Last week my bonus sister gave birth to her first child. The whole family was so excited when she went into labor; I kept them up to date on what was going on. At noon I told them her water broke; at 2 I said, she's three centimeters dilated, and at 6 she was up to 5. At 10:10 I announced she was pushing and then Everett was here!!! There was never any discussion about what any of that meant, so I assumed they all understood--well so much for assuming....
This weekend three of the four were away where a good friend also is close to delivering. SK was updating me on how our friend was doing. "She's 3 cm's and ______________ kept saying, maybe we should go." I asked, "was she having contractions?" Christopher, "what's that?" That should have been my first clue that this conversation was not going to end well. "Contractions," I began to explain, "is the pain you have as you're dilating." Christopher, "So how do they measure that anyway? What kind of ruler do they use?"
Without thinking, again big mistake, I hold up two finger and say, "they use fingers to measure." And then the room cleared.
20 October 2013
15 May 2013
Jar
I was calmly serving plates last night as the children (minus Caroline) were gathering at the table. William was telling a story when out of his mouth came a not so nice word. Christopher jumped on it--now you would assume that he jumped on William, but then you probably haven't been around our family enough to know that you should never assume. Not William but me--yes I'm the one who received Christopher's tongue lashing (brings a whole new meaning to the often heard phrase "it's always the mother's fault.").
"See Mom!" bellowed Christopher, "This is what I was talking about last night. You let this stuff happen. You have to stop it!" Now some of you are probably wondering how I have the power to force William to use profanity so I can "let" it happen--others of you are waiting to learn how I'm going to just stop it--powers for some reason Christopher seems to think I have, and you're not alone. But, in order to understand this story I have to go back a night.
Two nights ago we were at Mellow Mushroom when Caroline said a not so appropriate word in general and particularly out of a young lady's mouth. Christopher has been quite bothered by her lack of a filter for a long time. He turned to me, backed by Sarah Katherine, "Mom, you would have yanked us out of here, grounded us, yelled at us--why do you let her talk like that?!?!?!" After I explained to him that "let" was clearly the wrong verb, I told him that I wasn't pleased with it, but that my reaction was different based on the fact that there were not younger children being exposed (clearly said youngest child has already been exposed and has drunk the kool-aid).
Back to last night--Christopher very seriously said, "We have to stop talking like this, and soon. What if someone came into this house at dinner time and we forgot we weren't alone?" I'm not quite sure how we could forget, but...He continued, "We have to stop cursing and just saying grouse things--especially Caroline." "Yeah," Sarah Katherine chimed in, "She's the worst." "She is," added William. This took us down another rabbit hole of repeating all the inappropriate things Caroline has said in the past few weeks. (Now keep in mind, Caroline isn't even here AND as the youngest I'm fairly certain she learned much of what she says from the three now holding court in the judgement seat.)
"I think," continued Christopher, "We should make people pay every time they curse. Actually they should pay every time they say something about sex or anything inappropriate." Sarah Katherine jumped right on this band wagon, "We can use the jar the Fiscus gave us." (This jar which sits on the counter empty was supposed to be a jar to collect memories of the year--we've already failed at that--perhaps it was because I've been too busy letting my children say inappropriate things.) William, not to be out done and clearly having forgotten that he was the catalyst for this entire conversation jumped in, "A dollar every time you use profanity." Now I'm not sure what's wrong with the word profanity, but I must admit I'm middle aged--because SK jumped back in making fun of what William said, "And we should also make people pay if they say something stupid like that!" "Definitely" agreed Christopher, "and William you owe for saying that."
Throughout this conversation Chris and I were trying to point out that none of them ever had money, so we weren't sure how this was going to work. (They decided for every dollar they had to put in they had to give us an hour of work without whining--I'm thinking that's slave labor wages, but I wasn't saying a word--I was thinking about windows being washed and baseboards cleaned). Deciding I should just embrace this, at least for tonight, I began trying to straddle my priest and mama roles suggested we then give the money to the church at the end of every month--I'm fairly certain based on the past few dinner times that we could rescue any church from financial disaster within a matter of months. "No" said Christopher,"the person who has to put the least in gets to keep the money at the end of the month." The others definitely jumped on that. Not only did they think this was a great idea, but every time someone said something during this conversation they considered any of the above criteria, they shouted "Jar!" at them.
Back to Christopher's idea for the competition, shocking that it took this long for it to turn into a competition--I was having fantasies of all the color coded charts I could make to keep up with who put money in and what was said--Chris, however, said, "And who gets to decide who is jarred.?" "We'll vote" everyone shouted. Chris going right along with this whole thing obviously forgetting the THEY HAVE NO MONEY EVER problem, said, "well Mama and I get veto power."
I spent the next few minutes looking around the table where wheels were obviously turning in each of their minds as they were already planning the things they would buy with all this money; I suspect, they were also trying to figure out how they could subtly encourage others to say inappropriate things. I was still trying to get them to consider charities. They kept shouting "Jar" at each other whenever anyone said just about anything. They were talking so fast and so loudly and over each other, that my mind was having a hard time keeping up--really need those color coded charts. I'm fairly certain Chris and I never fully agreed to this whole idea, but apparently the children only think we have power to "let" people say inappropriate things, because they weren't waiting for our approval/permission, they were too busy "Jarring" each other.
As we were getting up from the table I tried once again (just in case the idea does truly get off the ground)to return to the idea of charity. "Ya'll I really think we should consider giving the money to charity." William, "I'm a charity" All four of us in concert, "JAR!"
"See Mom!" bellowed Christopher, "This is what I was talking about last night. You let this stuff happen. You have to stop it!" Now some of you are probably wondering how I have the power to force William to use profanity so I can "let" it happen--others of you are waiting to learn how I'm going to just stop it--powers for some reason Christopher seems to think I have, and you're not alone. But, in order to understand this story I have to go back a night.
Two nights ago we were at Mellow Mushroom when Caroline said a not so appropriate word in general and particularly out of a young lady's mouth. Christopher has been quite bothered by her lack of a filter for a long time. He turned to me, backed by Sarah Katherine, "Mom, you would have yanked us out of here, grounded us, yelled at us--why do you let her talk like that?!?!?!" After I explained to him that "let" was clearly the wrong verb, I told him that I wasn't pleased with it, but that my reaction was different based on the fact that there were not younger children being exposed (clearly said youngest child has already been exposed and has drunk the kool-aid).
Back to last night--Christopher very seriously said, "We have to stop talking like this, and soon. What if someone came into this house at dinner time and we forgot we weren't alone?" I'm not quite sure how we could forget, but...He continued, "We have to stop cursing and just saying grouse things--especially Caroline." "Yeah," Sarah Katherine chimed in, "She's the worst." "She is," added William. This took us down another rabbit hole of repeating all the inappropriate things Caroline has said in the past few weeks. (Now keep in mind, Caroline isn't even here AND as the youngest I'm fairly certain she learned much of what she says from the three now holding court in the judgement seat.)
"I think," continued Christopher, "We should make people pay every time they curse. Actually they should pay every time they say something about sex or anything inappropriate." Sarah Katherine jumped right on this band wagon, "We can use the jar the Fiscus gave us." (This jar which sits on the counter empty was supposed to be a jar to collect memories of the year--we've already failed at that--perhaps it was because I've been too busy letting my children say inappropriate things.) William, not to be out done and clearly having forgotten that he was the catalyst for this entire conversation jumped in, "A dollar every time you use profanity." Now I'm not sure what's wrong with the word profanity, but I must admit I'm middle aged--because SK jumped back in making fun of what William said, "And we should also make people pay if they say something stupid like that!" "Definitely" agreed Christopher, "and William you owe for saying that."
Throughout this conversation Chris and I were trying to point out that none of them ever had money, so we weren't sure how this was going to work. (They decided for every dollar they had to put in they had to give us an hour of work without whining--I'm thinking that's slave labor wages, but I wasn't saying a word--I was thinking about windows being washed and baseboards cleaned). Deciding I should just embrace this, at least for tonight, I began trying to straddle my priest and mama roles suggested we then give the money to the church at the end of every month--I'm fairly certain based on the past few dinner times that we could rescue any church from financial disaster within a matter of months. "No" said Christopher,"the person who has to put the least in gets to keep the money at the end of the month." The others definitely jumped on that. Not only did they think this was a great idea, but every time someone said something during this conversation they considered any of the above criteria, they shouted "Jar!" at them.
Back to Christopher's idea for the competition, shocking that it took this long for it to turn into a competition--I was having fantasies of all the color coded charts I could make to keep up with who put money in and what was said--Chris, however, said, "And who gets to decide who is jarred.?" "We'll vote" everyone shouted. Chris going right along with this whole thing obviously forgetting the THEY HAVE NO MONEY EVER problem, said, "well Mama and I get veto power."
I spent the next few minutes looking around the table where wheels were obviously turning in each of their minds as they were already planning the things they would buy with all this money; I suspect, they were also trying to figure out how they could subtly encourage others to say inappropriate things. I was still trying to get them to consider charities. They kept shouting "Jar" at each other whenever anyone said just about anything. They were talking so fast and so loudly and over each other, that my mind was having a hard time keeping up--really need those color coded charts. I'm fairly certain Chris and I never fully agreed to this whole idea, but apparently the children only think we have power to "let" people say inappropriate things, because they weren't waiting for our approval/permission, they were too busy "Jarring" each other.
As we were getting up from the table I tried once again (just in case the idea does truly get off the ground)to return to the idea of charity. "Ya'll I really think we should consider giving the money to charity." William, "I'm a charity" All four of us in concert, "JAR!"
29 March 2013
Saying Goodbye to Boss--a lesson in loving and letting go
Thirteen years ago Christopher started preschool a couple of mornings a week. He would wake up each morning and ask if it was a school day. When I would answer yes, he would be so excited. He'd get dressed, get his frog backpack, his lunchbox and stand at the door until we were ready to leave. I often heard him telling William (who was then only 9 months) all about "chool". We'd drop Sarah Katherine off at her classroom, and then every morning, the closer we got to his classroom the more tightly he would hold my hand. By the time we'd walked the hallway, he had a death grip . We'd walk into the classroom where each and every time he would grab me and begin the blood curdling scream, "Mommy please don't leave me! Don't leave me!!!!" And each morning his teacher would literally peel him off me, he would be turning red, and I would say, "I love you Boss. See you right after lunch. Have a good day." I'd hitch William up on my hip and walk out and to the parking lot where more times than not I'd crumple.
Why I would think am I doing this? I am a stay at home mom; he can just stay with me. I'm going to permanently scar him. Sometimes it took every ounce of strength I had not to walk back into the school, sweep him in my arms and take him home. Sometimes it took every ounce of strength my friends had to keep me from walking back into the school (thank you Gillian, Lucy, and Leslie), and sometimes I would sit in the car and cry until the school called my cell phone and said, "he's fine." (that usually was within five minutes). This went on for three years, three very long years. I knew he was fine for many reasons, but one major one was that when Chris took him, this never happened. I knew he would be fine, and yet, my heart broke every morning. I hated hearing him cry; I hated knowing he was hurt or scared if only for a moment, but I did believe this was part of my job. Part of my job was to teach him to be independent, teach him to rely on himself, teach him that I love him, that I will always love him whether he can see me or not. And I suppose in a way, I was teaching him he was his own person--a person created in the image of God, by God and for his own purpose. And so I left him each morning with my final words, "I love you, I'll be back."
Fast forward 13 years--it has not been an easy start to high school for my sweet boy. Much of it he has brought on himself. I understand that. He's made some dumb choices--not life altering, but nonetheless, he's had to learn some hard life lessons about manning up and admitting his mistakes, life lessons about who he can trust, life lessons about what it means to be a friend, and life lessons about consequences that come from dumb choices. And for another year, my heart breaks almost every day. I hurt when he makes bad decisions both for him and for others. I wonder how I can make things better, easier, less challenging? I worry I haven't done enough, been enough. I worry that going to work is causing this, and I worry that I suffocated and sheltered him for too long. When I know he is hurt, when I know he is extremely sorry for his actions and/or words, I want nothing more than to take that cup from him. I want to stand in his place when he is talking to the Dean of Students and the Headmaster. I want to tell them about the little boy who got in his first fight at school in second grade because he saw someone right a racial slur on the bathroom wall. And I want to tell them about the boy who went to the principal in fifth grade because a new boy who couldn't speak English was being picked on by all Christopher's friends. I want to tell them about the boy who held and patted my hand for 3 hours during Caroline's surgery to amputate her pinky. I want them to know about his deep heart for justice and his love of all people. But instead, I have to let him stand on his own two feet. I have to let him learn that how he behaves defines him, and that he and only he can change people's opinions of him. And I have to let him grow into the man God created him to be, independent of me. And every morning my heart worries because I want life to be perfect for him. He's not screaming blood curdling screams in his classroom--but just like then, I have no control. I cannot always make life easier for him, and it breaks my heart.
This morning I drove him to school at 7:30 for his spring lacrosse trip. We didn't talk much. We had already talked about making good choices; we had already talked about this being a chance to completely start over, to show people who he truly was. One thing I have learned is that too many words are just, well too many words. But I have to admit, my heart was breaking. I have never been apart from him on Easter. As we were driving I pictured all those Easter mornings; I pictured him in his smocked john-johns, his sweater vests, his pastel polos, and lately his vinyard vine ties (thankyou Aunt Meredith). And I thought how I wouldn't see him in church and he wouldn't be at Easter dinner, or at the beach next week, and my heart truly was breaking. We drove up to school, he didn't hold my hand gripping constantly tighter. No, he started pointing out who was there, wondering who he was going to room with, and telling me to just pull over he'd get out and I could leave. I parked the car and he got out. He went to the back, got his lacrosse bag, closed the trunk and started to walk away. But he turned came back to the car, leaned in, kissed my cheek and said, "I love you."
It's already been a long day. I'm trying desperately not to suffocate him with texts--not to continually check in and remind him to behave. It hurts to have him gone; as all my children are growing up, I am beginning to understand what people mean when they talk about a physical ache for your children. Today during stations of the cross, the words referring to Mary "a sword of grief pierced her soul" resonated deeply with me. Jesus was on his way to be crucified; he was on his way to living into his full glory; to fulfill his work on earth, the work God sent him to do. And Mary had to stand by and let this man, this boy, this child she birthed, nurtured and loved become the man he was created to be. May God give me the strength and wisdom to remember my children are God's children, and may God give me the strength to love them enough to let them go and become all that they were created to be.
Why I would think am I doing this? I am a stay at home mom; he can just stay with me. I'm going to permanently scar him. Sometimes it took every ounce of strength I had not to walk back into the school, sweep him in my arms and take him home. Sometimes it took every ounce of strength my friends had to keep me from walking back into the school (thank you Gillian, Lucy, and Leslie), and sometimes I would sit in the car and cry until the school called my cell phone and said, "he's fine." (that usually was within five minutes). This went on for three years, three very long years. I knew he was fine for many reasons, but one major one was that when Chris took him, this never happened. I knew he would be fine, and yet, my heart broke every morning. I hated hearing him cry; I hated knowing he was hurt or scared if only for a moment, but I did believe this was part of my job. Part of my job was to teach him to be independent, teach him to rely on himself, teach him that I love him, that I will always love him whether he can see me or not. And I suppose in a way, I was teaching him he was his own person--a person created in the image of God, by God and for his own purpose. And so I left him each morning with my final words, "I love you, I'll be back."
Fast forward 13 years--it has not been an easy start to high school for my sweet boy. Much of it he has brought on himself. I understand that. He's made some dumb choices--not life altering, but nonetheless, he's had to learn some hard life lessons about manning up and admitting his mistakes, life lessons about who he can trust, life lessons about what it means to be a friend, and life lessons about consequences that come from dumb choices. And for another year, my heart breaks almost every day. I hurt when he makes bad decisions both for him and for others. I wonder how I can make things better, easier, less challenging? I worry I haven't done enough, been enough. I worry that going to work is causing this, and I worry that I suffocated and sheltered him for too long. When I know he is hurt, when I know he is extremely sorry for his actions and/or words, I want nothing more than to take that cup from him. I want to stand in his place when he is talking to the Dean of Students and the Headmaster. I want to tell them about the little boy who got in his first fight at school in second grade because he saw someone right a racial slur on the bathroom wall. And I want to tell them about the boy who went to the principal in fifth grade because a new boy who couldn't speak English was being picked on by all Christopher's friends. I want to tell them about the boy who held and patted my hand for 3 hours during Caroline's surgery to amputate her pinky. I want them to know about his deep heart for justice and his love of all people. But instead, I have to let him stand on his own two feet. I have to let him learn that how he behaves defines him, and that he and only he can change people's opinions of him. And I have to let him grow into the man God created him to be, independent of me. And every morning my heart worries because I want life to be perfect for him. He's not screaming blood curdling screams in his classroom--but just like then, I have no control. I cannot always make life easier for him, and it breaks my heart.
This morning I drove him to school at 7:30 for his spring lacrosse trip. We didn't talk much. We had already talked about making good choices; we had already talked about this being a chance to completely start over, to show people who he truly was. One thing I have learned is that too many words are just, well too many words. But I have to admit, my heart was breaking. I have never been apart from him on Easter. As we were driving I pictured all those Easter mornings; I pictured him in his smocked john-johns, his sweater vests, his pastel polos, and lately his vinyard vine ties (thankyou Aunt Meredith). And I thought how I wouldn't see him in church and he wouldn't be at Easter dinner, or at the beach next week, and my heart truly was breaking. We drove up to school, he didn't hold my hand gripping constantly tighter. No, he started pointing out who was there, wondering who he was going to room with, and telling me to just pull over he'd get out and I could leave. I parked the car and he got out. He went to the back, got his lacrosse bag, closed the trunk and started to walk away. But he turned came back to the car, leaned in, kissed my cheek and said, "I love you."
It's already been a long day. I'm trying desperately not to suffocate him with texts--not to continually check in and remind him to behave. It hurts to have him gone; as all my children are growing up, I am beginning to understand what people mean when they talk about a physical ache for your children. Today during stations of the cross, the words referring to Mary "a sword of grief pierced her soul" resonated deeply with me. Jesus was on his way to be crucified; he was on his way to living into his full glory; to fulfill his work on earth, the work God sent him to do. And Mary had to stand by and let this man, this boy, this child she birthed, nurtured and loved become the man he was created to be. May God give me the strength and wisdom to remember my children are God's children, and may God give me the strength to love them enough to let them go and become all that they were created to be.
Even I Couldn't Believe this Conversation
Two weeks ago, Sarah Katherine called to see if Kirby (aka "the boyfriend") could eat dinner with us. I could think of no reason why not--the Chris' were going to be really late, but the babies, SK, Kirby and I sat down to eat. We returned to the dinner conversation of the previous night..
In the 8th grade at Collegiate they divide the girls and boys and teach sex education. Since we'd already talked about it the night before, I felt prepared. Mistake number one. Tonight, William decides to share with us that the man teaching the class was willing to answer any and all questions. I respond, "that's good. People should be able to ask questions and get honest, accurate information. What sort of questions were they asking?" That question was mistake number two. It started easily enough, Can you get pregnant the first time you have sex? (Good to know they answered yes you can). We were then interrupted by Caroline who had information to add.
"Did ya'll know they have flavored and colored condoms?" Silence in the room--Caroline, "Well, did you?" All I could think was do not make eye contact to the boyfriend who is sitting directly on my right. I gathered my wits and as calmly as I could said, "Yes we do know that. How do you?" Caroline, "Well, the 8th grade girls told me. Plus I've seen them." Looooong sip on the wine glass--me, "Caroline, how have you seen them?" Caroline, "They sell them in the women's bathroom at Thornton's. Why would they do that?"
Mistake number three--I believed I could now turn this conversation back to a semi-educational one (as long as I continued not to make eye contact with the boyfriend). "Caroline, it's important that girls be as prepared as boys. Girls have to protect themselves and not put all her trust in a boy." I was going to move on, but she was clearly not listening and was firing questions at me, "What about female condoms? Do you have to use them with boy condoms?" I tried to answer her questions thinking it would end the conversation. That was mistake number 4.
Caroline turns to William and asks, "What other questions did they ask?" I think to myself, at least we've moved away from her questions--mistake number 5. "Well," says William, "they asked what kerblumpkin meant." Caroline bursts out laughing-- I ask William, "what does it mean?" That was mistake number 6. He starts laughing at the fact that I don't know. So, I finally turn to SK and the boyfriend and ask them. Now the boyfriend is clearly trying not to make eye contact; both are bright red, and SK says, "please Mama don't make me answer that." With all my wisdom and maturity I decide to drop it. William continues to say words that they asked about all of which I didn't know (if you'd like to know, check urban dictionary). At this point, the Chris' walk in and I begin to talk to them only half listening to the other conversation. That is until I hear William say, "And they asked them to describe 69" Without thinking I turn back to the table and loudly say, "Well I even know what that is!" You couldn't hear a pin drop.
SK, "May we please be excused?"
(and the boyfriend came back to dinner the next night--)
In the 8th grade at Collegiate they divide the girls and boys and teach sex education. Since we'd already talked about it the night before, I felt prepared. Mistake number one. Tonight, William decides to share with us that the man teaching the class was willing to answer any and all questions. I respond, "that's good. People should be able to ask questions and get honest, accurate information. What sort of questions were they asking?" That question was mistake number two. It started easily enough, Can you get pregnant the first time you have sex? (Good to know they answered yes you can). We were then interrupted by Caroline who had information to add.
"Did ya'll know they have flavored and colored condoms?" Silence in the room--Caroline, "Well, did you?" All I could think was do not make eye contact to the boyfriend who is sitting directly on my right. I gathered my wits and as calmly as I could said, "Yes we do know that. How do you?" Caroline, "Well, the 8th grade girls told me. Plus I've seen them." Looooong sip on the wine glass--me, "Caroline, how have you seen them?" Caroline, "They sell them in the women's bathroom at Thornton's. Why would they do that?"
Mistake number three--I believed I could now turn this conversation back to a semi-educational one (as long as I continued not to make eye contact with the boyfriend). "Caroline, it's important that girls be as prepared as boys. Girls have to protect themselves and not put all her trust in a boy." I was going to move on, but she was clearly not listening and was firing questions at me, "What about female condoms? Do you have to use them with boy condoms?" I tried to answer her questions thinking it would end the conversation. That was mistake number 4.
Caroline turns to William and asks, "What other questions did they ask?" I think to myself, at least we've moved away from her questions--mistake number 5. "Well," says William, "they asked what kerblumpkin meant." Caroline bursts out laughing-- I ask William, "what does it mean?" That was mistake number 6. He starts laughing at the fact that I don't know. So, I finally turn to SK and the boyfriend and ask them. Now the boyfriend is clearly trying not to make eye contact; both are bright red, and SK says, "please Mama don't make me answer that." With all my wisdom and maturity I decide to drop it. William continues to say words that they asked about all of which I didn't know (if you'd like to know, check urban dictionary). At this point, the Chris' walk in and I begin to talk to them only half listening to the other conversation. That is until I hear William say, "And they asked them to describe 69" Without thinking I turn back to the table and loudly say, "Well I even know what that is!" You couldn't hear a pin drop.
SK, "May we please be excused?"
(and the boyfriend came back to dinner the next night--)
06 October 2012
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.
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.
27 June 2012
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."
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."
18 June 2012
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.
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.
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