Summer, Day 1, a year later

Last year, the first word of the first post was “rain”.  Funny, that – rain again today.  But this year, we did not just stay home, I sent out the list last Saturday, and we’ve already got plans for the week!

So, summer, Day 1 was spent with good friends having a good time.  We went to check out the new play area at Reedy Creek Park.  It was a HUGE hit for both the kids and the adults.  The web site touts it as “a special playground designed to encourage longer and richer play experiences in a natural setting.”  I have to agree.  Sort of. 

OK, if we’re being perfectly honest, I don’t think that’s completely accurate.  I think that if you let kids play outside in any natural area, they create their own long-and-rich play experiences.  I do not think you need a “special playground” for it.  I *do* think, however, that carefully manicured lawns (“NO, you may NOT dig a hole in the middle of the yard!”) and carefully sterilized playgrounds (“Stay on the play equipment, darling, there may be bugs or snakes or (gasp) NATURE in those woods”) have taken away from children having access to *actual* natural areas.  Perhaps it’s my own lack of manicured lawn that makes me think this way, or maybe it’s the fact that I now just sigh and say things like “take your clothes off on the deck, we’ll just hose you down, I draw the line at having to steam clean the carpets over this”.  After all, we still have a downed tree laying across the backyard, but it makes a fantastic balance beam/fort/hurdle/cave.

That said, this place is really neat.  And shaded.  The shaded part is very important, and helpful when it’s raining.  The kids splashed in the stream (if you are anti-wet-tennies, I suggest you bring boots), found treasures in the sand box, danced on the stage, climbed in the bird house, balanced on the logs, jumped on stumps and generally ran wild.  The parents?  Well, we sat around and talked until someone needed us.  ‘Cause really, isn’t that how it’s supposed to go?

To wrap up the day, the kid made Portuguese Potato Dumpling Soup for dinner.  It was delicious, and all I had to do was cut up the carrots and manage the sauteeing.

It’s shaping up to be an excellent summer.

The end

At first I was afraid, I was petrified
~”I Will Survive”

I really was, when I started this.

And here, on the other end, I can’t imagine why. But it *is* the end of the summer, and since I’m here posting this, I suppose I survived. It did try to get me, though, right at the end…

We spent 10 days in sunny Saint Augustine, FL with my parents and my sister and her family. We had great weather, dolphins, mini golf, playgrounds, beach, pool and lots of ice cream. Sunday, the kid and I drove home.

When we left at 9am, it was pretty smooth sailing. A bit of rain that made traffic slow, but nothing terrible.

We stopped for lunch somewhere in Georgia, it was good, but the kid dumped his milk all over himself (change of clothes #1).

In South Carolina, for some reason, traffic was backed up near Hilton Head – we spent about an hour sitting there before it cleared and we were able to proceed at a “reasonable” rate.

When we got to St. George, SC, both the kid and I were a bit stir crazy, so we stopped at the McDonald’s there.

As an aside, I am, as a rule, vehemently opposed to McDonald’s play places. They skeeve me out. This one, however, was more like a little playground, it was nice and clean with no suspect ball pits or strange stains. So we stopped, got him some milk, and I let him play. He made friends with another little boy with the same name, and I secretly congratulated myself on the excellent decision to stop here and let him run off some energy. Until…

30 minutes after we got back in the car and he threw up all over the place. A lot.

Now. If you have never had a kid puke in a car, I suggest you do everything you can to avoid it. If you *have* been through it, you know why I say that.

This brings us to Orangeburg, SC. Here, I pull over at a gas station, change the kid (change of clothes #2), and clean up the best I can. My best effort, however, still did not make the car seat suitable for the kid to ride in. So, with a little help from a wireless connection and a friend, I locate a Wal-Mart and head over to see about a new car seat.

(I feel the need to explain that my usual procedure for purchasing *anything* that costs more than $10 and/or is responsible for my child’s safely involves considerable research and waffling back and forth on a decision for a while. I don’t *do* impulse buys, and “emergency” car seat purchases are certainly not a comfortable thing for me)

I made the best decision I could, given the circumstances, and new car seat in hand, went back to the gas station (the Wal-Mart parking lot was not feeling like a smart place to sit around with the car open and me not paying attention to my surroundings). I could have REALLY used a box cutter, but three broken fingernails later, I had the car seat assembled and installed.

At this point, the kid declares himself STARVING, so we get some food (no milk) and hit the road. He falls asleep, it’s getting dark, and I’m more than ready to be home. Somewhere between Columbia, SC and Charlotte, a bloodcurdling scream comes from the back seat, and although sleuthing is difficult driving on a highway at night, I was able to deduce that he had (somehow) dumped almost an entire bottle of water on himself in his sleep.

(Here, I should note that we’re hitting the 12 hour mark for travel time. It should have taken us 7.)

I take a DEEP breath, try to tune out the screeching 4-year-old, pull off at the next exit, and go to the first hotel I see.

Comfort Inn. I remove soaking wet kid from the car (still sobbing), take him by the hand and go into the Confort Inn. Another deep breath, and I approach the desk.

Desk guy: Hi! How can I help you?

Me: I know this is kind of an unusual request, and we aren’t staying here, but I was wondering if, by any chance, I could purchase a bath towel from you?

Desk guy: A towel?

Me: Yes. You see, my son here just proceeded to spill an entire bottle of water all over himself while we were driving down the road, so both he and his car seat are soaking wet.

Desk guy: (leans over counter to look at drippy kid. A tiny smile comes to his face) I see. You can *have* the towel.

Back out to the car, (change of clothes #3), towel in wet carseat and back on the road.

Home, a stiff drink and bed.

The end.

It’s all fun and games until…

It’s all fun and games until somebody says “swine flu”.

The kid has been sick since Saturday night.  The husband and I caught it a few days later.  Here’s how it’s gone for each of us:

Kid: Fever, River-of-Snot-nose, sore throat, headache.  All that went away by today except the nose, and now we’ve added a cough.

Me: Just the nose (not as bad as the kid’s, but that may be because I know how to use a tissue), sore throat, now just nose and cough.

Husband:Same as me, except we have no idea if he’s had a fever since he’s been taking Tylenol since Sunday, and (to hear him tell it) everything is worse.

Today, I call the pediatrician.  The kid has Reactive Airways Disease (basically his bronchial tubes tend to overreact to stuff, like colds), and EVERY time there’s a cough, it goes on, and on, (and on…).  The nurse calls me back, and I launch into my ten minute explanation of the cough and the history, and that it isn’t his allergies because he’s been off those meds for a month, and how we’re going to Florida, and I know they won’t really do anything unless it’s been 2 weeks, but when it’s 2 weeks, we’ll be in Florida for another week, so do they want to see him before we go (because I know it’s not going away over the weekend – it never does) or wait until we get back, etc.

Nurse: Hmm.  That sounds like swine flu.

Me: Excuse me?  That’s so strange because I *thought* you said “Swine Flu.”

Nurse: Yes.  That’s what it sounds like.  Let me talk to your Pediatrician, and we’ll call you back.

Huh.  Swine flu.  Great, just great.

I sit here for a minute and surf around on the web, you know “Swine flu Symptoms” searches and such.  And yes, looks about right.  And then I realize, as with everything, there are high-risk groups.  One is people who have respiratory issues (like reactive airways disease) and another is people with diabetes (which the husband has). FAN-tastic.

So I go wake up the husband, and tell him to call his doctor, he needs to be seen.  Long story short, the peds called back, and both of them are going to be seen by their respective doctors tomorrow. 

I should add, though, that if it *does* turn out to be swine flu, then for your normal, everyday Jane (me) it was not at all bad.  I’ve had the regular flu, and the simple absence of puking with the swine variety is a HUGE bonus.  I was down and out for a few days, and now have a little lingering snottiness and cough, but not horrible.  For the rest of them, well, I guess we’ll see what tomorrow brings.

I should also add that making your Facebook Status Update:

So they think the kid had swine flu. And maybe us too. Yay.

Will result in a LOT of comments.

Dear Public Television

To whom it may concern,

Enclosed, you will find a check for $42.  You have been asking me to pledge this money to you for years.  And every time it comes up, I feel a little guilty because I *do* believe in your programming and yet I never wrote that check.  Until today. 

I would like to thank you for

• Buying me enough time each morning to have a shower in peace. 
• Teaching the kid the “I love my mom, my mom is cool” song from Sid.
• Teaching the kid about knock knock jokes (no REALLY.  THANKS.)
• Bringing Curious George to the small screen and remembering to add the little boy saying at the end of each episode, “George is a monkey.  So sometimes he can do things you can’t do”. 
• But mostly, for babysitting my kid from 7 am until 1:30 pm today as he sat on the couch with a fever and a snotty nose.  And during that time, for not repeating any episodes or showing any scary ones, which would have incurred meltdowns.  And thanks to you, I did *not* have to watch Balto a 5th time this morning. 

I would also like to add that I enjoy the evening programs, particularly the Saturday night British comedies, Great Performances and Mystery, but this $42 should go to my friends George, Sid, Martha, Wordgirl, Clifford, Super Why, The Word World Crew and Sesame Street.  I figure I’d be hard pressed to find a babysitter for $6.46/hour.

Oh, and thank you for removing Caillou from the weekday morning lineup.  It’s nothing personal, I’m sure there are tons of parents and kids out there who adore him, I just don’t happen to be one of them.

Sincerely,

Heather

PS – you can keep the Seymour Goodstuff doll.  I really don’t need anymore stuffed animals in the house, but thanks all the same.

Apparently, I’m in a gang.

We went to Village Park in Kannapolis, and I’m only sorry we hadn’t checked it out sooner.  It has a little train, a *huge* playground, shaded picnic tables (although a bit fly-infested) and a really nice splash pad.  It also has one of my favorite things, a big empty field. 

Today, we went, and had a fabulous time, until the thunder started.  They turned off the splash pad, and everyone started packing up to go home.  Some other moms commented on our necklaces, how they were all the same colors.  They are all amber necklaces, sold by my friend Ashley of Miss Monkey’s Boutique, and I thought it was a little funny that no one had ever mentioned it before.

As I was driving home, a recent conversation with a friend of mine popped into my head about gangs, and it gave me a bit of a chuckle to imagine us in a mommy gang with our gang necklace colors of different shades of brown.  So here are some ways you can identify mommy gang members.

1. Drawing graffiti.  Sidewalk chalk, anyone?
2. Using gang hand signs.  It starts with baby signs, and gets more advanced from there.  This can sometimes merge with facial expressions to further the gang communication.  Simple signals such as “walking feet” (two fingers walking) or more complex like “If you talk to this kid, he will not leave you alone.  Ever.” (cutoff sign at the neck while shaking head vigorously and giving crazy eyes.)
3. New-found sense of bravery/bragging that they are too tough to be “messed” with.  Let’s face it.  When we’re in a group, we are a LOT scarier than one on one.  Plus, there are more pairs of eyes, thus making it more difficult to “mess” with us.
4. Demanding privacy.  Really, this is the holy grail of a mom-gang-member.
5. Drinking alcohol or doing drugs.  Helllooooo Margaritas!  Helllooooo Tylenol!
6. Unusual mood swings or patterns of behavior.  Have *you* ever been shut in a room with a 4-year-old who will *not* stop talking?
7. Obsession with a particular color of clothing.  Back to the necklaces.  And the tendency to wear colors that don’t show ice cream/crayon/paint/lunch/mud.
8. Tattoos.  Does Henna count?
9. Goes through initiation rite.  If you can’t guess what this is, you should not be reading this blog.  Suffice it to say it is lengthy, and painful, and guarantees that the gang is strictly female.

Our gang, it seems, is called “The Village”.  To go along with this, I felt I needed a gangsta name.  So I found one.  Apparently, I am “Two-time Goat Smuggla”.  Hmm.

Digging my own grave.

Today was Lake Day.  I *love* Lake Day, I think we all do, and I will be forever grateful to A for making these possible for us this summer.  It was sunny and hot, the water was warm, and the kids were, for the most part, in good moods.

For those of you who follow this blog, you’ll know that many of my friends are avid exercisers.  For those of you that know me in person, you’ll know that I am not now, nor have ever been, an exerciser of any sort, let alone avid. 

So there I am, at the lake with Roller-Derby-Mom(A2), Exercise-Instructor-Mom(B), Triathlon-Coach-Mom(L), Triathlete-to-be-Mom(S), and Ship’s-Captain-Mountain-Biking-Kayaking-and-I’m-sure-a-million-other-things-I-don’t-know-about-mom(A1).  And me.  It’s tough hanging out with superheroes, I gotta say.

B had asked L if she wanted to do an open water swim.  They came prepared in their Fancy Tri-suits, complete with goggles and swim caps.    Now, L has had quite a journey with the swimming part of the Triathlon.  It is, by a long stretch, her least favorite part.  She didn’t swim before she started training, and only did it because, well, you can’t do a Tri without it.  She now does well in the pool, but her only open water swim before today was trouble.  She told us today that the boat had to come pick her up halfway because she couldn’t finish.  To me, getting halfway on your first shot is *great*, but she didn’t seem too thrilled about it.

As she’s mulling over this, S & B decide to swim across the lake to the other side.  Now, I truly believe B can do anything (and she’s yet to prove me wrong) and I was so impressed with S since I’d never seen her in action before.  They came back, not even winded (I think I got more winded cheering for them).

And there sits L, considering why she shouldn’t try it.  We talked about it, and B offered to swim with her (’cause she *can* do it twice), and take a floatie, just in case.  L’s not sold.  Then I had to do it.  I had to open my big mouth.  I hit below the belt.  I gave her the reason I knew she wouldn’t refuse because I know her.  I did this because I *knew* she could do it.  And so she did.  B went with her, but she did *not* need the floatie, she did *not* struggle, and she came through like a champ.  No boat needed to rescue her either.

Here’s the reason I gave her, and here’s the digging my own grave part.  I had told her that I would start the Couch Potato to 5K program with her coaching me in September.  As that date approaches, I’ve become a little dodgy about it.  I have *never* in my life done any form of real exercise.  I think I went to an aerobics class once in the 90′s.  I despise being hot and sweaty.  So I pretty much asked her how she was going to coach me to do all those things *I* didn’t want to do when she wasn’t doing this.  So, being L, she did it.  And now, I don’t have a leg to stand on.  And not only did she *try* (which would have been good enough in the grave digging department), she aced it.

So yes, I will be out there mid-September with my new shoes and my bad attitude, and a coach who walks her talk (which is the best/worst kind).  And I will bring out my best excuses and my whiniest whine, and she will smile sweetly and say, “remember that day at the lake…”

I’m not perfect, no I’m not.

I didn’t blog last week. No good reason, other than I was in a bit of a funk and wasn’t inspired to. It’s a pity, because last week, we finally took the lightrail to Pike’s for Ice Cream and we also finally went to the NC zoo. Both were very blog-worthy events, but what can I say.

So this past week, instead of blogging, I’ve been having conversations about expectations and communication and friendship and who’s really in charge.  I’ve also been reading some interesting blog posts about the same kind of stuff.

The kid is a big fan of Laurie Berkner, and she has a song Called “I’m not Perfect” on her Victor Vito album.  And he likes to remind me that he’ll “do his very best”.  In fact, as I was hovering over him while he was separating eggs for ice cream, he said just that: “It’s OK mom, I’ll do my very best.”  Granted, his “very best” resulted in the un-separation of eggs, but we got the yolks out with a spoon, and the ice cream was made, so in the end, although *his* very best was not exactly the same as *my* very best in the egg-separation department, the desired result was acheived, so what does it really matter?

Now, I’ve never been one to have a perfection complex, and those who know me will tell you that I don’t really have self-esteem issues.  But I do try really hard to be a good mom (whatever that is), and I like to think that although we don’t take a ton of vacations or have a lot of “stuff”, my kid is happy and healthy and thinks I’m OK.

Which brings me to today. 8 years ago today, my friend K’s mom died. Today, she is taking her little girl out for ice cream, to remember. I was lucky enough to have lunch with them, and as we were leaving, I asked her about the ice cream.  She said “It’s not like we did it all the time, but I remember once, she took me out early from school, and my brother wasn’t there, and we went for ice cream, just us.”

This made me think about the things we remember about other people. It’s the little things, the things that may have happened only once, but were so special to us that we remember them. It’s the happy memories we keep, even if that wasn’t how the day-to-day always was. So that makes me feel a little better. A little better about telling him that he “MUST STOP TALKING.”  A little better about not being able to take him to Disney World this year.  A little better about giving him the scary eyes yesterday when he couldn’t decide: ramp..stairs..ramp..stairs..   And maybe he’s OK with me not being perfect.  And maybe, just maybe, someday, he’ll take someone out for ice cream to remember me.