweetness, I think, is in its simplicity. When the birthday boy wakes up, he finds his gifts, card, birthday hat (those cute little headband-looking things they make in kindergarten and preschool that proclaim "Today I am 5!"), and a bunch of balloons in the dining room. After Hubby and I take a million pictures of him opening his presents, hoping at least one captures the sheer joy of the perfectly selected gift (okay, that's just me obsessing and taking pictures; Hubby just enjoys the moment), the birthday boy is presented with a pancake with Hershey's syrup for curly hair and an M&M happy face. For this birthday, Hubby and I (and big brother, Ben) are especially excited about the birthday morning, since Aidan Kai is receiving a major gift: his first, not-a-hand-me-down, real-deal mountain bike in his very favorite color: blue.

That's all cute and sweet and all that, you are surely thinking, but what the hell does that have to do with pretending his birthday is one day later? You might assume it's because the bike is not here on time. That would make total and complete sense. And would make me way more sane and normal than I actually, apparently, am.

The reason we have all chosen to pretend today is not, in fact, August 8th, is because our little one wanted to celebrate his birthday with his pseudo-godmother (and one of my favorite people in the whole world) and her grandchildren. She lives a few hours away, and surprised him with a night stay at a water park resort, and the only day we could do it was the night before his birthday. (Hang in there, I'm getting to the point.) So that meant that we woke up on the real morning of his birthday in the resort, and then a good portion of the day was spent driving home. (You see where I'm going with this, right?) So if he knew that today was his birthday, I would have had to take his bike up there (ridiculously out of the question) or give him his big surprise when we got home, after driving for hours and all of us being cranky and tired and ready to just do laundry (me), eat (all of us), watch TV (them), and go to sleep (again, all of us). No sweet little birthday breakfast. No excited, messy-haired, sleepy-eyed 5-year-old tearing open presents. No pancake birthday face.

So, I was faced with a conundrum (within my own head, I understand). And although I know we could have skipped some of the minor traditions listed above, Í know that really, I could not.

And so, thankfully, I am surrounded by people who not only know my craziness, they love me anyways (or maybe a little bit because of it?), and are more than happy to go along with it. So everyone involved (and I do mean everyone) is pretending that today is August 7th (luckily his birthday is in the summer, because I could never get away with this during the school year), because--to further complicate things--he knows his birthday is August 8th. So if you happen to bump into my kid today, and he asks, it's the frickin' 7th, dammit.

Tomorrow, after the Big Breakfast Gift Giving Bonanza, we will have family and our bestest friends meet us at the beach for a little celebration. And everyone will probably giggle as they wish him Happy Birthday. There will probably be a moment where someone will forget and slip and say something about his birthday having been yesterday, and I will nudge them sharply in the ribs with my elbow, and obsess over whether my 5-year-old suspected anything.

I know, I am fucking nuts.

All day long today, I have looked over at him lovingly, privately wishing him a "Happy birthday" in my head, wondering how the hell my little baby turned 5 and is ready for kindergarten.

And felt guilty.

Because of course, if I could just do all this scheming and just go with it, it would not be as crazy as I actually am, because I also have obsessed (a teeny bit, but still) that maybe it's just wrong that he doesn't know that today he is five!

When we woke up this morning in the hotel room, I was dying to jump on his bed, shouting, "Happy Birthday Big Boy! Today is your birthday!" But I settled for what I've been calling him since we left to our friend's house two days ago on his birthday trip: "My birthday boy." Don't worry; I don't think he noticed that I said it about a million times this morning: Good morning, Birthday Boy! How did you sleep, Birthday Boy? Did you have fun on your trip, Birthday Boy? Are you excited about tomorrow, Birthday Boy? Did you brush your teeth, Birthday Boy?

Before I had my kids, I swore I'd never be One Of Those Moms. And in many ways, I'm not. I leave them "behind" (often) with family members so Hubby and I can have date nights and travel and pretend we don't have children. I never put a "Baby on Board" magnet on my car, or one of those stick family collections on my rear window. I refuse to drive a mini van. I don't gush about my children to random people (much). I still shave my legs every other day and do my manicures weekly so my husband will consider me a hottie. I don't scrapbook. I will never record my child's voice as my greeting on my voicemail in an attempt to be super cute and adorable. And I will never, ever, ever tell a pregnant woman that she is so super duper lucky because she is a walking miracle and is about to enter the happiest most magical time in her whole life and that she will never wonder what the hell she got herself into.

But lately, I've started to catch glimpses of myself that prove that really, I am One Of Those Moms. And I am realizing that we are all, in fact, to some degree or another, One Of Those Moms. Because we do corny things and put an inordinate amount of importance on minor things and fret and worry and gush and cry at preschool ceremonies and make M&M happy face pancakes...all in the name of Motherhood.

So, today I want to wish a very Happy Birthday to my littlest one...my baby...my soft, squishy, sweet boy...my Aidan Kai.
(But for today, let's just keep it between us, shall we?)

A tribute to Dave Matthews Band

At some point during a Dave Matthews concert you get the feeling of  I don't want this to end. The feeling is sheer joy masked as dread. Only those people who love the band (or any other musician) with the same intensity understand that. But it's factual. I've realized that these concert weekends have become my very favorite days of the year. Yes, there are other amazing days in my life. There are birthdays and Christmas mornings and unplanned spontaneous wonderful days that become one of life's best. But overall, the sheer bliss, excitement, giddiness I feel at the DMB shows each year...they are my favorite.


What started as a fun concert to attend of a band whose music I really enjoyed, has become a spiritual experience. It's silly; I know. I'm an easy target for mockery. It's just a band, for God's sake. It's a concert. Why the importance? Because it makes me feel wholly alive. It makes me feel like I'm present, living, feeling Life. I'm surrounded by other people who feel, either to a lesser or even greater degree, the same power of a great setlist or a song that's rarely played live.

And then there are the lyrics. I'm more moved
by the words of a song than the melody--always--not just with this band, but with any musician. And Dave Matthews's words are poetry...and therapy. His lines make me feel understood. Yes, I am aware that a statement like that makes me sound like a teenager filled with angst talking about Nirvana in the 90s. But let's face it: life gets harder as you get older. Real Shit starts happening. And if you happen to have a head as intense and noisy as I do, then sometimes you need someone else to put into words what you're feeling or have felt or are afraid of admitting you feel.

"Celebrate we will for life is short but sweet for certain."

Thanks, Dave, for making it that much sweeter.

Breakfast for one in the campground

I am sitting in our campground, waiting for my family to wake up. I just went for a run on the beach. (Helps to offset the beer.) In spite of the fact that there are several families surrounding us, all I hear is the steady hum of the RV air conditioning, some kind of cricket-thing chirping, and one bird whose song sounds like a repetitive "ray-kee, ray-kee."

My run this morning was sensational. The ocean was a greenish mint, and transparent. The sand here is powdery white--like confectioner's sugar--nothing like the sand at home. Although I came across a few people further on down near the condos, our area belongs to a state park, and it's nearly deserted this early.

It was really the only time I've woken up early during this trip, gone off on my own for some down time. Not because I couldn't have; Hubby kept suggesting it. But it just didn't lend itself. For the first three stops, we were busy. There was so much to do, and new things to see (and endless pouring rains in those damned mountains), and I didn't want to miss anything...wanted to be with the kids and Hubby and do stuff and see stuff. And, I was tired. I wanted to sleep in. There were lots of late nights having too much wine or beer, either crab-hunting with the kids or having Grown Up Time out by the fire after they'd gone to bed.

I sit here now, outside my Little-Engine-That-Could-Camper, and I am content.

Calm.

Absolutely and completely calm. Something I rarely am. Considering that I've decided to start therapy again when I return home (and yoga and meditating) just to help find a way to calm my mind more, I sit here and am in amazement of the feeling. It's the beach, the sun, the blue skies, the early morning solo run, the cup of coffee, the feeling of freedom.

That's what this little clunker of a mobile home has given us: a feeling of freedom.

It's ironic how big the fight was when Hubby first proposed we buy an old RV. We don't fight often, and when we do, it's not usually major blow-outs, and never, ever over big decisions. But that one fight--I remember he had found "the perfect RV" (which wasn't even the one we got) on ebay--that fight was a doozy. "That is silly and unnecessary and ridiculous and irresponsible," I had said, with absolute certainty.

And then, after many conversations in which he reminded me how much I liked camping and how much more affordable it would be than flying anywhere, and, probably most importantly, seeing a picture of RVs on the beaches...I caved. I jumped on the bandwagon full-blown. And the night before we were going to buy it, I was the one who had to remind Hubby why it was a good idea.

And now here we are, a couple of years later, and getting ready to put it up for sale when we return home. Not because it was a bad idea--quite the opposite. But because this particular one was a great starter, but Good God, we'd like one that doesn't require prayers before starting any portion of it. And because we have travel plans over the next couple of years that don't include camping.

And as excited as I am about these plans and about getting a newer RV later on, I am so damned melancholy about parting with this one. I have learned a lot about myself in this tin can. I have made some of the best memories with my family in it. I have seen new places I didn't think I'd ever visit. And to think it all started out with one of' Hubby's Dreams and A Huge Fight. So there you go...another lesson: be open, because after all, life is nothing if not an adventure.

Life Lessons Learned in an RV

For the last week, I have had no clue what day it is. I mean, not even a vague notion as to whether it was…say…Monday or Thursday. I didn’t even realize when June turned to July.

Do you know how absolutely and completely freeing that can be?

Eight days ago, we packed up our 22-year-old RV with our 2 kids, lots of anticipation, and a few prayers, and headed out for our longest road trip yet. The itinerary included 6 stops along the way, putting us in four states in a little less than 3 weeks.

Being on the road and going from place to place,  worrying only about spending time with your family, playing on the beach, and finding a good local place to eat have a way of making you lose your bearings a bit. I was amazed by the realization that I had, literally, lost all sense of time.  I was completely and totally disconnected.

For someone who usually adheres to an extremely tight, self-imposed schedule, it is liberating to not know what day it is-- and most importantly, not care.

I think I have decided that this is my favorite part of owning our old little beat-up RV.

The longest I have ever been away from home is 11 days. This trip is scheduled to last 19. I say “scheduled,” because when you are traveling this many miles in a motor home that is this old, you just never know for sure. Take the first day, for example: we left Miami mid-morning in order to make it to Cocoa Beach, Florida so we could spend the day with our friend who lives there. Instead, we spent about 4 hours dealing with a suddenly-not-working-in-spite-of-being-serviced-generator. We made it to our friend’s house barely in time for dinner.  And, take the second day, too, for example: we left our friend’s house at 6 a.m. in order to make it to Savannah, Georgia by lunchtime. Instead, we spent 9 hours in a parking lot with a busted water pump and shredded something-or-other belts. We skipped Savannah and made it to Charleston, South Carolina with barely enough time to check in to our campground and go to sleep.

For someone as superstitious as myself, I would think that maybe the darned little guardian angel thingy that Hubby brought along might not be as guardian-like as he’d hoped. And for someone as mathematically-inclined as himself, he would think that, statistically, we should be good for the rest of the trip. (Just in case, we have now taken to saying a prayer out loud when we turn on the generator. It started out as a simple “Please, God, let the generator start” in unison, but then the boys turned it into “Please, God, let the generator fart,” and that seems to be working, so we’re going with it. And just in case, I have now taken to saying a prayer--silently as to not further stress Hubby--whenever he starts the engine. We are very religious these days, apparently.)

And, I have to say, as much as I have hated (I can’t italicize and bold and underline that enough) the calling-the-RV-version-of-AAA moments, I think they may have contributed (albeit painfully) to my sense of freedom.

When you are this controlling in your own head, it is almost a relief to realize that you really have very little control over situations. And, at the risk of sounding corny and cliché, it is a little empowering to realize that you can, however, control your reactions to situations.

When the generator broke down not an hour into our trip, I couldn’t will it to work again. I could, however, make jokes, play with the kids, paint my nails, and declare that surely this mishap would guarantee that The Thing That Could Go Wrong With The RV has already happened. And when the engine suddenly started to make ominous noises and we were sitting on the side of the expressway only 30 minutes away from our destination, I had no other choice but to admit that crying wasn’t going to replace the damned water pump or any of the belts its spontaneous combustion shredded. In fact, it would have only made the situation worse (obvious but poignant!)

For a few hours there, we had no idea how bad it was going to be: was this even repairable (one guy told us they didn’t even make those replacement parts anymore)? Would we be able to find a hotel if we needed one (the twelve we called in Savannah were booked solid)? Would we have to explain to our boys that, after a year of planning this trip, we might have to go home after the first day (and how the hell were we going to get home if we did)?  I had absolutely no other choice but to go with the flow, and worry only about the moment at hand—two things at which I am notoriously bad.

I’m realizing these little trips are not only giving us, as a family, an opportunity to bond and play and laugh and be away from everything, but it’s also giving me an opportunity to practice some of the things I really want to be better at in life. And if it just so happens that I can learn these lessons as I watch my little ones squeal with glee while they chase down crabs, or while I’m  enjoying  an ice cold beer on a beach in the Outer Banks, then all the better.

Here’s to not knowing what day of the week it is…Cheers.

 

What's on my...

One of my favorite magazines is Marie Claire, and I'm totally diggin' their "What's On" section, so I decided to do my own version (not only because it's fun and frivolous, but also because it gives me an opportunity to play I'm-A-Superstar-And-The-Public-Really-Wants-To-Know-This-Kinda-Stuff-About-Me).


What's on my...

Vanity: A ton of toiletries for our upcoming 3-week RV road trip; a candle with sea stars; too much make-up; our toothbrushes; excessive contact lens paraphernalia.

Perennial To-Do List: Organize my photos, do more yoga, lose 4 pounds, yell at my kids less, meditate.

Refrigerator Shelves: Blueberries, strawberries, blackberries (notice a pattern?); milk; creamer; beer.

Itinerary: Melbourne, FL; Savannah, GA; Charleston, SC; Outer Banks, NC; Blue Ridge Mountains, GA; Destin, FL.

Fantasy Itinerary: The Hawaiian Islands, with enough time to explore each one like a local.

Playlist: Anything and everything by Dave Matthews Band; "Chicken Fried" by Zac Brown Band.

DVR: "Up All Night," "E! News," "What Not To Wear," "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles," "Jake and the Neverland Pirates," "Ninjago," and the movie "Unfaithful."

Nightstand: Several books on Buddhism (only 2 of which I've read and one I've skimmed); 2 novels I haven't even opened; Book 2 of the "Dante's Inferno" Trilogy (which I have decided I could absolutely care less about and to which I will apply my "Life is too short to read bad books" philosophy); 5 journals; 3 pens; eye drops.

Qualities-in-a-Friend List: Authenticity, versatility, honesty, and a sense of fun.

Workout Plan: In the summer, it's just get in whatever I can, whenever I can, in an attempt to minimize the damage of "No Work And All Play Summers." Mainly weight training a couple of times a week at the gym and short run here and there. When I'm desperate and the beer calories are starting to show, I torture myself with a P90X video at home.

Bucket List: Spend one full summer in Hawaii with my kids and Hubby; live in Hawaii for at least a year after retirement; live walking distance to the beach.

Mind: Learning how to quiet it!

Liquor Shelf: Grey Goose Vodka; Hendricks Gin; lotsa wine.

Quote to Live by: "There's no real point in mourning all the sadness and suffering in the world....So this is my therapy, to sing about the end of the world and dance. We don't find solutions in despair--we find solutions in the defiance of it....Everybody needs a little horn section."  -Dave Matthews

A letter to my (last) preschool graduate

 

 

Dear Aidan Kai,



You graduated from your little preschool. That's it. No more babies. You were my last one. My mushy, sweet, shy one. Now, you are ready for kindergarten, they tell me. But really, I don't think I am. I can't fathom the idea of you not being there, at your little school, surrounded by those teachers who have watched you grow up.

You started in "Purple Door" when you were only 2. Leaving you there, that first morning, was made so much easier by the fact that your big brother was with you. He was starting his last year there, and you had your first hour together after early morning drop off. I didn't feel like I was leaving you alone. And  your teacher was an angel. She loved you so much. Almost as much as you loved her. I remember that whole first year, there were days when you didn't want to do something: get your hair cut, get dressed, wake up early. And all I would have to say was "Ms. Miranda said she wants to see your eyes, so it's time to cut your hair!" or "Ms. Miranda loves this shirt!" and you were game. Anything for your Ms. Miranda.

And the first time I peeked into your open classroom during lunch time, and saw you sitting in a tiny little chair...sitting! You! You, who would run around the table at dinner and needed to be strapped in extra tight in the high chair! You, who once famously hung from a table at a sushi restaurant and squealed: "Look! I'm a monkey! I'm a monkey!" How did she get you to do that?!? "He's playing you..." she would say. "He's a perfect angel here."

You only went twice a week that first year, and you loved it so much that you asked to go to school on your off days. You wanted to know why Ben got to go every day. (And since we weren't about to get into daycare finances with you, we just said that one day you'd be in "Church Door" too and you'd have to go everyday, too.) Each day, you'd come home with a little Note that told us how much you'd eaten out of your lunch box. You were so finicky. And lucky: Ms. Miranda always shared her snacks with you. That's how we found out you liked ranch flavored rice cakes and marshmallows. The first big activity that fall was the school-wide annual "circus," and you were supposed to be part of the human cannonball act (which meant you were supposed to crawl through a tube), but instead, you stayed in Ms. Miranda's lap the whole time. That woman carried you around on one of her hips a lot.

The next year, you went to "Orange Door," the potty-trained classroom. You were (sorta) potty trained. I fretted about that. A lot. And on top of that, your brother had gone on to Kindergarten. Now it was "just you" we were dropping off. I remember feeling like I was leaving you all alone. The first three weeks or so became all about the potty. The director of the school called me to ask if I was "aware" that Orange Door was a no-diaper classroom. After explaining that you were, in fact, (sorta) potty trained, she offered to help. After another week or so of you having accidents and the director (and the office manager, whom you also loved, apparently), changing you when your teacher wasn't available, and cuddling with you when you cried about your accidents, we finally said good-bye to your diapers for good.

We were always being told how wonderful you were, and that even though you were the youngest and only attended 3 days a week, you could keep up just fine. Your teacher told us that you were the best listener in the class and always followed the rules and that you were sweet and gentle and never, ever, ever a problem. And then there was the day she called me at work to tell me that you had mooned the new substitute teacher, Ms. Patti, whom you adored. You didn't even understand why they took you by the hand and led you inside from the playground. You didn't even understand why, after showing your cute little butt to your grandparents and your parents on a regular basis and then squealing in glee as we would chase you around the house to pinch it, bite it, or kiss it, Ms. Patti did not see this gesture as the compliment it was meant to be.

But potty training and mooning weren't the most memorable parts of that year: that was the year you met Lindsey. Your teeny petite little redheaded friend, who adored you as much as you adored her. At the Mother's Day breakfast that year, I was surprised to see her wearing glasses. When I asked her grandmother if they were real or just "for fun," her grandmother smiled and replied: "Oh no, they're for Aidan."

And then came "Church Door:" 5 full days a week. Now I worried about you being there too long. I worried that maybe 9-hour days were way too much for a four-year-old. But once again, as a testament to this little school and its teachers, you loved it. There were days we'd have to drag you out of there.

You started homework. You learned how to write your whole name. You decided you much preferred wearing two (very) different socks. You learned all your letters and how to count to 100 and what Orion's Belt looks like. You finished the year sounding out a handful of sight words, and most importantly, wanting, desperately, to read on your own like your big brother.

And you spent every day with your Lindsey (and sometimes, Bella). It almost became a joke: we'd ask you how your day was and what you did, and you'd always answer: "Good, I played with Lindsey," or "Bad, because Lindsey went to Disney World, I think." That Christmas, you made me take you to Target so you could buy Lindsey and Bella gifts, and you picked them out with absolute certainty ("No, Mama, Bella doesn't wear headbands!" and "No, Mama, Lindsey likes The Little Mermaid."). One morning, when you were unusually clingy and worried about being dropped off, and you started to cry, I watched as Lindsey came over to you immediately, wrapped her skinny little arms around you, and soothed: "It's okay, Aidan. Don't cry."

When we met with your teacher for your mid-year conference, we were ready to ask all sorts of questions: Is he behind? Is he too babyish? Should we keep him an extra year before kindergarten? But it seems that being the youngest boy and appearing particularly babyish and defenseless to your parents means nothing, because we were surprised and proud to hear that you were not only doing okay, you were "exceeding expectations" and "above average" in all the assessments.

Watching you, on graduation night, standing proudly at the very front of the stage as the flag bearer, your dimples in all their glory, your Sponge Bob glasses perched on your little nose, I nearly burst. There is something about you that brings out the mom I'd swore I'd never be: overly sentimental, overly protective, overly in love. And when you walked in with your red cap and gown, a little 2013 tassel hanging right against your still-slightly-chubby cheek, I felt like it was my heart, right out there, walking around. My baby. The last one. The one who still occasionally hides behind my leg when he's unsure. The one who will walk by and casually caress my arm and say "I love you, Mommy" while I'm cleaning up the kitchen. The one who, when I asked him to "please stop growing up," promised: "Don't worry, Mommy. I'm always going to be your baby."

Congratulations, Aidan Kai. We know it's "just preschool," but we couldn't be prouder. We love you.

Mama and Daddy

Why do we need validation from other people about our own parenting skills?

Contrary to what most teachers will declare publicly, we do have favorite students. Before I had my own kids, I had already been teaching for 9 years, and I always fantasized that one day, my kid would be the Secret Favorite Student. I had students whose families I wanted to be "just like." These parents would attend my class activities, come to my Parents' Nights, and I would think: That's how I'm going to be when I'm a parent. I will be one of the ones the teachers silently praise and think: "That's how you raise a great kid."

And then, my oldest went to pre-k, and he started to go through some interesting phases. There was the "Making The Teacher Repeat Herself A Million Times Phase." There was the "I Will Question Everything The Teacher Says Because I Think I Know More Than She Does" phase. And the "I'd Much Rather Roll Around On The Carpet When The Teacher Tells Me To Sit Quietly For Circle Time" phase.  And, my personal favorite: the "Let's Gang Up On That Kid In The Playground And Punch Him For No Reason" phase.

I would drop him off in the morning and one of the very proper morning-duty teachers would stiffly greet him, "Good morning, Ben." I wasn't sure if I imagined the pinched facial expression that accompanied the greeting, but I was pretty sure I could detect dread and judgment in her voice. I remember the morning she complained that the day before, he'd refused to clean up his area, and she'd had to explain to him "very clearly" that he was, in fact, going to pick up because she said so. (Let me note here that I agree with her 100%...it's just that I always got the feeling that she didn't think we were trying to enforce that at home.)

That very same teacher gave a Parents Workshop one evening on behavior and discipline. I attended, of course, not only because it seemed that, just maybe, I did not know everything there was to know after all, but also because I was afraid she (and the rest of the staff) would certainly search the sign-up list for our names and snub their noses if ours weren't there: "See? That's why their kid behaves that way..."  Maybe my husband was right when he insisted to me later that there was no way she was talking specifically about our kid the entire hour (hmmm...maybe THIS is where my son gets his It's-All-About-Me Attitude?), but there were two times when she specifically pointed out some of Ben's "personality traits." One of those times, she even nodded at me, and said the words: "Like in your case, with Ben." So yeah, I wasn't completely, totally, irrationally paranoid.

Fast forward 3 years and one more kid...
Yesterday, Hubby and I attended our littlest one's end-of-year party. We were standing there, taking pictures of him eating a cupcake shaped like a graduation hat, and thinking about how quickly the years went by...Both of our boys had grown up and gotten ready for kindergarten at this sweet, little school, and now it was time to go. After 4 years, we would no longer be taking a little boy to "Purple Door" every day for morning drop off. Where had the years gone? Where had our baby boys gone? And what would we do without the teachers from this little place, who had cared for our boys and taught them their ABC's?

This same teacher must have overheard us, because she walked over and said, "So, this is it, huh? The ending?" Hubby and I responded with melancholic yes's.

"You know," she said, "I've always been very impressed with the two of you."

WHAT? Surely, I had misunderstood?

"I was always so impressed," she continued, "by your parenting...the time you two always dedicate to your boys...the way you've raised them. In fact, I told my daughter that when she has kids, THIS is how I want her to be..."

I was so stunned and so moved, I could barely utter a thank you.

All that time, I had been so worried about what someone else was thinking of my parenting. I was sure that she thought we weren't doing a "good enough" job. And all along she was, in fact, watching and judging, but I was completely wrong in my assumption. Maybe my concern of what she thought had a whole lot more to do with what I was thinking of our parenting (and our kid) back then, than it did about her. But still, why did I care back then?

And why do I still care? Why did it feel so good to hear her say that yesterday? Why should anyone else's opinion serve as proof that we're good parents?


After I left, I cried the whole way to work. I'm not even sure why. I felt so raw, already, this week...so aware of the passing of time...so aware that Life is happening. All the time. And we just shuffle around, trying to do our best. Trying to do everything that needs to be done every day, to be the Best Wife/Friend/Daughter/Teacher/Mother/Self, and to take it all in and savor it as we do so. To really feel life.

Summer Bucket List

 

Recently, I was getting a bikini wax. (I know...quite the opening sentence, huh? And so appropriate for a summer-themed post, no? But really, don't get too excited--I'm not going to get too graphic. It just happened to be the setting of this little anecdote.) My waxing girl (is there a better, more official job title for this?) immediately got into the usual small talk that is certainly a requirement for such awkward and still surprisingly painful appointments.
Her: "So, how've ya' been? School year's almost over, huh?"
Me: "Yeah, just a couple weeks left."
Her: "So what do you do with the boys? Do you put them in a summer camp?"
Me: "Oh, no, they stay home with us, because my husband's a teacher too, so we are all off the whole summer together."
Waxing Girl abruptly stops mid-hot-as-hell-wax-smear and looks at me, eyes wide:  "Oh. My. God. Do you  hate it? Oh. My. God. Are you miserable the whole summer? I'd go crazy."
Me: "Uh, no. I love it. It's great."
Her: "Oh. My. God. I would die."
She went back to her smearing and ripping, and I went back to my wincing and bracing. I'm not sure if it was the prospect of her husband being home all summer with her, or her kids, or both.

In our house, on the other hand, we count down, literally. As of today, it's 5 more school days. And then we are free...temporarily...but totally and completely free. Summer, for us, is Sacred.



 

1. Hang out in my pool.
2. Workout outdoors more than in the gym (no more 4:30 a.m. alarms!!).
3. Run on the beach.
4. Wake up super early, drive to the beach, and show two sleepy little boys their first sunrise. Then take them to breakfast.
5. Spend time with my girlfriends.
6. Help my littlest one get to know his soon-to-be kindergarten friends.
7. Not fret about my littlest one starting kindergarten until (at least) the week before school actually starts.
8. Paint my nails fun, summery colors.
9. Stay up late watching movies and snuggling under a cover with Hubby.
10. Take the boys to a painting class.
11. Drink lots of wine.
12. Drink lots of really cold beer.
13. Try absinthe.
14. 18-day RV Road Trip!!!
15. See Dave Matthews Band in concert for the 6th and 7th time.
16. Spend a lot of time in bathing suits and flip flops.
17. Read.
18. Blog.
19. Watch the night sky with my boys until we see a shooting star.
20. Spend a rainy afternoon doing silly, spiky, colorful hairdos on each other and taking pictures.
21. Organize my photos.
22. Organize my closet.
23. Organize my make-up drawer.
24. Be outdoors...a lot.
25. Run barefoot on the grass.
26. Play Frisbee.
27. Have a post-run fruit popsicle on the beach (and not care that it's dripping down my arm).
28. Go stand-up paddle boarding at least once.
29. Eat at our favorite taco shack on the beach.
30. Go dancing.
31. Try out a new local bar that was featured in a travel magazine.
32. Go to yoga.
33. Go swimming (or just floating) at night in my newly heated pool.
34. Wake up whenever.
35. Go to sleep late.
36. Have lots of sex.
37. Have post-sex waffles.
38. Spontaneously come up with new ideas for this list!