Just Another Morning at the Doyles

Getting four children up and out by 6:45 am can sometimes be a challenge.  I am so fortunate that for the most part they get along, but every once in awhile....

So last week, Caroline was having a particularly difficult morning.  Who knows why--she's 12 for crying out loud--but she was running late, couldn't find anything that should have been found the night before, and was just basically irritated at  anyone and everyone who dared to breathe in her path.  We were all standing in the kitchen waiting for Caroline to get her shoes on while she continued to huff and puff, and here was the conversation--
Christopher:  "Caroline, I sure hope you're about to get your period because you're being a bitch."

I think to myself--I don't think as a responsible parent (not to mention an ordained parent) that I should allow him to call her a bitch.  So I say, "Christopher, you cannot call your sister a bitch, and Caroline you cannot act like a bitch."  Whew, I think, now if they can just leave before anymore drama unfolds, but instead this is what I get.

SK, "well I do have mine and if ya'll don't all get in the car in 30 seconds, I'm going to be a bitch."

And so ended our morning.

It's Citrus

Last Friday night we arrived in Georgia to be instantly greeted not only by my father and step mother but also by a slew of ticks.  I walked from my car to the patio where my step-sister points to my sweater and says, "what's that?"  Yep--a tick.  Several hours later I found one burrowed into my waist.  I quickly removed it forgetting my Georgia roots and the lessons I learned about ticks--"NEVER", I was told, "take a tick off yourself.  You have to make sure you get it all, so find someone to help you."  Perhaps that was easy to follow as a tom-boy running half wild during long hot Georgia summers, but as a middle aged woman--well, I was just grossed out and wanted it off me.

Twenty four hours later we were headed to the beach--my waist kept itching, and I slightly raised my shirt to scratch, Caroline saw the flaming red welt and asked what happened.  Nonchalantly I replied, "I had a tick I took off."  My now living in Kentucky children apparently remembered their Georgia roots because they all shrieked, "You're not supposed to do that!!!!"  "Well I did." I answered, "It'll be fine."  That seemed to quiet them, and I thought to myself, "See I'm still in charge as the mother.  They still believe everything I say.  I can still calm them."

Fifteen minutes later-Christopher, "What if you get lemons?"  "Lemons?" I answered completely baffled, "We can get some at The Pig when we get there if you want."  "No--lemons disease from the tick." Christoper explained. I semi-contained my laughter and said, "Oh, you mean lymes disease--"  Christopher, "Well I knew it was some sort of citrus."

There was no good comeback

This it the first summer where I am working full time.  Having a child who is a driver, while increasing my gray hair, is also increasing the freedom I have to be gone.  We have hired Sarah Katherine to be our nanny/driver/errand runner etc.  Every morning before I leave for work--while they are still sleeping and will be for the next 4 or 5 hours, I leave a very detailed, and yes color coded note, on everyone's responsibilities for the day.  I am very careful to make sure they know what time they need to be at practices, games, camps etc.  Overall, this has been working very well.  Occasionally I have to "show" them the proper way to say  fold a shirt--seems they believe that if it is just smaller and can be shoved in their drawers it's folded.  But again, overall, I have been pleased.  They are learning responsibility and are enjoying some of their new found freedom.
Last week, Chris and I met to take care of some banking business.  We were close to home, so we decided to go home for lunch.  As usual, I had left a note for the two children in town.  The note was surprisingly short as they had been so good at being on top of things.  Christopher didn't have basketball until 4, so for the most part, minus the few chores I left (one each), they were free.
Chris and I walked in the house (1:00 pm) to find both still in their sleep attire and on various technological apparatuses.  Sarah Katherine had already completed her one chore of folding the laundry.  I certainly did not want to compare them, but I decided to ask anyway why Christopher hadn't finished his--
Me: Christopher, why haven't you cut the grass yet?

Christopher:  (barely looking up), Because I didn't think you'd be home yet.

And with that, I went to make my lunch.

PS--the grass was cut by the end of the day with no more reminders.

Hanging Up Towels

I'm pretty sure it is not unreasonable to ask my children not to leave their wet towels on their floor, their bed, their dresser, or a myriad other places that I have found them. So what they do is--put them in the dirty clothes, EVERY DAY!!!

Now I'm pretty neurotic about clean, sweet smelling towels (and sheets ironed with a linen mist), so I typically wash them every three days. Apparently that is not good enough for my children, it's every day for them. This morning as I looked into the dirty clothes hamper and saw the very towels that I had hung in the bathroom last night after folding them from the dryer, I began to feel annoyed--ok, not annoyed, down right irritated. I leaned down and started to pick up Sarah Katherine's with the intention of throwing it back into her room where I would then berate her for leaving it on the floor. But as I was bending down, out of nowhere tears came to my eyes. You see, last week we went on our first college tour, and I saw my eldest blossom. I saw her walk across grounds at UVA, and I could picture her there. I could see it in my mind, and I know she will be walking the grounds of some college campus in two short years.

So I put that towel back in the hamper and lugged it to the laundry room where I will wash it again today and probably again tomorrow and the day after and the day after. In two years, I will wish I was washing her towels, her clothes, her sheets, and in six very short years all four will be gone. My laundry will massively decrease; my heart will be bursting with pride while it breaks. I will miss them terribly--even their towels.

PS--it helps that my wonderful husband just bought me an extra large washer and dryer!