2014 is slowly creeping up on us. Ready or not, here it comes.
New Year's Eve has never been a big deal for me. Honestly, I'd rather go to bed than sit up with overtired kids and Twilight Zone reruns. After all the rushing around for Thanksgiving, Hanukkah, birthdays (there are four December birthdays among my family, including Andrew's), and Christmas, I'm too freaking tired to make another fun holiday celebration. So, here I sit, in my champagne jammies, listening to the kids fight over electronics and impatiently wait for the big, sparkly ball to drop.
New Year resolutions have always been a bit baffling to me, too. Why only set new goals at the beginning of the year? That's easy. It would be much more challenging to set resolutions after all the confetti settles and winter really grabs hold (I suppose that only applies if you live in an area of the world where "winter" means cold temperatures, snow, and ice). And what happens if you accomplish whatever resolution to dream up on New Year's Eve? Do you write more? Or do you sit back and coast through the rest of the year.
Perhaps I just don't feel brave enough to challenge myself with a resolution. I typically don't make them, at least nothing that is too difficult. I have a lot going on, with the kids, and it's simply easier to let myself off the hook. Sounds like a resolution right there, no? Seems straightforward enough: make more time for myself, to do what I want to do. Read, exercise, read, write, read. I have a huge stack of books that I want to read, yet I am constantly resigning myself to thoughts of self pity, and end up "rewarding" myself with another round of Words with Friends rather than reading a few pages out of the book I've been trying to finish for two months. It's easier to play silly ten point words than concentrate on the words on the pages of a novel, right? My eyes would roll to the back of my head if one of my kids tried to tell me that time on electronics was more important than getting in their daily fifteen minutes of reading. So, maybe that's a good place to start. More "ME" time.
Hidden in there would be making more time to write. A dear friend challenged herself to write every day last year, and she accomplished it. I admire her so much for that; she is also a very busy mom, yet she made time for herself and her writing EVERY day. I could do that. I mean, if I can move the kids' elf every night for three weeks, then I could certainly bang out a blog post every day. Maybe? Some days will probably be boring, uninspired, and even ridiculous...but if I can force myself to sit down and focus on the thoughts in my own head long enough to craft an essay, then that would be something.
The very thought of writing every day is exciting and scary. What if no one reads what I write? That actually doesn't bother me as much as I thought it would, although I do dream of having a fun, popular blog that spawns into a best selling book. The really scary part is thinking of all the nasty comments people could make about my writing. Could I handle it? I read what the "trolls" post in response to stories that pop up in my Facebook newsfeed. Words like "rude", "ignorant", and "terrifying" come to mind when reading those comments, and some of them really stick with me for days after seeing them. Why should I care what Joe Schmo thinks about some "breaking news" story or what another blogger writes? Because someday, they could be hurling those insensitive words at me, in response to my writing.
But, maybe that's what I'm meant to do: inspire people enough to cause them to pause in their crazy little worlds to leave a comment based on what I wrote. Like it or not, I could have an affect on them; hopefully for the better, but I've seen train wreck blog posts that cause quite a stir. (Mrs Hall, are you out there somewhere?) Perhaps, though, even the disastrous of essays can spark a conversation that needs to be heard and shared. I could do that.
Or, if nothing else, writing is cheaper than therapy.
I guess I can give it a go. Blog everyday and cross my fingers that somebody, somewhere, reads it. We'll see what happens.
Until then, have a safe and happy New Year's Eve celebration. Or, if you're like me, sweet dreams, and enjoy that champagne in a mimosa tomorrow morning.
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
Friday, December 20, 2013
Christmas Wish
Christmas is a magical time. The stories, the lights, the excitement. The wonder and awe. I fondly recall my childhood holidays and that's what I remember: the magic. Recently, in the midst of the "making Christmas" chaos, I remembered that this doesn't go away once you grow up.
I've always tried to stress the "giving" part of the holiday to my kids. They are blessed to have a beautiful holiday every year (and I am blessed to be able to do this for them), and I want them to know that it's not all about elves, pretty wrapping paper and sweet treats. I think they are hearing me, but they are still so young; I figure that if they all get there by the time they are 10 years old, then I can consider it a success.
Since I was a teenager, I have made it a point to donate toys during the holidays so that everyone can have a chance to partake in the magic. Beginning in high school (when I had my own money, from babysitting or my job), I would buy toys and take them to the fire station. I always wished I could do more, but I did what I could, then would hope that the toys would bring smiles to someone, somewhere.
I still make an effort to continue this tradition, and now I get to involve my kids. It's a little tricky, navigating around the Santa tale, and I have to be careful in my responses to their questions. "Why doesn't Santa just bring gifts?" They aren't being sassy; they are just trying to wrap their little heads around it. As briefly as possible, I explain to them that not all families can give gifts, like theirs can, so we're being Santa's helpers. They are ok with that response, for now at least, and they also enjoy shopping for others. They were excited to help me wrap the gift we purchased to donate, and they couldn't wait to place it under the tree at our church. After dropping off our gift, Addie (my sweet seven year old) noticed several other tags hanging on the tree. Each tag represents a Christmas wish; after careful consideration (you can just see the wheels turning in their little heads!), she began pulling the tags off the tree. I quickly realized her intent, and had to gently tell her that we'd have to wait and see how many more gifts we could bring (I'm a bargain shopper, but unfortunately not that good!). She was disappointed, but she understood, as she is learning about money and spending/saving. The wheels were then spinning in my head, too, trying to figure out how I could reallocate what I'd already planned so we could pick up a few more wish items.
A few days later, as we were riding in the car, she asked if she could share her Christmas wish. I fully expected to hear, again, about the iPod Touch she wants, or the American girl dolls (yes, plural!) she has an eye on, or one of the other items on her list. She is just seven, after all, and fully believes in Santa, but she does understand that Santa doesn't bring everything on her list. I never imagined that her response would be this:
"My Christmas wish is for everyone to have something to open on Christmas morning."
Whoa. No mention of anything for herself, no creative arguments about why a second grader needs an iPod Touch. She was still thinking about those tags left hanging on the tree at church, about our conversation from a few days back. I was stunned. And so very, very proud. She gets it.
The next day, I was telling my mom about what Addie had done and said, just in casual conversation. I was surprised to later get a call from my mom, telling me that she and my dad wanted to help honor Ad's Christmas wish by purchasing more gifts to donate (so, so awesome!!). Just a couple days later, my dad and I dropped off two big bags of cheerfully wrapped gifts. I wish I'd had a camera hidden to record Addie's reaction when I told her of all of this. She was so excited, and happy, to know how many kiddos would have something to open. Again, there was no mention of her own list, or the things she wants. Just pure excitement, knowing that others would get to experience a happier holiday. Her Christmas wish was coming true, right before her eyes.
I was reminded that the Christmas magic doesn't end when you stop believing in Santa. The magic of the holiday comes when you open your heart and care about others. Her holiday will be even more special because she learned the importance of giving. In all my hustling and bustling over the next few days, I can stop and quietly reflect on this magic; knowing that at least one of my kids is really listening to all the "wisdom" I try to impart on their little minds, to shape them into the "good" souls that I envision, is the best gift, ever.
Merry Christmas to all! May the magic of the holidays touch your lives, as well.
I've always tried to stress the "giving" part of the holiday to my kids. They are blessed to have a beautiful holiday every year (and I am blessed to be able to do this for them), and I want them to know that it's not all about elves, pretty wrapping paper and sweet treats. I think they are hearing me, but they are still so young; I figure that if they all get there by the time they are 10 years old, then I can consider it a success.
Since I was a teenager, I have made it a point to donate toys during the holidays so that everyone can have a chance to partake in the magic. Beginning in high school (when I had my own money, from babysitting or my job), I would buy toys and take them to the fire station. I always wished I could do more, but I did what I could, then would hope that the toys would bring smiles to someone, somewhere.
I still make an effort to continue this tradition, and now I get to involve my kids. It's a little tricky, navigating around the Santa tale, and I have to be careful in my responses to their questions. "Why doesn't Santa just bring gifts?" They aren't being sassy; they are just trying to wrap their little heads around it. As briefly as possible, I explain to them that not all families can give gifts, like theirs can, so we're being Santa's helpers. They are ok with that response, for now at least, and they also enjoy shopping for others. They were excited to help me wrap the gift we purchased to donate, and they couldn't wait to place it under the tree at our church. After dropping off our gift, Addie (my sweet seven year old) noticed several other tags hanging on the tree. Each tag represents a Christmas wish; after careful consideration (you can just see the wheels turning in their little heads!), she began pulling the tags off the tree. I quickly realized her intent, and had to gently tell her that we'd have to wait and see how many more gifts we could bring (I'm a bargain shopper, but unfortunately not that good!). She was disappointed, but she understood, as she is learning about money and spending/saving. The wheels were then spinning in my head, too, trying to figure out how I could reallocate what I'd already planned so we could pick up a few more wish items.
A few days later, as we were riding in the car, she asked if she could share her Christmas wish. I fully expected to hear, again, about the iPod Touch she wants, or the American girl dolls (yes, plural!) she has an eye on, or one of the other items on her list. She is just seven, after all, and fully believes in Santa, but she does understand that Santa doesn't bring everything on her list. I never imagined that her response would be this:
"My Christmas wish is for everyone to have something to open on Christmas morning."
Whoa. No mention of anything for herself, no creative arguments about why a second grader needs an iPod Touch. She was still thinking about those tags left hanging on the tree at church, about our conversation from a few days back. I was stunned. And so very, very proud. She gets it.
The next day, I was telling my mom about what Addie had done and said, just in casual conversation. I was surprised to later get a call from my mom, telling me that she and my dad wanted to help honor Ad's Christmas wish by purchasing more gifts to donate (so, so awesome!!). Just a couple days later, my dad and I dropped off two big bags of cheerfully wrapped gifts. I wish I'd had a camera hidden to record Addie's reaction when I told her of all of this. She was so excited, and happy, to know how many kiddos would have something to open. Again, there was no mention of her own list, or the things she wants. Just pure excitement, knowing that others would get to experience a happier holiday. Her Christmas wish was coming true, right before her eyes.
I was reminded that the Christmas magic doesn't end when you stop believing in Santa. The magic of the holiday comes when you open your heart and care about others. Her holiday will be even more special because she learned the importance of giving. In all my hustling and bustling over the next few days, I can stop and quietly reflect on this magic; knowing that at least one of my kids is really listening to all the "wisdom" I try to impart on their little minds, to shape them into the "good" souls that I envision, is the best gift, ever.
Merry Christmas to all! May the magic of the holidays touch your lives, as well.
Wednesday, December 18, 2013
Holiday PSA
I started this year by blogging about my wish for 2013: Just. Be. Nice. I figured I should revisit that topic before the year ends, so here we go.
As you are out finishing up (starting?) your holiday shopping, just be nice. Easy peasy. I've been doing this, and it does make a difference. Smile at the lady who comes flying out of an aisle and almost runs you down with her cart. She's not trying to flatten you; she is just as distracted as you are with her holiday task list. Wave to the car that lets you in a huge line of traffic. They don't have to let you in (although, they should, especially since someone else probably let them in, but whatever), but they did, so let them know you appreciate it. Don't raise your voice at a customer service rep because the post office is holding your shipment from their company. I'm pretty sure they lost control over the situation once they handed over your package to ship. It's very frustrating, but not their fault, and certainly not the fault of the poor soul that took your call. Be kind to the cashier who may seem completely over it and frazzled; they probably hit the wall a week ago. Their feet are tired, their patience is thin, they are being paid in beans. A kind customer in the midst of a horde of nasty ones could make a difference in their whole day. It's everyone's holiday; you are not alone in your preparations and celebrations.
Think I'm being bossy by telling you to be nice? Well, get over it. We're all in the same boat...the big, red, glitter-covered, time-is-running-out holiday boat that sets sail in less than a week. Might as well be nice to each other, because it will make the whole experience a little less stressful. Do I never have a bad day during the holidays? Of course I do! But, I've been on the other end of the madness, and trust me, it sucks. I get it: everyone is tired and stressed. That, however, is not a free pass to be a jerk. Using basic manners and kindness will help you get through the last stretch of the holidays. I promise.
So, here's to smiling and waving at strangers, being friendly with tired cashiers, and not screaming like a lunatic when your packages don't arrive. Merry Christmas to all, and don't be a Grinch.
As you are out finishing up (starting?) your holiday shopping, just be nice. Easy peasy. I've been doing this, and it does make a difference. Smile at the lady who comes flying out of an aisle and almost runs you down with her cart. She's not trying to flatten you; she is just as distracted as you are with her holiday task list. Wave to the car that lets you in a huge line of traffic. They don't have to let you in (although, they should, especially since someone else probably let them in, but whatever), but they did, so let them know you appreciate it. Don't raise your voice at a customer service rep because the post office is holding your shipment from their company. I'm pretty sure they lost control over the situation once they handed over your package to ship. It's very frustrating, but not their fault, and certainly not the fault of the poor soul that took your call. Be kind to the cashier who may seem completely over it and frazzled; they probably hit the wall a week ago. Their feet are tired, their patience is thin, they are being paid in beans. A kind customer in the midst of a horde of nasty ones could make a difference in their whole day. It's everyone's holiday; you are not alone in your preparations and celebrations.
Think I'm being bossy by telling you to be nice? Well, get over it. We're all in the same boat...the big, red, glitter-covered, time-is-running-out holiday boat that sets sail in less than a week. Might as well be nice to each other, because it will make the whole experience a little less stressful. Do I never have a bad day during the holidays? Of course I do! But, I've been on the other end of the madness, and trust me, it sucks. I get it: everyone is tired and stressed. That, however, is not a free pass to be a jerk. Using basic manners and kindness will help you get through the last stretch of the holidays. I promise.
So, here's to smiling and waving at strangers, being friendly with tired cashiers, and not screaming like a lunatic when your packages don't arrive. Merry Christmas to all, and don't be a Grinch.
Monday, December 2, 2013
Customer Service IS Alive and Well
If you've been keeping up with my blog lately (and I've made it fairly easy for you...my lack of writing surely makes your reading load a bit lighter, no?), you know that I've been grouchy about the level of customer service I've seen in my daily adventures.
If you've been keeping up with my Facebook feed (now that's a little more challenging!), you'll remember that my Alex managed to purchase several non-learning apps while we waited for the other kids at their dance classes a couple of weeks ago. I recently learned that the App Store stays "open" for fifteen minutes after you enter your password. If I'd had this information earlier, I could have saved myself some time. Eh, well. What's a life experience if it doesn't provide any lessons, right?
So, to recap, while Al and I were waiting for the other two kids at their dance classes, he asked me to put a new game on his iPad. I found an educational, free app right away, so I happily obliged and then turned back to the magazine I was reading. He played away, without interrupting my reading, for about ten minutes before my inner voice kicked in and prompted me to look at what he was doing. I was so engrossed in my stupid magazine (and enjoying the very rare opportunity to flip through it without being bothered) that I failed to notice that Alex had been on an app shopping spree. Ugh!!
To his pure dismay, I grabbed his iPad and quickly figured out how to enable restrictions. That ended the app free-for-all, but I couldn't tell just by looking at the apps if he had paid for them, or if they were free. My gut told me that they were probably the most expensive apps there were. I was almost right.
The next day, I could see that my bank account was charged $16.09 for three apps (I should note that for almost a year, I only downloaded free apps because I was too stubborn to pay for any...so seeing that Al paid $9.99 for one app made my eye twitch a bit). I definitely got lucky, as it could have been way more costly, but at this time of year (Hanukkah, Andrew's birthday, Christmas...) I can stretch $16 pretty far. I debated on calling Apple to see if they would consider reversing the charges, but I wasn't certain if they would have any compassion. I'll admit it, I should have been watching him, and it was totally my fault that he got app-happy. I decided to put it out on Facebook to see what others would do.
I was relieved to learn that Alex was definitely not the first kiddo to do this, and he was actually the most conservative in his purchases, by far! All but one person reported that Apple had been willing to credit them for the unauthorized charges, so I decided to give it a shot.
I finally sat down the other day to call Apple, and spoke with a lovely support rep, Rebecca. I sheepishly explained the situation, and while waiting for the lecture that I fully expected, I was surprised to hear her offer to refund the charges. Wow. I thought I'd have to put up a bit of a fight, but nope. Not at all. Then, she offered me three free song downloads, for "my inconvenience". Whoa!! I'm the dumbass who gave my kid full access to the App Store, and you're giving me complementary downloads? Awesome.
It would be so great if this type of service was the norm. Not even the offering of free stuff; Apple had won me over before that. If every place had pleasant, patient employees who are actually willing to do their job and be nice about it, I think we'd all be a lot happier.
Now, how do we get there? Higher wages? Better benefits? I have no idea where to start. But, I am one happy customer, with a somewhat renewed faith in finding good service, because of this experience.
And Alex will not be shopping for apps, unsupervised, for a very, very long time.
If you've been keeping up with my Facebook feed (now that's a little more challenging!), you'll remember that my Alex managed to purchase several non-learning apps while we waited for the other kids at their dance classes a couple of weeks ago. I recently learned that the App Store stays "open" for fifteen minutes after you enter your password. If I'd had this information earlier, I could have saved myself some time. Eh, well. What's a life experience if it doesn't provide any lessons, right?
So, to recap, while Al and I were waiting for the other two kids at their dance classes, he asked me to put a new game on his iPad. I found an educational, free app right away, so I happily obliged and then turned back to the magazine I was reading. He played away, without interrupting my reading, for about ten minutes before my inner voice kicked in and prompted me to look at what he was doing. I was so engrossed in my stupid magazine (and enjoying the very rare opportunity to flip through it without being bothered) that I failed to notice that Alex had been on an app shopping spree. Ugh!!
To his pure dismay, I grabbed his iPad and quickly figured out how to enable restrictions. That ended the app free-for-all, but I couldn't tell just by looking at the apps if he had paid for them, or if they were free. My gut told me that they were probably the most expensive apps there were. I was almost right.
The next day, I could see that my bank account was charged $16.09 for three apps (I should note that for almost a year, I only downloaded free apps because I was too stubborn to pay for any...so seeing that Al paid $9.99 for one app made my eye twitch a bit). I definitely got lucky, as it could have been way more costly, but at this time of year (Hanukkah, Andrew's birthday, Christmas...) I can stretch $16 pretty far. I debated on calling Apple to see if they would consider reversing the charges, but I wasn't certain if they would have any compassion. I'll admit it, I should have been watching him, and it was totally my fault that he got app-happy. I decided to put it out on Facebook to see what others would do.
I was relieved to learn that Alex was definitely not the first kiddo to do this, and he was actually the most conservative in his purchases, by far! All but one person reported that Apple had been willing to credit them for the unauthorized charges, so I decided to give it a shot.
I finally sat down the other day to call Apple, and spoke with a lovely support rep, Rebecca. I sheepishly explained the situation, and while waiting for the lecture that I fully expected, I was surprised to hear her offer to refund the charges. Wow. I thought I'd have to put up a bit of a fight, but nope. Not at all. Then, she offered me three free song downloads, for "my inconvenience". Whoa!! I'm the dumbass who gave my kid full access to the App Store, and you're giving me complementary downloads? Awesome.
It would be so great if this type of service was the norm. Not even the offering of free stuff; Apple had won me over before that. If every place had pleasant, patient employees who are actually willing to do their job and be nice about it, I think we'd all be a lot happier.
Now, how do we get there? Higher wages? Better benefits? I have no idea where to start. But, I am one happy customer, with a somewhat renewed faith in finding good service, because of this experience.
And Alex will not be shopping for apps, unsupervised, for a very, very long time.
Monday, November 25, 2013
Redemption
After last week's adventure into the Disney Store, they earned a spot on my "list". Any more, it's not difficult to land on my list, as most places seem to have tossed customer service aside. There were two new additions to the list just last week; at this rate, I won't have any stores left to shop. (Wait...did you hear that? It's the sound of my husband rejoicing at the thought of me no longer shopping.)
However, as of this morning I still had my stupid Disney coupon, and I still needed to pick up my Planes dvd, and Andrew still wanted Bulldog the plane. So, after my workout, I headed back to the Disney Store, all the while hoping that Santa would not throw a wrench into my shopping efforts once again. I was determined to accomplish this simple task that had become quite ridiculous.
When I entered the store, I immediately headed to the shelves where the planes are displayed, only to search all of them and not find the elusive Bulldog. I had absolutely no patience left for this expedition (yes, that quickly), and just wanted to get out of there. But, because I really needed to pick up a couple of birthday gifts, I figured I should suck it up and take advantage of the coupon. So a browsin' I went.
I should note that not one person greeted me, or stopped to ask me if I needed assistance, and after about 15 minutes I was convinced that someone had shared my last blog post with them, and that they recognized me (damn bright pinkish-red coat!). The very thought was quite amusing and frustrating, all at the same time. One woman (whom I later determined to be a supervisor) was apparently too busy rearranging tshirts to ask me if I needed help, even after I stood right next to her, purposefully looking lost and confused, silently daring her to talk to me. No luck. And yes, I realize that sounds a little psycho, but hey, I don't criticize your hobbies.
Then, like a bright ray of Disney magic, a friendly face appeared in front of me, commenting on a book I had selected for my Addie (to put in her stocking). We started chatting about the book, she showed me another stocking stuffer idea, then she asked that question for which I'd been waiting: "Is there anything I can help you find?"
Boy, did I run with that one.
I explained to her that I wanted a Bulldog, that there weren't any on the shelf, and that I was hoping to pick one up with my coupon. Instead of stumbling over to the display to look for something that obviously wasn't there, or running around like a four year old after spotting Santa, she did the most wonderful thing: she walked over to a computer, found a Bulldog in their warehouse, and set it up to SHIP TO MY HOME, FOR FREE. Boom. That was it. Easy, peasy.
I was both ecstatic and disgusted.
How freaking hard would it have been for either of the sales associates to offer to do that last week? But yay! Andrew will get the plane he wants.
Customer service is not rocket science. Not by a long shot. I went in to that store today, ready to throw down if Santa or any of his jolly little elves came along and distracted the sales associates from helping me. But, because of the simple effort of a knowledgeable employee, I left a happy customer who might just return to shop there again.
For now, the Disney Store is off my list. This could be a record; to date, it's the only store that has landed on the list and then fallen off of it after just a few days. Walt should be proud.
However, as of this morning I still had my stupid Disney coupon, and I still needed to pick up my Planes dvd, and Andrew still wanted Bulldog the plane. So, after my workout, I headed back to the Disney Store, all the while hoping that Santa would not throw a wrench into my shopping efforts once again. I was determined to accomplish this simple task that had become quite ridiculous.
When I entered the store, I immediately headed to the shelves where the planes are displayed, only to search all of them and not find the elusive Bulldog. I had absolutely no patience left for this expedition (yes, that quickly), and just wanted to get out of there. But, because I really needed to pick up a couple of birthday gifts, I figured I should suck it up and take advantage of the coupon. So a browsin' I went.
I should note that not one person greeted me, or stopped to ask me if I needed assistance, and after about 15 minutes I was convinced that someone had shared my last blog post with them, and that they recognized me (damn bright pinkish-red coat!). The very thought was quite amusing and frustrating, all at the same time. One woman (whom I later determined to be a supervisor) was apparently too busy rearranging tshirts to ask me if I needed help, even after I stood right next to her, purposefully looking lost and confused, silently daring her to talk to me. No luck. And yes, I realize that sounds a little psycho, but hey, I don't criticize your hobbies.
Then, like a bright ray of Disney magic, a friendly face appeared in front of me, commenting on a book I had selected for my Addie (to put in her stocking). We started chatting about the book, she showed me another stocking stuffer idea, then she asked that question for which I'd been waiting: "Is there anything I can help you find?"
Boy, did I run with that one.
I explained to her that I wanted a Bulldog, that there weren't any on the shelf, and that I was hoping to pick one up with my coupon. Instead of stumbling over to the display to look for something that obviously wasn't there, or running around like a four year old after spotting Santa, she did the most wonderful thing: she walked over to a computer, found a Bulldog in their warehouse, and set it up to SHIP TO MY HOME, FOR FREE. Boom. That was it. Easy, peasy.
I was both ecstatic and disgusted.
How freaking hard would it have been for either of the sales associates to offer to do that last week? But yay! Andrew will get the plane he wants.
Customer service is not rocket science. Not by a long shot. I went in to that store today, ready to throw down if Santa or any of his jolly little elves came along and distracted the sales associates from helping me. But, because of the simple effort of a knowledgeable employee, I left a happy customer who might just return to shop there again.
For now, the Disney Store is off my list. This could be a record; to date, it's the only store that has landed on the list and then fallen off of it after just a few days. Walt should be proud.
Friday, November 22, 2013
More Grinchy than I thought?
'Tis the season...
After my workout this morning, I decided to take advantage of my remaining 45 minutes of freedom before picking Andrew up at school. I headed over to the mall to pick up my reserved copy of "Planes" at the Disney Store. They're tricky over there, those Disney people; they have coupon crazed shoppers, like me, figured out. When you reserve a Disney movie in their store, you get coupons to use when you pick up your movie. So, I was pretty excited to use my "$20 off a $40 purchase" coupon to finish up holiday gift shopping.
We saw "Planes" in the theater, and Andrew mentioned that he would like to have the toy version of "Bulldog", the British plane in the movie. Of course, the Disney Store has a huge display of all the die-cast planes, stacked up in such a way that you have to completely dismantle the display to find what you want. I was attempting to do just this when a sales associate came over and asked if I was finding everything I needed. I explained to her what I wanted, and she looked blankly at me and finally asked what the character looks like. "I have no idea," I answered, honestly, "but the character names are on the front of the boxes, and Bulldog is not out here."
Despite my answer, she immediately began searching the shelves. I impatiently raised an eyebrow, as I was supposed to be on my way to pick up Andrew soon. Then, the store's phone rang, and off she ran to answer it, without another word to me. Eyebrow went up higher.
Working for so many years in customer service environments is definitely a blessing and a curse. I expect high levels of service, wherever I go, and I (unfairly?) get frustrated when I don't get that from those who are supposed to be helping me. In this situation, I took a deep breath and decided to give her a few minutes; she would come back to help in a minute.
Only, she didn't.
After helping the person on the phone, she started ringing up sales for other customers. I decided that the universe just didn't want Andrew to have Bulldog, and began wandering about the store in search of something else to purchase with my stupid coupon.
I stopped in front of a large display of ornaments, thinking that surely I could find a few cute ornaments for the kids. As I was browsing, another sales associate came over and asked if I was finding what I needed. I tried again. I explained that I was looking for Bulldog, that it wasn't on the shelf, and that someone had been helping me but bailed to answer the phone. Contestant #2 looked at me, then said "Well, what does Bulldog look like?" Perhaps my irritation with that question was evident, because she hurried over to the shelf to look. "It's not out there," I called after her. As she was walking back, saying "I'll check in..." we heard a booming voice announce "Merrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrry Christmas!!!"
Santa Claus had entered the store.
Instead of focusing on me, the customer needing help, the lady clapped her hands, squealed "It's SANTA!!", and went running up to him to collect a green lollipop. For reals. At this point, the eyebrow was completely off my head, and my mouth was hanging open. It wasn't like the store was full of kids and she was putting on a show for them. It was mostly adults, or kids who were too young to care.
She came happily skipping back toward me, lollipop in hand, and informed me that she would go check in the back for the plane. At that point, I didn't freaking care about the plane anymore; I was too busy looking around for a camera crew and waiting for Ellen Degeneres to pop out of some display. Surely, this was a set up. Right? Please?
Apparently, no. The lady came back out and informed me that they did not have the plane, but advised me to check back later. As I was trying to thank her and tell her I would be back, she noticed another store employee coming in for work, and cut me off to yell at that person "Santa is HERE!!"
I have never left the mall that fast, without making any purchases, in my whole life.
Am I just that cynical these days, or was that just ridiculous? Good thing my holiday shopping is almost finished.
After my workout this morning, I decided to take advantage of my remaining 45 minutes of freedom before picking Andrew up at school. I headed over to the mall to pick up my reserved copy of "Planes" at the Disney Store. They're tricky over there, those Disney people; they have coupon crazed shoppers, like me, figured out. When you reserve a Disney movie in their store, you get coupons to use when you pick up your movie. So, I was pretty excited to use my "$20 off a $40 purchase" coupon to finish up holiday gift shopping.
We saw "Planes" in the theater, and Andrew mentioned that he would like to have the toy version of "Bulldog", the British plane in the movie. Of course, the Disney Store has a huge display of all the die-cast planes, stacked up in such a way that you have to completely dismantle the display to find what you want. I was attempting to do just this when a sales associate came over and asked if I was finding everything I needed. I explained to her what I wanted, and she looked blankly at me and finally asked what the character looks like. "I have no idea," I answered, honestly, "but the character names are on the front of the boxes, and Bulldog is not out here."
Despite my answer, she immediately began searching the shelves. I impatiently raised an eyebrow, as I was supposed to be on my way to pick up Andrew soon. Then, the store's phone rang, and off she ran to answer it, without another word to me. Eyebrow went up higher.
Working for so many years in customer service environments is definitely a blessing and a curse. I expect high levels of service, wherever I go, and I (unfairly?) get frustrated when I don't get that from those who are supposed to be helping me. In this situation, I took a deep breath and decided to give her a few minutes; she would come back to help in a minute.
Only, she didn't.
After helping the person on the phone, she started ringing up sales for other customers. I decided that the universe just didn't want Andrew to have Bulldog, and began wandering about the store in search of something else to purchase with my stupid coupon.
I stopped in front of a large display of ornaments, thinking that surely I could find a few cute ornaments for the kids. As I was browsing, another sales associate came over and asked if I was finding what I needed. I tried again. I explained that I was looking for Bulldog, that it wasn't on the shelf, and that someone had been helping me but bailed to answer the phone. Contestant #2 looked at me, then said "Well, what does Bulldog look like?" Perhaps my irritation with that question was evident, because she hurried over to the shelf to look. "It's not out there," I called after her. As she was walking back, saying "I'll check in..." we heard a booming voice announce "Merrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrry Christmas!!!"
Santa Claus had entered the store.
Instead of focusing on me, the customer needing help, the lady clapped her hands, squealed "It's SANTA!!", and went running up to him to collect a green lollipop. For reals. At this point, the eyebrow was completely off my head, and my mouth was hanging open. It wasn't like the store was full of kids and she was putting on a show for them. It was mostly adults, or kids who were too young to care.
She came happily skipping back toward me, lollipop in hand, and informed me that she would go check in the back for the plane. At that point, I didn't freaking care about the plane anymore; I was too busy looking around for a camera crew and waiting for Ellen Degeneres to pop out of some display. Surely, this was a set up. Right? Please?
Apparently, no. The lady came back out and informed me that they did not have the plane, but advised me to check back later. As I was trying to thank her and tell her I would be back, she noticed another store employee coming in for work, and cut me off to yell at that person "Santa is HERE!!"
I have never left the mall that fast, without making any purchases, in my whole life.
Am I just that cynical these days, or was that just ridiculous? Good thing my holiday shopping is almost finished.
Friday, October 4, 2013
Oh Happy Day
Ever have a day when nothing particularly spectacular happens, but several very small things do happen, making it just the best day ever? Welcome to my day today.
It's Friday, which already gives it a boost up on the other days. It started off similarly to all the others: struggle to tear myself out of bed, rush around like a madwoman to get everyone fed and ready for school, then finally breath a sigh of relief after the last kid is dropped off for the morning. Usually, I take care of whatever errands are on my list, so I can do them by myself and not have to drag a kid or two along with me.
Today was no different, in terms of the errands. I started off by marching into our vet's office; I was frustrated because I thought the pup we just adopted was being over-vaccinated as a result of them misreading her medical records. I was irritated by the thought of paying close to $200 for something I thought had been taken care of already by the rescue organization. I was ready to (nicely) battle with them to correct the issue; but, to my pleasant surprise, they cheerfully offered to remedy the situation without me having to even raise an eyebrow. Hooray!
I then moved on to grocery shopping. Let's face it, it's a boring task, right? It can also be stressful, wondering if you're getting the best deal, worrying that you're not buying the "best" products (in terms of nutrition). I had barely walked into the store before I came across honeycrisp apples, one of the hub's favorites. As I stood there, selecting my apples, a manager came over to me and greeted me with a cheerful "Good morning! You like honeycrisp apples? Let me get you a Sweet Tango to try! They are amazing!" I was stunned, because beyond a "hello", I rarely come across a talkative employee at our local grocery store. The manager went on to bring out "fresher apples" (he wasn't satisfied with what was left on the display), and then cut one up for me right then and there. Shopping while munching on sweet, yummy apple slices? Yes, please. I'm not sure what got in to them over there at that store, but I definitely appreciate the elevated level of customer service!
At this point, I was already aware that I was having an extra good morning. I decided to stop for a cup of coffee on my way to pick up the littlest kiddo from school. Now, I've never come across a cranky barista at Starbucks, but today they were just super chipper! AND...I was offered a sample of my favorite berry coffee cake. Score! It was just the perfect size to enjoy without feeling guilty because I have absolutely no business eating extra treats right now.
Driving to my son's school, the cynic in me started to ponder all of these good things that happened to that point, and wondered when the other shoe would drop. But, a string of awesome songs on the radio quickly squashed any pessimism that threatened to take away my happy morning. Don't you just love it when your radio station just synchs up with your mood? Ah, music.
So, that was it. The rest of the day, so far, has been uneventful, but no complaints. Not sure why I was blessed with such a lovely morning, and day for that matter, but hey...I'll gladly take it.
It's Friday, which already gives it a boost up on the other days. It started off similarly to all the others: struggle to tear myself out of bed, rush around like a madwoman to get everyone fed and ready for school, then finally breath a sigh of relief after the last kid is dropped off for the morning. Usually, I take care of whatever errands are on my list, so I can do them by myself and not have to drag a kid or two along with me.
Today was no different, in terms of the errands. I started off by marching into our vet's office; I was frustrated because I thought the pup we just adopted was being over-vaccinated as a result of them misreading her medical records. I was irritated by the thought of paying close to $200 for something I thought had been taken care of already by the rescue organization. I was ready to (nicely) battle with them to correct the issue; but, to my pleasant surprise, they cheerfully offered to remedy the situation without me having to even raise an eyebrow. Hooray!
I then moved on to grocery shopping. Let's face it, it's a boring task, right? It can also be stressful, wondering if you're getting the best deal, worrying that you're not buying the "best" products (in terms of nutrition). I had barely walked into the store before I came across honeycrisp apples, one of the hub's favorites. As I stood there, selecting my apples, a manager came over to me and greeted me with a cheerful "Good morning! You like honeycrisp apples? Let me get you a Sweet Tango to try! They are amazing!" I was stunned, because beyond a "hello", I rarely come across a talkative employee at our local grocery store. The manager went on to bring out "fresher apples" (he wasn't satisfied with what was left on the display), and then cut one up for me right then and there. Shopping while munching on sweet, yummy apple slices? Yes, please. I'm not sure what got in to them over there at that store, but I definitely appreciate the elevated level of customer service!
At this point, I was already aware that I was having an extra good morning. I decided to stop for a cup of coffee on my way to pick up the littlest kiddo from school. Now, I've never come across a cranky barista at Starbucks, but today they were just super chipper! AND...I was offered a sample of my favorite berry coffee cake. Score! It was just the perfect size to enjoy without feeling guilty because I have absolutely no business eating extra treats right now.
Driving to my son's school, the cynic in me started to ponder all of these good things that happened to that point, and wondered when the other shoe would drop. But, a string of awesome songs on the radio quickly squashed any pessimism that threatened to take away my happy morning. Don't you just love it when your radio station just synchs up with your mood? Ah, music.
So, that was it. The rest of the day, so far, has been uneventful, but no complaints. Not sure why I was blessed with such a lovely morning, and day for that matter, but hey...I'll gladly take it.
Thursday, October 3, 2013
Happy Down Syndrome Awareness Month
It's October already? How did that happen? As long as the days (weeks...months?) may feel at times, this year really is flying by.
October is a notable month for my family, as it is Down Syndrome Awareness Month. For those who know my family, you are very aware of Down syndrome, and our mission to give Alex every opportunity that my other two children will have. A lot of people, though, don't have much information about Down syndrome; we certainly didn't before Al was born!
So, in the spirit of Down Syndrome Awareness Month, I give you my list of DOs and DON'Ts for communicating with an individual with Down syndrome (and their family):
October is a notable month for my family, as it is Down Syndrome Awareness Month. For those who know my family, you are very aware of Down syndrome, and our mission to give Alex every opportunity that my other two children will have. A lot of people, though, don't have much information about Down syndrome; we certainly didn't before Al was born!
So, in the spirit of Down Syndrome Awareness Month, I give you my list of DOs and DON'Ts for communicating with an individual with Down syndrome (and their family):
- DO be a supportive family member or friend. Be a good listener while not feeling like you need to go out of your way to offer advice. There is so much going on behind the scenes that I may or may not share with you: challenges (hello, potty training?!?), accomplishments, worries. Just knowing that we have a terrific support system is so very helpful.
- DO treat Alex as you would any other nine year old boy. He is more like a typically developing nine year old than he is different, and he wants to be treated as such (ie, DON'T talk to him like he's a baby. This happened just the other day; a very sweet lady started a conversation with him, but he looked at her like she had two heads).
- DO use person-first language. My son has Down syndrome; he is NOT a "Down syndrome boy". He is a child with special needs; he is NOT a "special needs kid". (psst...this applies to way more than just Down syndrome...)
- DO know the proper terminology. My son does not have "Down's". He is not "downsy" (thank you, Hollywood, for bringing us that awful term). He has Down syndrome. There is no abbreviating it, sorry.
- DON'T use the r-word. EVER. Just don't do it. (Visit www.r-word.org for info on the Spread the Word to End the Word campaign.) I don't want to hear any excuses anymore. I know you probably didn't mean it; I know that at one time it was an acceptable clinical term. Times are changing, though, so let's keep up, shall we?
- DON'T feel sorry for him, or our family. Even after nine years, so often when we meet someone new and tell them about Alex, we get the sympathetic head tilt & nod, which is sometimes accompanied by an "Oh, I'm so sorry". Really? Why? We're not sorry about it, so you shouldn't be, either. Do we face extra challenges? Sure. Do we worry about our child? Of course. But, what family doesn't deal with these issues? We'll be fine, but please refer back to the first "DO".
Finally, the biggest DO on my list:
- DO accept him as an equal member of our community. He can do everything we can do; he just may need a little more time to get there. With a little extra compassion and caring, every individual with Down syndrome can accomplish ANYTHING.
I hope that you will think through this list; feel free to pass it along. My job as Alex's advocate will never reach an end, but you can help me in my mission just by sharing these things.
Happy October!
Friday, July 12, 2013
Early Conversation with Al
We've had a busy schedule the last couple of weeks. So busy, in fact, that not having any kids' activities on the schedule today seems weird. I have plenty of work today, as always, but that's a given.
My sweet Alex just stumbled down the stairs, still half asleep, and found me in the kitchen.
"G'morning, Al," I said, greeting him with a hug.
He looked up at me, and asked "Daddy?"
"No, Daddy is working today. It's Friday."
He looked hopeful: "Camp?"
"No, buddy, camp is all done for the summer."
He tried again: "School??"
"No, pal, no school on Fridays."
Getting impatient, he asked "Soccer?!?"
"Soccer ended last night, dude. Remember?"
"Oh," he said, giving in. "Staying?"
"Yes, Al, we're staying home today," I answered, realizing that I need to get this poor kid some kind of picture calendar so he can keep up with our crazy days. I waited a moment to see what kind of requests would come shooting out: bowling, library, movies...
But no, he seems content with just hanging out at home today. He found High School Musical 2 on the DVR (the version with the dance lessons between scenes), and he is happily busting a move in the living room.
Love. This. Kid.
My sweet Alex just stumbled down the stairs, still half asleep, and found me in the kitchen.
"G'morning, Al," I said, greeting him with a hug.
He looked up at me, and asked "Daddy?"
"No, Daddy is working today. It's Friday."
He looked hopeful: "Camp?"
"No, buddy, camp is all done for the summer."
He tried again: "School??"
"No, pal, no school on Fridays."
Getting impatient, he asked "Soccer?!?"
"Soccer ended last night, dude. Remember?"
"Oh," he said, giving in. "Staying?"
"Yes, Al, we're staying home today," I answered, realizing that I need to get this poor kid some kind of picture calendar so he can keep up with our crazy days. I waited a moment to see what kind of requests would come shooting out: bowling, library, movies...
But no, he seems content with just hanging out at home today. He found High School Musical 2 on the DVR (the version with the dance lessons between scenes), and he is happily busting a move in the living room.
Love. This. Kid.
Wednesday, July 3, 2013
The Death of the Kikies
I am heartbroken.
Before the birth of my youngest son (who is now 4 1/2), I purchased a set of Carter's security blankets. Knowing how attached my daughter was to her blankie, I thought I should plan ahead and I just marveled over how Carter's knew to put two in a package. It would be perfect: one for home, one to take with us.
And take it he did.
Those blankies (or as he called them, "kikies") went everywhere. They truly fit the job description of the security blanket. They got dirty, and my son would cry as they "went for a ride in the washer and dryer" only to rejoice when they were ready again. They got lost, and I would panic and desperately retrace my steps until they were once again tucked into his little hands. Those kikies became inanimate members of our family.
Seeing as they were more well traveled than I am, losing them for good was inevitable. Two weeks ago today, I took my oldest son to meet his summer school teachers. My youngest tagged along, insisting to bring his kikies, and of course I warned him that they would get lost if he didn't leave them at home. This little guy, he's a tricky one; until today I honestly thought that he did leave them behind. He has been insisting, though, that he left them on a bench where we waited while my oldest son completed an assessment with his teachers. The day after that meeting, I had called to ask if the kikies had been found, only because I had already ransacked the house and was just hoping that I could put my own mind at ease. I left a voice mail message, but never heard back, so I just assumed that they had been swept up in some random mess in this house. I've been hoping that they would just magically reappear, as items in our house so frequently do.
Then, for some reason, he asked me this morning if I would call again to see if we could go pick up his kikies. That's how determined he was that he left them there. He wasn't asking if I would check to see if they were there. He was asking if we could go retrieve them. I kind of dismissed his question, yet promised I would try to call them, and we went on with our morning.
We drove my oldest son to day camp (40 minutes away), and on my drive home the van was acting very strange so I took a detour to a local garage. Soon after I learned that the van would need a $500 repair, making it the third time it has been serviced in the last three weeks (nothing like putting over $1000, in three weeks' time, into a car that you hate). Oh, the drama. Fortunately, after some quick shuffling of the day's schedule, I was back home while the kids went to spend the day with my parents. (I will say that I feel stranded at home without the van. I'm not used to staying at home. We're that busy, all the time.)
I found myself with a few spare moments, so I decided to make good on my promise to call and check on the possible whereabouts of the kikies. Someone answered the phone this time, and after my rambling explanation as to why I was calling, the lady paused and said "I do remember seeing something like that...hang on, I'll check."
I had butterflies in my stomach as I imagined the look of pure bliss my son would have once he reunited with his beloved kikies.
Then, I felt like I had been kicked in the stomach when the lady came back and told me that "they were here, but now they're not. We don't know what happened to them, but they're gone."
Cue the Mommy Guilt.
I ended the call, then dissolved into a blubbering mess at my dining room table. Bawled like a baby. If I had only listened to him insisting that he left them there, if I had been more persistent and made more than the one phone call, he would still have his precious kikies.
Then I spent the better part of an hour searching for identical replacements. I succeeded in finding them, on eBay, for a mere $50 (unless I wanted a used one, for the bargain price of $20...does anyone else think that's gross? I know how dirty these things get, with the slobber, boogers, and dirt...and I only tolerated it because I knew where all that was coming from...). People actually stock up on these things, which get discontinued, and then they try to rip off poor guilt-ridden moms like me. Search "Carters Snuggle Me Green Brown Tan Cream Circles Dot Baby Security Blanket Lovey" and you'll see what I mean.
Knowing that spending $50 to perpetuate a habit he will need to break sooner than later would be ridiculous, I started thinking of other ways to soothe his little heart...or, perhaps, mine. I called my mom, who sews, and asked if she would be willing to recreate the infamous blankies. Of course she agreed, and my son will soon pick out material to have a new and improved, one of a kind kikie.
I think that the loss of kikies hit me hard because it forces me to realize that my baby boy will soon be too big to need a blankie. He already runs around, yelling like a Jedi knight or his favorite super hero (which changes daily), doing things on his own without my help. He's growing up, like it or not. Apparently, this makes me very sad.
So, it's with a heavy heart that I bid farewell to the kikies. You will be missed, you disgusting shreds of fabric. Thanks for being my little guy's very best friends for the last few years.
Before the birth of my youngest son (who is now 4 1/2), I purchased a set of Carter's security blankets. Knowing how attached my daughter was to her blankie, I thought I should plan ahead and I just marveled over how Carter's knew to put two in a package. It would be perfect: one for home, one to take with us.
And take it he did.
My sweet guy and one of his blankies
Those blankies (or as he called them, "kikies") went everywhere. They truly fit the job description of the security blanket. They got dirty, and my son would cry as they "went for a ride in the washer and dryer" only to rejoice when they were ready again. They got lost, and I would panic and desperately retrace my steps until they were once again tucked into his little hands. Those kikies became inanimate members of our family.
Seeing as they were more well traveled than I am, losing them for good was inevitable. Two weeks ago today, I took my oldest son to meet his summer school teachers. My youngest tagged along, insisting to bring his kikies, and of course I warned him that they would get lost if he didn't leave them at home. This little guy, he's a tricky one; until today I honestly thought that he did leave them behind. He has been insisting, though, that he left them on a bench where we waited while my oldest son completed an assessment with his teachers. The day after that meeting, I had called to ask if the kikies had been found, only because I had already ransacked the house and was just hoping that I could put my own mind at ease. I left a voice mail message, but never heard back, so I just assumed that they had been swept up in some random mess in this house. I've been hoping that they would just magically reappear, as items in our house so frequently do.
Then, for some reason, he asked me this morning if I would call again to see if we could go pick up his kikies. That's how determined he was that he left them there. He wasn't asking if I would check to see if they were there. He was asking if we could go retrieve them. I kind of dismissed his question, yet promised I would try to call them, and we went on with our morning.
We drove my oldest son to day camp (40 minutes away), and on my drive home the van was acting very strange so I took a detour to a local garage. Soon after I learned that the van would need a $500 repair, making it the third time it has been serviced in the last three weeks (nothing like putting over $1000, in three weeks' time, into a car that you hate). Oh, the drama. Fortunately, after some quick shuffling of the day's schedule, I was back home while the kids went to spend the day with my parents. (I will say that I feel stranded at home without the van. I'm not used to staying at home. We're that busy, all the time.)
I found myself with a few spare moments, so I decided to make good on my promise to call and check on the possible whereabouts of the kikies. Someone answered the phone this time, and after my rambling explanation as to why I was calling, the lady paused and said "I do remember seeing something like that...hang on, I'll check."
I had butterflies in my stomach as I imagined the look of pure bliss my son would have once he reunited with his beloved kikies.
Then, I felt like I had been kicked in the stomach when the lady came back and told me that "they were here, but now they're not. We don't know what happened to them, but they're gone."
Cue the Mommy Guilt.
I ended the call, then dissolved into a blubbering mess at my dining room table. Bawled like a baby. If I had only listened to him insisting that he left them there, if I had been more persistent and made more than the one phone call, he would still have his precious kikies.
Then I spent the better part of an hour searching for identical replacements. I succeeded in finding them, on eBay, for a mere $50 (unless I wanted a used one, for the bargain price of $20...does anyone else think that's gross? I know how dirty these things get, with the slobber, boogers, and dirt...and I only tolerated it because I knew where all that was coming from...). People actually stock up on these things, which get discontinued, and then they try to rip off poor guilt-ridden moms like me. Search "Carters Snuggle Me Green Brown Tan Cream Circles Dot Baby Security Blanket Lovey" and you'll see what I mean.
Knowing that spending $50 to perpetuate a habit he will need to break sooner than later would be ridiculous, I started thinking of other ways to soothe his little heart...or, perhaps, mine. I called my mom, who sews, and asked if she would be willing to recreate the infamous blankies. Of course she agreed, and my son will soon pick out material to have a new and improved, one of a kind kikie.
I think that the loss of kikies hit me hard because it forces me to realize that my baby boy will soon be too big to need a blankie. He already runs around, yelling like a Jedi knight or his favorite super hero (which changes daily), doing things on his own without my help. He's growing up, like it or not. Apparently, this makes me very sad.
So, it's with a heavy heart that I bid farewell to the kikies. You will be missed, you disgusting shreds of fabric. Thanks for being my little guy's very best friends for the last few years.
Tuesday, June 18, 2013
Every Point Matters...
I'm a stress eater. I believe that has already been established, at least once, in earlier posts. It must have been a super-stressful school year, because I have gained at least 10 pounds since last summer.
Wowza.
Dieting is tough for me. I give in too easily. I feel like I "deserve" to eat a large pizza, by myself, after looooong summer days when I spend more time acting more like a referee/waitress than a mother (although there is very little difference in those roles). Add to that a dessert and a wine cooler or two (I'm such a lightweight, ha!), multiply it by a few nights a week, and BAM! Pants no longer fit. Uninvited extra chins start appearing. Self-esteem plummets.
It's not a good situation. Not at all.
So, I decided to stop beating myself up over it. No more making excuses for my poor food choices, and procrastinating over just one more issue. (I'm so good at procrastination, though, especially when it gets me out of addressing a difficult issue. Like that one time, when I...just kidding. Little humor there.) In a very courageous moment (those don't typically pop up on Monday mornings, so I had to pounce!), I signed up for Weight Watchers...again. I've done it before, a few years ago, and lost a good amount of weight. I like this program because I can eat what my family is eating, and if I screw up and cheat a little bit every now and then, I feel like the program is more accepting of those faults. I'm not sure why I ever quit, except that I probably felt like I could do it on my own.
My beer gut will tell you otherwise.
I need to have that visual counter of my "points" to keep me on track. In just the first two days, I've realized that my poor diet is like that of a twelve year old boy: mostly junk, and mass quantities of it. Goodness, what a rude awakening. If nothing else, I need to change that and set a more positive example for my kids. What sense does it make, for me to tell them no candy before dinner as I'm slurping down a grande iced coffee drink (with whip & chocolate drizzle, of course!)?? If the byproduct of being a strong role model is weight loss, then bring it on.
I do have to be careful about the way in which I present my "diet". I don't like to use that word; I don't want my kids to think that it only has a negative connotation. Diets are typically only referred to by those who are overweight, and I don't want them to believe that my motives are vain. I absolutely want to look better, but it's more important to feel better and be healthy. I tell the kids that I need to make healthier choices, and they are good with that. They hear it enough, along with "Have you eaten a rainbow today?" or "How much water have you had today?" I realize now that I need to be asking these questions of myself, too. That's my goal.
We'll see what happens. I'm not going to deprive myself of "treats"; that is disastrous. I know this from experience, as I've tried the different cleanses and super strict diet plans. I end up sobbing about how hungry I am, my husband sends me to Chipotle, and it all ends right there at the bottom of a burrito wrapper. I'm confident that this time will be different; partly because I'm writing this, I'm going to post it all over the internet, and I will inevitably run in to someone who will ask me how WW is going. Hopefully, I'll be shopping for smaller-sized pants and not desperately digging my way through a banana split.
Banana splits have, like, twenty-some points in them. I will not have a banana split.
Wowza.
Dieting is tough for me. I give in too easily. I feel like I "deserve" to eat a large pizza, by myself, after looooong summer days when I spend more time acting more like a referee/waitress than a mother (although there is very little difference in those roles). Add to that a dessert and a wine cooler or two (I'm such a lightweight, ha!), multiply it by a few nights a week, and BAM! Pants no longer fit. Uninvited extra chins start appearing. Self-esteem plummets.
It's not a good situation. Not at all.
So, I decided to stop beating myself up over it. No more making excuses for my poor food choices, and procrastinating over just one more issue. (I'm so good at procrastination, though, especially when it gets me out of addressing a difficult issue. Like that one time, when I...just kidding. Little humor there.) In a very courageous moment (those don't typically pop up on Monday mornings, so I had to pounce!), I signed up for Weight Watchers...again. I've done it before, a few years ago, and lost a good amount of weight. I like this program because I can eat what my family is eating, and if I screw up and cheat a little bit every now and then, I feel like the program is more accepting of those faults. I'm not sure why I ever quit, except that I probably felt like I could do it on my own.
My beer gut will tell you otherwise.
I need to have that visual counter of my "points" to keep me on track. In just the first two days, I've realized that my poor diet is like that of a twelve year old boy: mostly junk, and mass quantities of it. Goodness, what a rude awakening. If nothing else, I need to change that and set a more positive example for my kids. What sense does it make, for me to tell them no candy before dinner as I'm slurping down a grande iced coffee drink (with whip & chocolate drizzle, of course!)?? If the byproduct of being a strong role model is weight loss, then bring it on.
I do have to be careful about the way in which I present my "diet". I don't like to use that word; I don't want my kids to think that it only has a negative connotation. Diets are typically only referred to by those who are overweight, and I don't want them to believe that my motives are vain. I absolutely want to look better, but it's more important to feel better and be healthy. I tell the kids that I need to make healthier choices, and they are good with that. They hear it enough, along with "Have you eaten a rainbow today?" or "How much water have you had today?" I realize now that I need to be asking these questions of myself, too. That's my goal.
We'll see what happens. I'm not going to deprive myself of "treats"; that is disastrous. I know this from experience, as I've tried the different cleanses and super strict diet plans. I end up sobbing about how hungry I am, my husband sends me to Chipotle, and it all ends right there at the bottom of a burrito wrapper. I'm confident that this time will be different; partly because I'm writing this, I'm going to post it all over the internet, and I will inevitably run in to someone who will ask me how WW is going. Hopefully, I'll be shopping for smaller-sized pants and not desperately digging my way through a banana split.
Banana splits have, like, twenty-some points in them. I will not have a banana split.
Monday, June 17, 2013
Day Camp!
I just dropped my baby girl off for her first day of Day Camp.
Ok, yes, I realize she's not a baby; far from it, in fact. She'll be seven next month! But, this nervous mama admits to taking more than one look back after leaving her at the picnic shelter this morning. Would she make new friends? Would she be able to open all the things in her lunch bag? Would she be ok in the pool later this afternoon without my direct supervision???
Deep breaths. She'll be fine. But what if she's not?? She's painfully shy, especially in this type of situation. She's not a strong swimmer. What if she gets teased for that? I should have kept her in weekly swim lessons (insert Mommy Guilt *here*).
Ugh. More deep breaths. She is a good girl. She makes friends easily because she doesn't buy in to the clique nonsense. The camp sold out its initial two week stint and added an extra week, so it obviously has a good reputation and is a good program. She'll love it. If nothing else, she should sleep well this week.
Right? Right.
My sweet girl puts up with a lot of crap. Being the younger sister to a brother with special needs, and the older sister to a very rambunctious little brother, she has her fair share of drama at home. She gets treated as the oldest child and is expected to set the example (yes, unfair, and unfortunately we never realize it until after the fact). She deserves to have a week away and have loads of fun. Exercise, fresh air, swimming time, new friends...I hope she gets it all and enjoys every second of it. But I'll still worry...every. single. second.
I keep flashing back to a few summers ago, when I took her to a local church for a week of Vacation Bible School. We are not members of that church, but I thought it would be a fun activity for her. Turns out, the poor thing sat in a little rocking chair every day, by herself, because she was so unhappy that I left her there. Of course, that's her memory of it; I'm certain that the staff of that VBS at least tried to engage her in some activities. At any rate, I now envision her sitting off by herself at this camp, waiting for 4pm to roll around so she can come home.
She'll be fine. What are the odds of that happening twice?
Bottom line: my little girlie is growing up, and fast. I need to realize that she can't always tag along at my side, nor will she want to. She deserves a break from her brothers. She'll have a great time.
I can't wait to hear her chatter on endlessly about her day...only 5 hours and 40 minutes to go...
Ok, yes, I realize she's not a baby; far from it, in fact. She'll be seven next month! But, this nervous mama admits to taking more than one look back after leaving her at the picnic shelter this morning. Would she make new friends? Would she be able to open all the things in her lunch bag? Would she be ok in the pool later this afternoon without my direct supervision???
Deep breaths. She'll be fine. But what if she's not?? She's painfully shy, especially in this type of situation. She's not a strong swimmer. What if she gets teased for that? I should have kept her in weekly swim lessons (insert Mommy Guilt *here*).
Ugh. More deep breaths. She is a good girl. She makes friends easily because she doesn't buy in to the clique nonsense. The camp sold out its initial two week stint and added an extra week, so it obviously has a good reputation and is a good program. She'll love it. If nothing else, she should sleep well this week.
Right? Right.
My sweet girl puts up with a lot of crap. Being the younger sister to a brother with special needs, and the older sister to a very rambunctious little brother, she has her fair share of drama at home. She gets treated as the oldest child and is expected to set the example (yes, unfair, and unfortunately we never realize it until after the fact). She deserves to have a week away and have loads of fun. Exercise, fresh air, swimming time, new friends...I hope she gets it all and enjoys every second of it. But I'll still worry...every. single. second.
I keep flashing back to a few summers ago, when I took her to a local church for a week of Vacation Bible School. We are not members of that church, but I thought it would be a fun activity for her. Turns out, the poor thing sat in a little rocking chair every day, by herself, because she was so unhappy that I left her there. Of course, that's her memory of it; I'm certain that the staff of that VBS at least tried to engage her in some activities. At any rate, I now envision her sitting off by herself at this camp, waiting for 4pm to roll around so she can come home.
She'll be fine. What are the odds of that happening twice?
Bottom line: my little girlie is growing up, and fast. I need to realize that she can't always tag along at my side, nor will she want to. She deserves a break from her brothers. She'll have a great time.
I can't wait to hear her chatter on endlessly about her day...only 5 hours and 40 minutes to go...
Tuesday, June 11, 2013
Listen Up, Ladies...
Ok, ladies, let's chat. I know we all have experienced a very unpleasant phenomenon, at one time or another: pee on a public toilet seat. So, so gross. To be fair, I suppose men have experienced this, too, but I somehow don't think that it's as frequent an occurrence for them.
Just this past weekend, while at my kids' dance recital, I took advantage of an intermission to visit the ladies' room. After waiting in line, I finally got a chance to duck into a stall, only to find it speckled with urine. My eyes rolled back into my head, I grumbled for a few seconds, and I did what I normally do in this situation: made a heavy duty toilet paper mitt, wiped down the seat, then built a lovely tp nest on which to sit. Had I taken my purse to the restroom, I probably would have wiped the seat down with a Clorox cloth as well; but hey, desperate times call for desperate measures, as I only had five minutes.
After my very bird-like nest building urges subsided, I began to wonder, as I do every time: who on earth pees all over a toilet seat and thinks it's ok to just stand up and leave?!? Ew, ew, ew. C'mon, ladies, you've all seen it. Perhaps you're guilty of it; it happens, whatever. But the real crime is leaving your mess for someone else to potentially sit in. (I'm dry heaving just thinking about it.) Would it really kill you to take a moment to check to make sure you're business actually made it to its intended destination? It's your urine. Be a woman, make a tp mitt like I do, and clean it up!
My most recent experience with this has also made me realize why ladies' rooms are constantly out of toilet paper. Apparently, I'm not the only one cleaning up toilet seats and building nests to sit on. If we would all agree to sit down when we visit the potty, as opposed to using the "hover technique" (which a lot of you need practice with, since you're constantly soaking the seat), we wouldn't need to fashion the tp mitt before sitting down. I would totally still build my nest, though, as I will do everything in my power to avoid coming in contact with fecal matter. (Dry heaving, again. This is not the blog I planned to write today.)
That brings me to a lovely nest-building anecdote, one worthy of being reenacted by Liz Lemon or Christine Campbell (if we could still enjoy new episodes of 30 Rock or The New Adventures of Old Christine). While I was pregnant with my third little duckling, I took the other two to our local water park for an afternoon of swimming. Being pregnant, and having to pee every three minutes, I obviously visited the restroom right when we arrived, to avoid having to drag a two- and four-year-old out of the water too soon. Yes, I built my nest. The restroom trip seemed pretty uneventful...until I got home.
Because the kids were so small, and we had season passes, we were only at the water park for a little over an hour. When we arrived home, I went to change out of my wet bathing suit, and to my absolute horror, found that my tp nest was still stuck to my backside. I had stood in the baby pool, for that long, with a giant wad of tp stuck to my ass and back of my legs...and nobody told me!! The hot, sticky weather had caused the tp to stick when I sat down, and I just assumed it went down with the flush. I could not have been more wrong. It hung out for the whole time we were there that day. Now, after almost five years, it's hilarious, but I was so mortified after it happened, and I couldn't believe that not one other mom in that pool had the nerve to tell me that I had toilet paper hanging out of my suit. Fan-freaking-tastic.
Lesson learned: when you build a tp nest, make sure it gets flushed. The next lesson learned: if you see a poor mom struggling with two small kids in a pool, and she has tp stuck to her ass, TELL HER. Same goes for boogers hanging out of noses, but that's another blog for another day.
Ladies, we need to look out for each other. We're all going through a lot of the same stuff, and if we can stop and help by (tactfully) pointing out something embarrassing that could be easily remedied, DO IT. If you can save the next user of a public restroom some frustration by wiping your own urine of the toilet seat, DO IT. It won't make the kids stop screaming, or take away the piles of laundry, or make the bills go away, but you'll be making someone else's day just that much better.
Thanks, in advance. xoxo
Just this past weekend, while at my kids' dance recital, I took advantage of an intermission to visit the ladies' room. After waiting in line, I finally got a chance to duck into a stall, only to find it speckled with urine. My eyes rolled back into my head, I grumbled for a few seconds, and I did what I normally do in this situation: made a heavy duty toilet paper mitt, wiped down the seat, then built a lovely tp nest on which to sit. Had I taken my purse to the restroom, I probably would have wiped the seat down with a Clorox cloth as well; but hey, desperate times call for desperate measures, as I only had five minutes.
After my very bird-like nest building urges subsided, I began to wonder, as I do every time: who on earth pees all over a toilet seat and thinks it's ok to just stand up and leave?!? Ew, ew, ew. C'mon, ladies, you've all seen it. Perhaps you're guilty of it; it happens, whatever. But the real crime is leaving your mess for someone else to potentially sit in. (I'm dry heaving just thinking about it.) Would it really kill you to take a moment to check to make sure you're business actually made it to its intended destination? It's your urine. Be a woman, make a tp mitt like I do, and clean it up!
My most recent experience with this has also made me realize why ladies' rooms are constantly out of toilet paper. Apparently, I'm not the only one cleaning up toilet seats and building nests to sit on. If we would all agree to sit down when we visit the potty, as opposed to using the "hover technique" (which a lot of you need practice with, since you're constantly soaking the seat), we wouldn't need to fashion the tp mitt before sitting down. I would totally still build my nest, though, as I will do everything in my power to avoid coming in contact with fecal matter. (Dry heaving, again. This is not the blog I planned to write today.)
That brings me to a lovely nest-building anecdote, one worthy of being reenacted by Liz Lemon or Christine Campbell (if we could still enjoy new episodes of 30 Rock or The New Adventures of Old Christine). While I was pregnant with my third little duckling, I took the other two to our local water park for an afternoon of swimming. Being pregnant, and having to pee every three minutes, I obviously visited the restroom right when we arrived, to avoid having to drag a two- and four-year-old out of the water too soon. Yes, I built my nest. The restroom trip seemed pretty uneventful...until I got home.
Because the kids were so small, and we had season passes, we were only at the water park for a little over an hour. When we arrived home, I went to change out of my wet bathing suit, and to my absolute horror, found that my tp nest was still stuck to my backside. I had stood in the baby pool, for that long, with a giant wad of tp stuck to my ass and back of my legs...and nobody told me!! The hot, sticky weather had caused the tp to stick when I sat down, and I just assumed it went down with the flush. I could not have been more wrong. It hung out for the whole time we were there that day. Now, after almost five years, it's hilarious, but I was so mortified after it happened, and I couldn't believe that not one other mom in that pool had the nerve to tell me that I had toilet paper hanging out of my suit. Fan-freaking-tastic.
Lesson learned: when you build a tp nest, make sure it gets flushed. The next lesson learned: if you see a poor mom struggling with two small kids in a pool, and she has tp stuck to her ass, TELL HER. Same goes for boogers hanging out of noses, but that's another blog for another day.
Ladies, we need to look out for each other. We're all going through a lot of the same stuff, and if we can stop and help by (tactfully) pointing out something embarrassing that could be easily remedied, DO IT. If you can save the next user of a public restroom some frustration by wiping your own urine of the toilet seat, DO IT. It won't make the kids stop screaming, or take away the piles of laundry, or make the bills go away, but you'll be making someone else's day just that much better.
Thanks, in advance. xoxo
Monday, June 10, 2013
You Talk Too Much
**Please note: this is not the forum for a political debate. Feel free to disagree with me, or take offense to my sarcastic spin on a current event, but keep your comments to yourself. xoxo
So, with all the uproar over the NSA listening in to phone conversations, I find one thing very funny: people are STILL having conversations on their mobile phones, out in public, for the whole world to hear. You would think that if a person had their undies in such a bunch over who could be listening in to their business, they wouldn't continue to yammer on in front of anyone who crosses their path. Seriously. And it's not just one-sided conversations. For one thing, if you're waiting in line somewhere, chances are you have your phone turned way up so everyone can hear your chat buddy, therefore putting your entire discussion in jeopardy. I could be a spy, for all you know. Of course I'm not; I'm not that cool. But someone else could be. Or you could be. Wait, are you? Doesn't matter; I couldn't care less if I wanted to. If someone wants to listen to me bitch about the PTO or chatter on about my kids, fine by me.
Some people take it one (ridiculous) step further and put their phones on speaker, and then the whole freaking world can listen in to their phone calls. How obnoxious is that? If I'm out shopping, I certainly do not want to hear about whatever it is going on in your life. Get over yourself. That conversation is not so important that you can't wait until you can dedicate the use of one arm just for holding the phone to your ear.
I see post after post about the wire tapping incidents on Facebook, Twitter, in the newspaper; I hear about it on the radio. People are concerned, and with every right. I'm not denying that, or trying to make light of the issue at its core. Yet their concerns still don't stop people from blabbering on (and on and on...) in public forums, about every detail of their life. Do they think they have total control over who may be hearing/seeing all of it? I find the irony amusing.
When did the advancement of technology diminish the value of common courtesy? It is rude to clamor on endlessly on your phone in public. Am I wrong about that? I'm not saying that I don't do it, but I at least know that I'm at risk for being overheard. Nobody wants to hear your conversations, but they'll listen anyway (especially if it sounds like a juicy convo!), and then you'll go online and complain or make fun of the fact that you have no privacy? I don't understand it. So I'll poke fun at it.
It's what I do.
So, with all the uproar over the NSA listening in to phone conversations, I find one thing very funny: people are STILL having conversations on their mobile phones, out in public, for the whole world to hear. You would think that if a person had their undies in such a bunch over who could be listening in to their business, they wouldn't continue to yammer on in front of anyone who crosses their path. Seriously. And it's not just one-sided conversations. For one thing, if you're waiting in line somewhere, chances are you have your phone turned way up so everyone can hear your chat buddy, therefore putting your entire discussion in jeopardy. I could be a spy, for all you know. Of course I'm not; I'm not that cool. But someone else could be. Or you could be. Wait, are you? Doesn't matter; I couldn't care less if I wanted to. If someone wants to listen to me bitch about the PTO or chatter on about my kids, fine by me.
Some people take it one (ridiculous) step further and put their phones on speaker, and then the whole freaking world can listen in to their phone calls. How obnoxious is that? If I'm out shopping, I certainly do not want to hear about whatever it is going on in your life. Get over yourself. That conversation is not so important that you can't wait until you can dedicate the use of one arm just for holding the phone to your ear.
I see post after post about the wire tapping incidents on Facebook, Twitter, in the newspaper; I hear about it on the radio. People are concerned, and with every right. I'm not denying that, or trying to make light of the issue at its core. Yet their concerns still don't stop people from blabbering on (and on and on...) in public forums, about every detail of their life. Do they think they have total control over who may be hearing/seeing all of it? I find the irony amusing.
When did the advancement of technology diminish the value of common courtesy? It is rude to clamor on endlessly on your phone in public. Am I wrong about that? I'm not saying that I don't do it, but I at least know that I'm at risk for being overheard. Nobody wants to hear your conversations, but they'll listen anyway (especially if it sounds like a juicy convo!), and then you'll go online and complain or make fun of the fact that you have no privacy? I don't understand it. So I'll poke fun at it.
It's what I do.
Whirlwind Weekend
We survived Spring Concert 2013!
Wow, am I tired. And proud. Proud-tired is definitely one of my favorite kinds of tired.
All three of my kiddos took dance classes this year, so they all participated in the annual spring recital. My older kids were in a ballet/hip hop class, while the little one took a ballet class. That means three class performances, plus the ever-favorite Father/Daughter/Dude dance (when the kids are joined onstage by their dads for a super cute performance), which was performed in two shows, to bring us to five on-stage appearances, over two days, in addition to two nights of dress rehearsals. The little one also had a t-ball game on Saturday, before his dance performance.
Ok, not tired. Exhausted. And I didn't dance one step. I did, however, stay busy: drove everyone to every performance; kept track of costumes; acted as my daughter's makeup artist; secured seats for the performances; played the role of ever-supportive mother (while carefully tiptoeing that fine line of becoming a crazy "Dance Mom").
As chaotic as the weekend was, I wouldn't change it a bit. My boys were adorable in their dance debuts. My daughter glowed and made her dances seem effortless (this was her fourth recital, so she's an old pro now), all while looking years older than she really is. I love seeing them so excited about their dance classes. For my boys, it provides lessons in discipline, movement awareness, and physical activity. For my daughter, dance is another way to express her creative talents. She is already dreaming of the day she can join the "big girls" in the dance company. I better start saving my pennies now.
We've spent today trying to recover from our busy weekend; as we speak, my girlie girl is napping (she hasn't taken an afternoon nap in ages!), one of my boys is playing a reading game on his iPad, and the other is playing quietly with his dinosaurs. I'm totally taking advantage of the peace and quiet now, as I know that it will end all too soon.
In fact, no sooner than I typed that last sentence did my boys start battling over something in the other room. So much for "peace and quiet"...but at least I have some lovely dance pics to remind me of how sweet and cute they can be if they try... ;)
Friday, June 7, 2013
Friday Nights: Not What They Used to Be...
Blurg.
It's been a challenging day. Super busy, of course, because that's just life at this point. But, when the kids are screaming incessantly, one pees their pants, another poops their pants (then tries to hide it and only succeeds in smearing it on the carpet), I'm still doing laundry, and they're all up past 10pm...well, "challenging" takes on a whole new meaning.
I've been trying to live by the "If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all..." philosophy, but after an evening like this, my brain is screaming "F@#% that noise! Complain, complain, complain. If we have to live it, everyone else should have to read it!!" (I know, I know, I totally can not pull that phrase off...ha!)
Fortunately for everyone, I'm going to stick to that philosophy (at least for now), tell my brain to shut up, and go play Candy Crush until I fall asleep. Tomorrow has to be a better day, right? And, if nothing else, I still got my daily blog entry posted. So there.
It's been a challenging day. Super busy, of course, because that's just life at this point. But, when the kids are screaming incessantly, one pees their pants, another poops their pants (then tries to hide it and only succeeds in smearing it on the carpet), I'm still doing laundry, and they're all up past 10pm...well, "challenging" takes on a whole new meaning.
I've been trying to live by the "If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all..." philosophy, but after an evening like this, my brain is screaming "F@#% that noise! Complain, complain, complain. If we have to live it, everyone else should have to read it!!" (I know, I know, I totally can not pull that phrase off...ha!)
Fortunately for everyone, I'm going to stick to that philosophy (at least for now), tell my brain to shut up, and go play Candy Crush until I fall asleep. Tomorrow has to be a better day, right? And, if nothing else, I still got my daily blog entry posted. So there.
Thursday, June 6, 2013
Working Girl
Get me: I'm bringing home the bacon.
Ok, I'm only bringing home some bacon, a few slices at best, but a paycheck is a paycheck.
I have been fortunate enough to do some contract work over the last few months; I never realized how much I enjoyed working in an office until I recently returned to one. Of course, it's much different now: I can work around the kids' schedule, and I don't have to go every day. I'm guessing that if I had to work a strict 8am-5pm shift every Monday-Friday, I'd be singing a different tune. For now, though, I'm just going to appreciate it.
I also love being able to financially contribute to our household. Don't get me wrong; if we put a price tag on all the tasks I do for the kids and house, it would be mind boggling. But, the harsh reality is that I don't receive a paycheck for those duties (unless you consider the money we save in daycare as "income"). I am positively giddy when I see an amount of money in our bank account that I earned and contributed. It seems like such a small thing, I'm sure, but when the house is constantly a wreck and the kids aren't listening, even $10 seems like a million. I succeeded in earning that, whereas I usually feel like I'm failing in one way or another with the kids and/or the house.
Today, being the second full day of the kids' summer break, I was especially excited to go to work. I love my kids to the moon and back, but I was totally ready to escape to the office for a while. My parents graciously agreed to watch the kids this afternoon; not only do the kids love spending time with them, but not having to pay for child care is always a bonus. I got to sit and work uninterrupted for several hours, then I was able to go with my hubby for a happy hour. I don't remember the last time we went for happy hour right after work! It was lovely.
Working outside of the house has definitely reminded me of how difficult it would be to juggle full time hours, plus all of the kids' activities, as well as all the household tasks. I know there are parents that do it, and I have complete admiration for them. Bravo!
I probably still have a couple more years before returning as a member of the full time workforce, and I need to appreciate the opportunity to stay home with the kids while they are still young. I'm sure that in several years I'll be wishing the opposite, so I will be more careful to not wish away this precious time.
I totally should have never used that bacon reference...now I totally want some bacon...
Ok, I'm only bringing home some bacon, a few slices at best, but a paycheck is a paycheck.
I have been fortunate enough to do some contract work over the last few months; I never realized how much I enjoyed working in an office until I recently returned to one. Of course, it's much different now: I can work around the kids' schedule, and I don't have to go every day. I'm guessing that if I had to work a strict 8am-5pm shift every Monday-Friday, I'd be singing a different tune. For now, though, I'm just going to appreciate it.
I also love being able to financially contribute to our household. Don't get me wrong; if we put a price tag on all the tasks I do for the kids and house, it would be mind boggling. But, the harsh reality is that I don't receive a paycheck for those duties (unless you consider the money we save in daycare as "income"). I am positively giddy when I see an amount of money in our bank account that I earned and contributed. It seems like such a small thing, I'm sure, but when the house is constantly a wreck and the kids aren't listening, even $10 seems like a million. I succeeded in earning that, whereas I usually feel like I'm failing in one way or another with the kids and/or the house.
Today, being the second full day of the kids' summer break, I was especially excited to go to work. I love my kids to the moon and back, but I was totally ready to escape to the office for a while. My parents graciously agreed to watch the kids this afternoon; not only do the kids love spending time with them, but not having to pay for child care is always a bonus. I got to sit and work uninterrupted for several hours, then I was able to go with my hubby for a happy hour. I don't remember the last time we went for happy hour right after work! It was lovely.
Working outside of the house has definitely reminded me of how difficult it would be to juggle full time hours, plus all of the kids' activities, as well as all the household tasks. I know there are parents that do it, and I have complete admiration for them. Bravo!
I probably still have a couple more years before returning as a member of the full time workforce, and I need to appreciate the opportunity to stay home with the kids while they are still young. I'm sure that in several years I'll be wishing the opposite, so I will be more careful to not wish away this precious time.
I totally should have never used that bacon reference...now I totally want some bacon...
Wednesday, June 5, 2013
Dress Rehearsal: Round One
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How stinking cute is he?!?
Now that we've finished the End-of-School-Year Chaos, we can move on to End-of-Dance-Season Chaos. This entails two nights of dress rehearsals and two days of performances. That's a lot of dancing, yo.
Tonight, it was Andrew's turn to strut his stuff. He is the only boy in a class of four sweet kiddos; all the girls wear fluffy pink tutus and tiaras, and he totally rocks his black and silver costume. Being that they are all around four years old, this is probably their first experience on stage (this is the case with Andrew, at least). The class took the stage, all sparkly in the splendor of their costumes, and it kind of all fell apart from there. They all seemed to forget their dance routine, but they smiled and were so cute. They are sure to steal the show on Saturday!
Of course, after an afternoon at the park followed by dance, Andrew was beat after rehearsal. He climbed out of the car, told me with a slight hint of indignation that "sparkles are for girls", and quickly dug out his Star Wars figures. Apparently, he had more than his share of the spotlight this evening.
Tuesday, June 4, 2013
So Long, School Year
I feel like I blinked, and we went from August to June.
The school year didn't seem to be moving so fast when we were in the moment; in fact, I thought it might never end. Overall, the kids had a good year, so I really have nothing to complain about, but now summer break is here and that presents a whole new set of issues.
Having a child with special needs definitely throws a wrench into the "lazy, carefree days of summer" theory. At least, it does for this family. My kiddo with Down syndrome needs a routine that he can count on, or he flips out. Tomorrow morning, he will undoubtedly wake up and want to get ready for school. "We have PE on Wednesdays," he'll say, and he'll ask me what the cafeteria will be serving for lunch. When I try to explain that there won't be school because now it's summer, he'll pout for a while, then come back a few minutes later and tell me that he needs his sneakers for PE because it's Wednesday. We'll do this for a couple of weeks, before he realizes that he's on a new schedule. It will be exhausting for both of us.
It is my goal to have a "summer schedule" in place by next week (Mondays will be library day, Tuesdays we'll go bowling, etc...something along those lines), but all of the short-term summer camps and programs that the kids will attend will not allow me to have a consistent schedule all summer. This will cause stress to my kiddo with Ds, which will in turn cause stress to the rest of us. And then, quicker than it seems right this second, it will be time to send them back to school, and after a couple weeks we'll finally be back in the swing of things. So, we're looking at about 12 weeks of unrest. Swell.
When school does resume, I'll have a third grader. Already. Didn't I just drop him off for his first day of preschool, like two minutes ago?? The scary thing is that I remember third grade. I loved it. I met several friends with whom I'm still in contact, so very many years later. That kind of freaks me out...he's just growing up too fast.
As much as I do dread summer break (if this puzzles you, please reread from the beginning...), I'm hoping all three of my kids have an enjoyable 10 weeks. Even though there is sure to be drama, I'm hopeful that there will be enough zoo trips, backyard water fights, picnics, bug chasing, fountain playing, bike riding, gardening, and other pint-sized shenanigans to make some nice memories for all of them.
Welcome, summer. For better or for worse.
The school year didn't seem to be moving so fast when we were in the moment; in fact, I thought it might never end. Overall, the kids had a good year, so I really have nothing to complain about, but now summer break is here and that presents a whole new set of issues.
Having a child with special needs definitely throws a wrench into the "lazy, carefree days of summer" theory. At least, it does for this family. My kiddo with Down syndrome needs a routine that he can count on, or he flips out. Tomorrow morning, he will undoubtedly wake up and want to get ready for school. "We have PE on Wednesdays," he'll say, and he'll ask me what the cafeteria will be serving for lunch. When I try to explain that there won't be school because now it's summer, he'll pout for a while, then come back a few minutes later and tell me that he needs his sneakers for PE because it's Wednesday. We'll do this for a couple of weeks, before he realizes that he's on a new schedule. It will be exhausting for both of us.
It is my goal to have a "summer schedule" in place by next week (Mondays will be library day, Tuesdays we'll go bowling, etc...something along those lines), but all of the short-term summer camps and programs that the kids will attend will not allow me to have a consistent schedule all summer. This will cause stress to my kiddo with Ds, which will in turn cause stress to the rest of us. And then, quicker than it seems right this second, it will be time to send them back to school, and after a couple weeks we'll finally be back in the swing of things. So, we're looking at about 12 weeks of unrest. Swell.
When school does resume, I'll have a third grader. Already. Didn't I just drop him off for his first day of preschool, like two minutes ago?? The scary thing is that I remember third grade. I loved it. I met several friends with whom I'm still in contact, so very many years later. That kind of freaks me out...he's just growing up too fast.
As much as I do dread summer break (if this puzzles you, please reread from the beginning...), I'm hoping all three of my kids have an enjoyable 10 weeks. Even though there is sure to be drama, I'm hopeful that there will be enough zoo trips, backyard water fights, picnics, bug chasing, fountain playing, bike riding, gardening, and other pint-sized shenanigans to make some nice memories for all of them.
Welcome, summer. For better or for worse.
Monday, June 3, 2013
MISSING: Three Sets of Listening Ears
What a freaking ridiculous day it's been.
Before I begin, I know I shouldn't complain about such trifle issues. Big picture: everything is grand. We are blessed to have three healthy children, a house, food on the table. I recognize that. However, I will now continue with my rant.
Seriously. The school year is not even finished yet, and I'm done. DONE. It's been a bad day. I need to regroup before that bell rings at 1:30 tomorrow, or we're all screwed.
My children have somehow forgotten how to listen and follow instructions. This is not just a random slip up, people...they are not listening to a single word I say. Not one! I ask them to pick up their stuff, then walk past it again a while later, and they claim I never asked them to do it. Or (and this is my all time favorite thing, ever!), they ask me a question, and I answer them, and then two seconds later they ask me the exact same question. Then, two seconds later, they ask it yet AGAIN. Is anyone else experiencing this phenomenon? End-of-School-Itis, perhaps? Whatever it is, it can go away, immediately.
After hours and hours of this today (with most of it coming from the little one, as the other two were at school and didn't return home until around 4pm), I snapped. I started sending kids to their rooms, with threats of not renewing water park passes for the summer. Ugh. I hate "that Mom". I'm sure the kids don't like her very much, either. But, when you have no helpers during the day, and it's one of "those" days, something's gotta give. Fortunately, my husband arrived home this evening before I started revoking birthday parties and library cards, and he is now supervising the kids in the backyard so I can vent...er, write.
Write, of course, in between the laundry, dishes, and school tasks that need to be finished before bedtime. It never ends, does it? I was just lugging a load of laundry up the stairs when I got intercepted by the little one (he's really on a roll today!). "Mom, I need a pair of socks. Can you get me some?" (he can't reach his sock drawer...) Of course, I impatiently replied, "You don't need socks. You're running around barefoot in the backyard. Wearing socks with no shoes would just be ridiculous."
As I struggled with the laundry, he eyed me carefully and shot back, "So...it seems like you're NOT going to get me the socks...", which was met with my left eyebrow rocketing off my face. He got the point and quickly retreated back outside.
Eh, well. Tomorrow is a new day, right? Perhaps the Listening Ear Fairy will deliver three fresh sets to my children as I sleep tonight. It's a long shot, I know, but I'm going with that.
Before I begin, I know I shouldn't complain about such trifle issues. Big picture: everything is grand. We are blessed to have three healthy children, a house, food on the table. I recognize that. However, I will now continue with my rant.
Seriously. The school year is not even finished yet, and I'm done. DONE. It's been a bad day. I need to regroup before that bell rings at 1:30 tomorrow, or we're all screwed.
My children have somehow forgotten how to listen and follow instructions. This is not just a random slip up, people...they are not listening to a single word I say. Not one! I ask them to pick up their stuff, then walk past it again a while later, and they claim I never asked them to do it. Or (and this is my all time favorite thing, ever!), they ask me a question, and I answer them, and then two seconds later they ask me the exact same question. Then, two seconds later, they ask it yet AGAIN. Is anyone else experiencing this phenomenon? End-of-School-Itis, perhaps? Whatever it is, it can go away, immediately.
After hours and hours of this today (with most of it coming from the little one, as the other two were at school and didn't return home until around 4pm), I snapped. I started sending kids to their rooms, with threats of not renewing water park passes for the summer. Ugh. I hate "that Mom". I'm sure the kids don't like her very much, either. But, when you have no helpers during the day, and it's one of "those" days, something's gotta give. Fortunately, my husband arrived home this evening before I started revoking birthday parties and library cards, and he is now supervising the kids in the backyard so I can vent...er, write.
Write, of course, in between the laundry, dishes, and school tasks that need to be finished before bedtime. It never ends, does it? I was just lugging a load of laundry up the stairs when I got intercepted by the little one (he's really on a roll today!). "Mom, I need a pair of socks. Can you get me some?" (he can't reach his sock drawer...) Of course, I impatiently replied, "You don't need socks. You're running around barefoot in the backyard. Wearing socks with no shoes would just be ridiculous."
As I struggled with the laundry, he eyed me carefully and shot back, "So...it seems like you're NOT going to get me the socks...", which was met with my left eyebrow rocketing off my face. He got the point and quickly retreated back outside.
Eh, well. Tomorrow is a new day, right? Perhaps the Listening Ear Fairy will deliver three fresh sets to my children as I sleep tonight. It's a long shot, I know, but I'm going with that.
Friday, April 5, 2013
Eight Legged Bullies
Many of us have irrational fears; I happen to have more than I probably should. Heights, flying, snakes, the dark, tucking the back of my skirt into my underwear, public speaking, success, failure...the mere thought of any of these causes me to break out in a cold sweat.
There is one thing, though, that can paralyze me in fear: spiders. I can't handle spiders. I know, I know...spiders are good for us, they eat other bugs, blah, blah, blah. I don't care. They are scary, and I don't like them.
I could be minding my own business, then one little spider goes scurrying across my path, and boom. Done. Completely frozen in fear. Then, for days I'll have nightmares about the incident. What is so horrible about an encounter with the little boogers? I have no idea, but it truly is horrible. I find myself constantly on the look out for potential spider attacks whenever I head to the basement to do laundry, if we're playing outside, even when selecting a bunch of bananas at the grocery store. I'd say that 98% of the time, there is no spider...which is good, because if one did show up, I'd freeze and there would be absolutely nothing I could do about it.
I can remember visiting my aunt and uncle's cabin in Kentucky when I was little, and my sister and I came within inches of a huge, orange spider. It was easily six inches long, as it was clinging to a board on the ceiling, all spread out like it owned the place. Ugh. The memory of that hideous creature still gives me the creeps.
Then, on my honeymoon in Mexico, I was apparently bitten by some eight legged monster. Thankfully, I didn't see it, but on the plane home I felt like I had the flu (chills, fever). I finally went to urgent care where the doctor guessed that I was having a reaction to a spider bite, and I was given a tetanus shot. Good times to start off the marriage, ha! I'm actually glad that I didn't see the spider, or I probably would have dropped dead from fear.
Since the kids are getting older, though, I'm really making an effort to contain my adverse feelings toward spiders. I don't want them to inherit all my irrational fears; they should have the opportunity to develop their own.
I was really challenged this afternoon, after Alex insisted on dragging in a chair that has been on the patio all weekend. Apparently, he thought it would be a nice addition to the living room. I have always warned them that they'll invite creepy-crawlies into the house by bringing in their outside toys. They don't listen to anything else, so I shouldn't be surprised that he didn't listen today. And low and behold, not two minutes after he brought that stinking thing in, did I hear them screeching "SPIDER!!!" Addie began running around, trying to find something to kill it with, and I heard Alex freaking out because she decided his new Pete the Cat book would be a good spider weapon. What's a mom to do? I took a deep breath, went running in, and squashed the little bastard.
I was a freaking spider ninja.
Ok, maybe not. But I did look pretty cool in front of the kids, swooping in to save them from the big, bad spider (that was less than an inch big). Yes, maybe I should have shown more compassion and taken it back outside. But, hey, my house, my rules.
I will enjoy my act of heroism for now...and hopefully all the other little spiders will take note and stay outside, where they belong.
There is one thing, though, that can paralyze me in fear: spiders. I can't handle spiders. I know, I know...spiders are good for us, they eat other bugs, blah, blah, blah. I don't care. They are scary, and I don't like them.
I could be minding my own business, then one little spider goes scurrying across my path, and boom. Done. Completely frozen in fear. Then, for days I'll have nightmares about the incident. What is so horrible about an encounter with the little boogers? I have no idea, but it truly is horrible. I find myself constantly on the look out for potential spider attacks whenever I head to the basement to do laundry, if we're playing outside, even when selecting a bunch of bananas at the grocery store. I'd say that 98% of the time, there is no spider...which is good, because if one did show up, I'd freeze and there would be absolutely nothing I could do about it.
I can remember visiting my aunt and uncle's cabin in Kentucky when I was little, and my sister and I came within inches of a huge, orange spider. It was easily six inches long, as it was clinging to a board on the ceiling, all spread out like it owned the place. Ugh. The memory of that hideous creature still gives me the creeps.
Then, on my honeymoon in Mexico, I was apparently bitten by some eight legged monster. Thankfully, I didn't see it, but on the plane home I felt like I had the flu (chills, fever). I finally went to urgent care where the doctor guessed that I was having a reaction to a spider bite, and I was given a tetanus shot. Good times to start off the marriage, ha! I'm actually glad that I didn't see the spider, or I probably would have dropped dead from fear.
Since the kids are getting older, though, I'm really making an effort to contain my adverse feelings toward spiders. I don't want them to inherit all my irrational fears; they should have the opportunity to develop their own.
I was really challenged this afternoon, after Alex insisted on dragging in a chair that has been on the patio all weekend. Apparently, he thought it would be a nice addition to the living room. I have always warned them that they'll invite creepy-crawlies into the house by bringing in their outside toys. They don't listen to anything else, so I shouldn't be surprised that he didn't listen today. And low and behold, not two minutes after he brought that stinking thing in, did I hear them screeching "SPIDER!!!" Addie began running around, trying to find something to kill it with, and I heard Alex freaking out because she decided his new Pete the Cat book would be a good spider weapon. What's a mom to do? I took a deep breath, went running in, and squashed the little bastard.
I was a freaking spider ninja.
Ok, maybe not. But I did look pretty cool in front of the kids, swooping in to save them from the big, bad spider (that was less than an inch big). Yes, maybe I should have shown more compassion and taken it back outside. But, hey, my house, my rules.
I will enjoy my act of heroism for now...and hopefully all the other little spiders will take note and stay outside, where they belong.
Tuesday, April 2, 2013
Baa, Baa, Red Sheep
This one has been rolling around in my head for the last week. The kids' Spring Break kind of took up all my writing time...but they are back to school now, so here we go...
Last week, the world watched as Facebook lit up with red equal signs, a sign of support for marriage equality. My profile picture was changed; I was proud to do it. I firmly believe in equal rights for all people. Period. No exceptions. Beyond the fact that I feel like it's a no-brainer (haven't we watched other minority groups fight for equality in the past? Why make group after group prove their worth??), I just don't feel like it's right for me to advocate for equal opportunities for my son with Down syndrome and his peers, and then sit back and say nothing when another group is being so blatantly discriminated against. It makes no sense. Who are we to decide who is worthy enough to enjoy the same rights, in this example, as heterosexuals in this country? We've seen in the past that narrow-mindedness loses. I strongly hope that it loses again.
One lovely feature of Facebook is the "stalker bar" where you can see what your friends are "liking". You know what I'm referring to, and you've clicked on it; don't pretend you haven't. I found myself being a busy-body last week, clicking from one entry to the next, to see what my friends were up to that morning. I noticed that a friend "liked" a status from a conservative group, which was accusing everyone who changed their profile picture to the red symbol of the Human Rights Campaign of being a sheep. A sheep?!? Really? From a conservative group? The same group of people who banded together to eat at Chik-Fil-A on the same day last summer? The same group of people who went sideways on the Starbucks Facebook page last week when the CEO allegedly told everyone that if they don't believe in same-sex marriages to take their business elsewhere? Puh-lease. They are hardly in a position to call anyone a sheep for following suit with their like-minded peers. It was a classic bully move, pure and simple.
I was irritated...I am irritated...by that comment. Apparently, as with everything else, it's ok when your political group does something but completely unacceptable when the other party does the same thing. I should know better; it's always been that way, and will continue to be that way. Politics. Ugh.
It's more than that this time, I think. For a reason I can't wrap my head around, those who are against marriage equality are not only making it their job to fight against the issue, but also to drag down anyone who supports it. Why? Why do they care?? Religion is typically the reason thrown out to defend the objections, but we must remember that to be a citizen of this country, one needn't be a Christian. It's ok to have those beliefs, and I absolutely respect that. However, it is not ok to expect everyone in this country to abide by your personal beliefs. End. Of. Story.
This issue will not soon go away, I fear. Some people would rather watch others suffer and be treated as second-class citizens than support their equal rights as peers in our society. I will never understand why. I won't try to understand it. Instead, I'll continue to participate in this grassroots equality movement, even if it's just a small gesture of changing my Facebook profile picture to help spread awareness of the issue. If that makes me a sheep, so be it. Baa.
Wednesday, March 20, 2013
To My Alex
More than eight and a half years ago, my whole world changed. I became a mother for the first time. That should have been enough, but no, there was much more going on. My first son was born, with a head full of crazy blonde hair. He was red and wrinkly and pissed as all get out after being removed from his mama via c-section. He was beautiful.
And we soon learned that he had Down syndrome.
Boom. World stood still.
Even though I was in a foggy, drugged haze, I can still hear the doctor on call trying to explain to us that Alex was "mentally retarded" (I still cringe on that one) and that he would soon be transported to the local children's hospital because they also suspected that he had a hole in his heart.
The doctor left, unscathed by his harsh announcement, and we were left to digest the news. Although I wasn't supposed to be up and moving around so soon after a c-section, the nurses loaded me into a wheelchair so I could sit and hold my baby before they took him away to the other hospital. I feebly smiled for photos, which they gave to me, and watched them pack Alex up to go in the ambulance. As the nurse wheeled me back to my room for the night, the only thing I could do was ask for another cherry popsicle, and she happily obliged.
The next morning, Mark left me to go to the children's hospital to see Alex (my parents had spent the night with Alex so he wouldn't be alone), and I was left to ponder what exactly was happening to us. We didn't have any idea that Alex would be born with Down syndrome; we were expecting a typical birth, a healthy baby boy. I didn't know the first thing about Down syndrome, I was a first-time mom, and I was panicking.
My dear OB/GYN (who, even though I only see him once a year now, still asks me how Alex is doing and is a big Team Alex supporter) was just as floored as we were, and I remember him checking on me in the hospital and crying right along with me. I didn't quite know why we were crying; I think I was probably just scared to death, and he felt bad. He generously discharged me from the hospital early so I could go be with Alex in the children's hospital NICU, and I arrived to give Alex his first feeding (he had been fed through an IV until that point). Shortly after I arrived, everyone else left to give me a moment, and I began to panic again and feel sorry about the situation. I think those feelings lasted about 30 seconds, because as I looked down at my beautiful son I realized that there were never any guarantees. Nobody could have ever promised that he would be an all-star athlete, drive a car, go away to college. But, I promised him right then and there that if he wanted to do those things, and more, I would do everything in my power to give him a fair shot at it.
I've spent the last eight and a half years working on that promise.
March 21st, or 3.21, is World Down Syndrome Day. It's a day to raise awareness that individuals with Down syndrome are equal participants in our communities, and should therefore be treated as such. It's a time to let others know what Down syndrome is, and what it's not. For me, it's a day to be thankful that I was chosen to be the mother of one of the very best people I've ever met.
Alex demonstrates true joy, love for his family and friends, and passion for his favorite activities. He laughs from his toes when he thinks something is funny, and sings for all to hear when the mood strikes him. On a daily basis, he teaches me love, patience, and compassion. When he was born, I became a mother, an advocate, and his biggest fan. I'm quite certain that he will continue to teach me much more than I could ever hope to teach him.
I hope you'll join me in celebrating World Down Syndrome Day. Wear crazy socks to raise awareness ("Rock Your Socks"). Check out our Team Alex fundraising page at www.columbusbuddywalk.org (I will launch it very early on 3.21!). Reflect upon the importance of inclusion for every single person in our society, not just those who fit the mold of the "typical" person. Be a friend, an advocate, and recognize how individuals with Down syndrome are more like us than they are different.
For my Alex, it will probably be just another day to enjoy school, spend time with his family, laugh, and command us to "shake your tushie!!" (one of his signature lines). It will be agood phenomenal day.
And we soon learned that he had Down syndrome.
Boom. World stood still.
Even though I was in a foggy, drugged haze, I can still hear the doctor on call trying to explain to us that Alex was "mentally retarded" (I still cringe on that one) and that he would soon be transported to the local children's hospital because they also suspected that he had a hole in his heart.
The doctor left, unscathed by his harsh announcement, and we were left to digest the news. Although I wasn't supposed to be up and moving around so soon after a c-section, the nurses loaded me into a wheelchair so I could sit and hold my baby before they took him away to the other hospital. I feebly smiled for photos, which they gave to me, and watched them pack Alex up to go in the ambulance. As the nurse wheeled me back to my room for the night, the only thing I could do was ask for another cherry popsicle, and she happily obliged.
The next morning, Mark left me to go to the children's hospital to see Alex (my parents had spent the night with Alex so he wouldn't be alone), and I was left to ponder what exactly was happening to us. We didn't have any idea that Alex would be born with Down syndrome; we were expecting a typical birth, a healthy baby boy. I didn't know the first thing about Down syndrome, I was a first-time mom, and I was panicking.
My dear OB/GYN (who, even though I only see him once a year now, still asks me how Alex is doing and is a big Team Alex supporter) was just as floored as we were, and I remember him checking on me in the hospital and crying right along with me. I didn't quite know why we were crying; I think I was probably just scared to death, and he felt bad. He generously discharged me from the hospital early so I could go be with Alex in the children's hospital NICU, and I arrived to give Alex his first feeding (he had been fed through an IV until that point). Shortly after I arrived, everyone else left to give me a moment, and I began to panic again and feel sorry about the situation. I think those feelings lasted about 30 seconds, because as I looked down at my beautiful son I realized that there were never any guarantees. Nobody could have ever promised that he would be an all-star athlete, drive a car, go away to college. But, I promised him right then and there that if he wanted to do those things, and more, I would do everything in my power to give him a fair shot at it.
I've spent the last eight and a half years working on that promise.
March 21st, or 3.21, is World Down Syndrome Day. It's a day to raise awareness that individuals with Down syndrome are equal participants in our communities, and should therefore be treated as such. It's a time to let others know what Down syndrome is, and what it's not. For me, it's a day to be thankful that I was chosen to be the mother of one of the very best people I've ever met.
Alex demonstrates true joy, love for his family and friends, and passion for his favorite activities. He laughs from his toes when he thinks something is funny, and sings for all to hear when the mood strikes him. On a daily basis, he teaches me love, patience, and compassion. When he was born, I became a mother, an advocate, and his biggest fan. I'm quite certain that he will continue to teach me much more than I could ever hope to teach him.
I hope you'll join me in celebrating World Down Syndrome Day. Wear crazy socks to raise awareness ("Rock Your Socks"). Check out our Team Alex fundraising page at www.columbusbuddywalk.org (I will launch it very early on 3.21!). Reflect upon the importance of inclusion for every single person in our society, not just those who fit the mold of the "typical" person. Be a friend, an advocate, and recognize how individuals with Down syndrome are more like us than they are different.
For my Alex, it will probably be just another day to enjoy school, spend time with his family, laugh, and command us to "shake your tushie!!" (one of his signature lines). It will be a
Monday, March 18, 2013
Don't Rain on My (St Patrick's Day) Parade!
Ah, March 18th. It's a Monday; a rainy one, at that. Typical Monday stuff is happening: housework, laundry, grocery shopping. And, of course, reading all the Grinchy outcry against the fun some of us choose to have for St Patrick's Day.
I'll admit it: I'm guilty of making St Patty's Day more fun for the kids than I probably should. My kids make leprechaun traps (although this year, my daughter made a house because she felt he would not come if he knew he would be trapped...smart girl!) and were thrilled to find that "our" leprechaun, Freckles O'Leary, had indeed visited and brought a handful of chocolate coins and some other small trinkets.
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We had all the fun that $2.40 could buy at the party store, and the kids loved it. I definitely did not put on as big a production as some other parents do, but I'm hopeful that my kids will forever have fond memories of this "holiday"...and it cost me less than my beloved espresso at Starbucks.
So get over it, cranky moms.
I see all the blogs and Facebook posts complaining about parents like me, who like to acknowledge these quirky little holidays. Why all the anger? Nobody is shunning you for choosing not to participate. I'm certainly not. I'm also not wagging my finger at you when you post photos of your lavish Disney vacations (we haven't been on a vacation in a couple years) or bitching when my six year old asks me for an iPod Touch because so many of her first grade friends have them. Sorry, I don't think she's ready for the responsibility of having her own pricey electronics. That's what I believe is right for my kids, but what you do for your kids is your business. Boom. Easy enough, right?
My youngest son will get angry with me when we're grocery shopping because I won't let him ride or stand in the back of the cart. I simply tell him that it's against the rules, as that's easier than trying to describe all the gross bacteria that is probably living in the basket of the cart, since that is where most people place the groceries they want to buy (like raw meat...ew). We inevitably stumble across another mom shopping with her kids, and usually one of them is jumping up and down in the back of the cart. "HEY!!", he'll shriek, "Why does HE get to sit in the back?!?". I calmly explain that they don't have to follow our rules, just like we don't have to follow their rules.
It's the same for all of this holiday nonsense (listen, just because I choose to participate does not mean that I don't think it's nonsense...). If you're not into it, cool. But if other families are into it, that's cool too. Don't make the moms that are trying a different approach than you feel bad about what they are doing; just move on.
It doesn't come down to publicly pleading for the overachieving, Pinterest-obsessed, self-proclaimed Wonder Moms to knock it off with the faux holidays and stop blowing the real holidays out of proportion. Nobody has ever published a manual that explains that this is how you do one thing or another (or if they did, I didn't get a copy!). You do what you're comfortable with, what makes sense to you, and what works for your family. Believe me, as long as there is money to be made off of these extravagant holiday events, they will keep getting bigger and bigger (notice how many non-candy things are being sold now that fit inside a plastic Easter egg!). No one is forcing you to participate, though.
Let's leave the cranky fits for the holiday dinner table, shall we? Oh, and let me be the first to wish you a happy Forgive Mom & Dad Day (3/18), and don't forget that tomorrow (3/19) is National Quilting Day.
I'll admit it: I'm guilty of making St Patty's Day more fun for the kids than I probably should. My kids make leprechaun traps (although this year, my daughter made a house because she felt he would not come if he knew he would be trapped...smart girl!) and were thrilled to find that "our" leprechaun, Freckles O'Leary, had indeed visited and brought a handful of chocolate coins and some other small trinkets.
We had all the fun that $2.40 could buy at the party store, and the kids loved it. I definitely did not put on as big a production as some other parents do, but I'm hopeful that my kids will forever have fond memories of this "holiday"...and it cost me less than my beloved espresso at Starbucks.
So get over it, cranky moms.
I see all the blogs and Facebook posts complaining about parents like me, who like to acknowledge these quirky little holidays. Why all the anger? Nobody is shunning you for choosing not to participate. I'm certainly not. I'm also not wagging my finger at you when you post photos of your lavish Disney vacations (we haven't been on a vacation in a couple years) or bitching when my six year old asks me for an iPod Touch because so many of her first grade friends have them. Sorry, I don't think she's ready for the responsibility of having her own pricey electronics. That's what I believe is right for my kids, but what you do for your kids is your business. Boom. Easy enough, right?
My youngest son will get angry with me when we're grocery shopping because I won't let him ride or stand in the back of the cart. I simply tell him that it's against the rules, as that's easier than trying to describe all the gross bacteria that is probably living in the basket of the cart, since that is where most people place the groceries they want to buy (like raw meat...ew). We inevitably stumble across another mom shopping with her kids, and usually one of them is jumping up and down in the back of the cart. "HEY!!", he'll shriek, "Why does HE get to sit in the back?!?". I calmly explain that they don't have to follow our rules, just like we don't have to follow their rules.
It's the same for all of this holiday nonsense (listen, just because I choose to participate does not mean that I don't think it's nonsense...). If you're not into it, cool. But if other families are into it, that's cool too. Don't make the moms that are trying a different approach than you feel bad about what they are doing; just move on.
It doesn't come down to publicly pleading for the overachieving, Pinterest-obsessed, self-proclaimed Wonder Moms to knock it off with the faux holidays and stop blowing the real holidays out of proportion. Nobody has ever published a manual that explains that this is how you do one thing or another (or if they did, I didn't get a copy!). You do what you're comfortable with, what makes sense to you, and what works for your family. Believe me, as long as there is money to be made off of these extravagant holiday events, they will keep getting bigger and bigger (notice how many non-candy things are being sold now that fit inside a plastic Easter egg!). No one is forcing you to participate, though.
Let's leave the cranky fits for the holiday dinner table, shall we? Oh, and let me be the first to wish you a happy Forgive Mom & Dad Day (3/18), and don't forget that tomorrow (3/19) is National Quilting Day.
Tuesday, March 12, 2013
The Anticipation of Spring
Done. Absolutely, totally over winter. Do you hear me, Mother Nature? Enough already.
And it hasn't even been that bad this year. Definitely more snow than last year, but I don't think it has been so bad, temperature-wise. I'm still done, though.
I'm tired of the extra ten minutes it takes for the kids to put their coats on, then take them off again when we get into the car. I'm also tired of the extra ten minutes it takes for the kids to put their coats on AGAIN when we reach our destination. Seriously, who has time for that?
Don't get me wrong; I'm also not a huge fan of summer. I don't like the heat, the humidity, the sun, the sweating. I'm very fair, and I burn after about seven minutes in the sun...even when wearing my SPF 50+. Ridiculous. My theory that I am descended from vampires makes a lot more sense after you spend a summer day with me.
But spring...lovely spring. Blue skies, chirping birds (winter days seem so quiet!), flowers sprouting up from the ground. It's like a redo on the year, a few months in. Let's face it, New Year resolutions are probably long forgotten by now, but with the arrival of spring also comes a renewal of motivation that helps jump start whatever goals you were working on. (Note to self: dig running shoes out of closet...)
Spring is the time to get back outside, to enjoy the fresh air that we avoid in the winter for fear of freezing to death while breathing it in. It's also a time to clean up; after all the snow melts, you can see all the crap that escapes your recycling bins on windy days, only to get buried in snow or blown down the street by icy winds. New plans for landscaping are made, barbeques are planned, and drinks are poured on patios (even though sometimes you sit, shivering, under blankets because spring in Ohio is still kind of chilly...but it's SPRING, damn it, and we are not sitting inside!).
Of course, as I sit and write this, I'm already thinking how ironic it is that in just a few months I'll probably be posting "The Anticipation of Fall" because I'll already be over summer. Don't judge; it's tiring to chase three kids around the neighborhood with spray cans of sunscreen.
But until then, I will indeed look forward to leaving the house with everyone in light jackets that can easily be worn in a five-point-harness car seat. Right now, that sounds quite heavenly, as I see that there is more snow in our forecast...
And it hasn't even been that bad this year. Definitely more snow than last year, but I don't think it has been so bad, temperature-wise. I'm still done, though.
I'm tired of the extra ten minutes it takes for the kids to put their coats on, then take them off again when we get into the car. I'm also tired of the extra ten minutes it takes for the kids to put their coats on AGAIN when we reach our destination. Seriously, who has time for that?
Don't get me wrong; I'm also not a huge fan of summer. I don't like the heat, the humidity, the sun, the sweating. I'm very fair, and I burn after about seven minutes in the sun...even when wearing my SPF 50+. Ridiculous. My theory that I am descended from vampires makes a lot more sense after you spend a summer day with me.
But spring...lovely spring. Blue skies, chirping birds (winter days seem so quiet!), flowers sprouting up from the ground. It's like a redo on the year, a few months in. Let's face it, New Year resolutions are probably long forgotten by now, but with the arrival of spring also comes a renewal of motivation that helps jump start whatever goals you were working on. (Note to self: dig running shoes out of closet...)
Spring is the time to get back outside, to enjoy the fresh air that we avoid in the winter for fear of freezing to death while breathing it in. It's also a time to clean up; after all the snow melts, you can see all the crap that escapes your recycling bins on windy days, only to get buried in snow or blown down the street by icy winds. New plans for landscaping are made, barbeques are planned, and drinks are poured on patios (even though sometimes you sit, shivering, under blankets because spring in Ohio is still kind of chilly...but it's SPRING, damn it, and we are not sitting inside!).
Of course, as I sit and write this, I'm already thinking how ironic it is that in just a few months I'll probably be posting "The Anticipation of Fall" because I'll already be over summer. Don't judge; it's tiring to chase three kids around the neighborhood with spray cans of sunscreen.
But until then, I will indeed look forward to leaving the house with everyone in light jackets that can easily be worn in a five-point-harness car seat. Right now, that sounds quite heavenly, as I see that there is more snow in our forecast...
Monday, March 11, 2013
Happy Monday...?
Most people don't care for Mondays. Having a "case of the Mondays" (thank you, Office Space, for forever imprinting that phrase into our vocabularies) is not rare. We complain about it all Monday long; some even start on Sunday night. Even if one has a bad day through the week, they take comfort in the fact that "at least it's not Monday".
I kind of feel bad for Monday. Unless it enjoys all the negative attention; if that's the case, I don't have as much sympathy for it. Anyway...
I don't typically mind Mondays. My kids return to school, leaving me some time to catch up on, well, everything. Grocery shopping, meetings, laundry, and whatever else I can squeeze into that glorious seven hours. It's much needed time for me to regroup, reorganize, and recharge for the rest of the week.
This is the one Monday of the year that I despise.
Daylight Savings Time...who came up with this idea?? Every year, it inevitably throws my kids into a spiraling, out of control, at-least-one-week-long tantrum. You wouldn't think that one hour would really derail their schedules so much...but it does. It is so not worth the extra drama that I have to deal with, just to have an extra hour of daylight. Seriously, wouldn't it eventually stay lighter if we just sat back and waited? Of course, that requires patience, something that we all tend to struggle with, so I suppose that is what sparked this grand idea of DST. (Please note the sarcasm dripping off my words here; obviously, I do know the origins and reasoning behind DST. Ha!)
I knew that this morning would be a battle. Most Monday mornings are, but this one would be different. The big kids (you know, the ones who actually needed to be up and moving; the little one bounded down the steps extra early today, go figure!) slept "late", meaning that they actually slept until their normal time, but because of our egotistical manipulation of the clocks, they overslept. Yes, I could have dragged them out of bed "on time", but that would have led to more tantrums. So, I took one for the team and let them sleep as late as possible, and then I got to run around, squawking like an irritated parrot, to get them ready to go. "Eat your breakfast!...Where are your shoes?...Put this in your backpack!...Shoes, find them!...Did you brush your teeth?...Seriously, the shoes!!!"
All of this drama, plus the absence of their beloved bus driver, made my oldest kiddo decide that he was not going to the bus. Sorry, kid, not happening today. I shoved my feet into my sneakers, took his hand, and escorted him to the bus. Not a pretty sight, mind you, as I had spent all my time thus far getting the kids ready to school. The substitute bus driver smiled, waved, and asked "How are you today?" It was all I could do to not answer "Well, I'm bringing my kid to the bus, in my pj's and no bra, and some serious bedhead. How do you think I'm doing today?" I would have never said that out loud; rather, I smiled widely, pretending that I always parade around my driveway looking like this, and wished him a good day.
A good Monday. I'm determined that it really is a possibility. I know I'm ready to cut Monday some slack and get to work. But don't get me started on Tuesdays...
I kind of feel bad for Monday. Unless it enjoys all the negative attention; if that's the case, I don't have as much sympathy for it. Anyway...
I don't typically mind Mondays. My kids return to school, leaving me some time to catch up on, well, everything. Grocery shopping, meetings, laundry, and whatever else I can squeeze into that glorious seven hours. It's much needed time for me to regroup, reorganize, and recharge for the rest of the week.
This is the one Monday of the year that I despise.
Daylight Savings Time...who came up with this idea?? Every year, it inevitably throws my kids into a spiraling, out of control, at-least-one-week-long tantrum. You wouldn't think that one hour would really derail their schedules so much...but it does. It is so not worth the extra drama that I have to deal with, just to have an extra hour of daylight. Seriously, wouldn't it eventually stay lighter if we just sat back and waited? Of course, that requires patience, something that we all tend to struggle with, so I suppose that is what sparked this grand idea of DST. (Please note the sarcasm dripping off my words here; obviously, I do know the origins and reasoning behind DST. Ha!)
I knew that this morning would be a battle. Most Monday mornings are, but this one would be different. The big kids (you know, the ones who actually needed to be up and moving; the little one bounded down the steps extra early today, go figure!) slept "late", meaning that they actually slept until their normal time, but because of our egotistical manipulation of the clocks, they overslept. Yes, I could have dragged them out of bed "on time", but that would have led to more tantrums. So, I took one for the team and let them sleep as late as possible, and then I got to run around, squawking like an irritated parrot, to get them ready to go. "Eat your breakfast!...Where are your shoes?...Put this in your backpack!...Shoes, find them!...Did you brush your teeth?...Seriously, the shoes!!!"
All of this drama, plus the absence of their beloved bus driver, made my oldest kiddo decide that he was not going to the bus. Sorry, kid, not happening today. I shoved my feet into my sneakers, took his hand, and escorted him to the bus. Not a pretty sight, mind you, as I had spent all my time thus far getting the kids ready to school. The substitute bus driver smiled, waved, and asked "How are you today?" It was all I could do to not answer "Well, I'm bringing my kid to the bus, in my pj's and no bra, and some serious bedhead. How do you think I'm doing today?" I would have never said that out loud; rather, I smiled widely, pretending that I always parade around my driveway looking like this, and wished him a good day.
A good Monday. I'm determined that it really is a possibility. I know I'm ready to cut Monday some slack and get to work. But don't get me started on Tuesdays...
Saturday, March 9, 2013
Tough love is...well, tough.
My daughter is a Daisy Scout. I currently have 200 boxes of Girl Scout cookies sitting in my dining room to prove it. She enjoys scouts, and it's a great social activity for her. Today, the scouts enjoyed their annual "Thinking Day"; they spent the morning learning about things related to this year's theme, Italy. When I received the information for the event, I signed her up right away. What a great, inexpensive weekend activity for her! But, as the event drew closer, I began to realize the logistical issues that accompany a weekend event. My hubby works most Saturday mornings, and today was no exception. That left me to get three kids out of bed, dressed, fed, and out the door almost as early as we do through the week. Ugh. Add in the fact that they know it's Saturday, and we usually don't get up and go that early, and they were cranky. It was loads of fun just getting them ready. The boys lost their morning television and iPad privileges before 8:15am.
Oh, but the fun didn't stop there!
I asked the boys no less than 15 times to get their coats so we could go. They refused, so we left without coats. It was chilly this morning, but not freezing cold and not raining or snowing, so I figured I would teach them the importance of listening to my words without being too mean. I was being stubborn; all too often we are late to events because I am dealing with the behavioral issues exhibited by my son with Down syndrome, and copied by his younger brother because apparently it's fun to make your mom's head explode. I warned them that they would be cold if they didn't bring coats, yet they continued to dismiss my words, so we left. I had to teach them a lesson.
When we arrived to the school where Thinking Day was held (right on time, for once!), my oldest son made quite a bit of noise about having to get out of the car without his coat. I simply stated, "Mommy told you to bring your coat. You did not listen. We don't want your sister to be late. Let's go." Then I repeated that phrase, many times, until he reluctantly left the car. He proceeded to wail, at the top of his lungs, "I'm freeeeeeezing!!!"...which, of course, led to staring by all the judgmental parents that have obviously never dealt with a child with special needs. You could almost read it in their eyes: "How could she not put a coat on that poor child?!?" Fortunately (or maybe unfortunately?), I'm getting more and more used to these glares, and my return glares have an obvious message back to them: "Mind your own damn business, and go suck an egg."
Totally not nice, I know. But, go through this several times a week, and you lose your patience with those who seemingly judge how you react to this type of public tantrum. I don't have time to address them more diplomatically, and in the heat of the moment, that's the look they get from me. Based on how quickly they drop their eyes tells me that I'm getting through to them.
It shouldn't have to be that way. All kids have tantrums, rough days, episodes in public that embarrass their parents. Nobody needs an audience, or looks of pity, or strangers offering "words of wisdom" (yes, that's happened to me before...I almost bit my tongue in half trying not to tell them what I thought of their advice...). Just let the parents deal with it; don't add to the incident. That's not helping anybody.
Somehow, we made it back to the car, and before I could blink, the tantrum was over. We made it home, the boys played well together, and before I knew it, we had to head back to pick up my daughter. I was surprised (and a little smug!) when my boys immediately grabbed their coats when I told them it was time to go. I did it! I won a battle!! If nothing else gets accomplished this weekend, I can take comfort in the fact that I got through to them: when Mom says to take your coat, do it, or be cold.
There will be many other times when the message does not get through so easily. I will definitely refer back to this incident to remind myself that I can get through to them, and that I will do it regardless of how many dirty looks I get from people around us.
Oh, but the fun didn't stop there!
I asked the boys no less than 15 times to get their coats so we could go. They refused, so we left without coats. It was chilly this morning, but not freezing cold and not raining or snowing, so I figured I would teach them the importance of listening to my words without being too mean. I was being stubborn; all too often we are late to events because I am dealing with the behavioral issues exhibited by my son with Down syndrome, and copied by his younger brother because apparently it's fun to make your mom's head explode. I warned them that they would be cold if they didn't bring coats, yet they continued to dismiss my words, so we left. I had to teach them a lesson.
When we arrived to the school where Thinking Day was held (right on time, for once!), my oldest son made quite a bit of noise about having to get out of the car without his coat. I simply stated, "Mommy told you to bring your coat. You did not listen. We don't want your sister to be late. Let's go." Then I repeated that phrase, many times, until he reluctantly left the car. He proceeded to wail, at the top of his lungs, "I'm freeeeeeezing!!!"...which, of course, led to staring by all the judgmental parents that have obviously never dealt with a child with special needs. You could almost read it in their eyes: "How could she not put a coat on that poor child?!?" Fortunately (or maybe unfortunately?), I'm getting more and more used to these glares, and my return glares have an obvious message back to them: "Mind your own damn business, and go suck an egg."
Totally not nice, I know. But, go through this several times a week, and you lose your patience with those who seemingly judge how you react to this type of public tantrum. I don't have time to address them more diplomatically, and in the heat of the moment, that's the look they get from me. Based on how quickly they drop their eyes tells me that I'm getting through to them.
It shouldn't have to be that way. All kids have tantrums, rough days, episodes in public that embarrass their parents. Nobody needs an audience, or looks of pity, or strangers offering "words of wisdom" (yes, that's happened to me before...I almost bit my tongue in half trying not to tell them what I thought of their advice...). Just let the parents deal with it; don't add to the incident. That's not helping anybody.
Somehow, we made it back to the car, and before I could blink, the tantrum was over. We made it home, the boys played well together, and before I knew it, we had to head back to pick up my daughter. I was surprised (and a little smug!) when my boys immediately grabbed their coats when I told them it was time to go. I did it! I won a battle!! If nothing else gets accomplished this weekend, I can take comfort in the fact that I got through to them: when Mom says to take your coat, do it, or be cold.
There will be many other times when the message does not get through so easily. I will definitely refer back to this incident to remind myself that I can get through to them, and that I will do it regardless of how many dirty looks I get from people around us.
Friday, March 8, 2013
Confession
I am not Super Mom.
There, I said it. No, I'm not fishing for compliments or trying to reaffirm my awesomeness. I'm honestly telling you that I am not as strong and wonderful as everyone thinks I am.
Sure, I try to be. And just like everyone else, I fall flat on my face more often than not. I see how moms everywhere secretly try to outdo each other. I'm on Pinterest. I go to parties at my kids' schools. One mom has a huge score with an adorable treat or craft, and all the sudden, she gets labeled Super Mom.
That is a scary and dangerous title to be given.
I have a feeling that most moms are more alike than different; everyone is just trying to be a "good mom". Whatever that means. To me, it means teaching my children that no matter what, they are loved. It means being their parent and not necessarily their friend (that will probably come into play more later, as they get older). It means teaching them to respect others (ALL others), use their manners, and to find the beauty in anything. It means instilling values into them that will serve them well their entire lives: being kind, working hard, staying true to themselves. It means advocating my ass off to ensure my child with Down syndrome gets what he needs (and will mean advocating for the other two if/when that time comes). Of course, it also means teaching them to do their homework, clean their rooms, brush their teeth...all that basic parenting stuff. I try to expose them to new cultural ideas, feed them organic vegetables, and keep the house spotless. Actually, I stress out if they aren't getting those things in their daily routines.
Even if they get all that, though, I'm still not Super Mom. I feed my kids Happy Meals. I let them watch Sponge Bob. Sometimes I give in to things I probably shouldn't, just so I get some peace and quiet. I realize that some of you reading this probably have to stop and pick yourself up off the floor. That's ok. Judge me all you like, for deep down, I know you have some Mommy Secrets that you are not terribly proud of, and judging me just makes yourself feel a little better about those things.
I would encourage you, though, to come to terms with those issues. It's ok. Being a parent is totally a work in progress. Nobody gets it "right" the first time, and what is "right" for you is not going to be "right" for me. Stop comparing yourself to other parents, because that isn't fair to anybody. As with everything else in the world, live and let live. As long as your kids are loved (ok, and fed and clean and educated), then you are doing your job. Let's put the Super Mom myth to rest, shall we?
Now, I'm off to treat my youngest to a sugary donut before we rush off to dance class and school. That totally makes me Super Mom in his book...and since it's coming from him, I'll take it.
There, I said it. No, I'm not fishing for compliments or trying to reaffirm my awesomeness. I'm honestly telling you that I am not as strong and wonderful as everyone thinks I am.
Sure, I try to be. And just like everyone else, I fall flat on my face more often than not. I see how moms everywhere secretly try to outdo each other. I'm on Pinterest. I go to parties at my kids' schools. One mom has a huge score with an adorable treat or craft, and all the sudden, she gets labeled Super Mom.
That is a scary and dangerous title to be given.
I have a feeling that most moms are more alike than different; everyone is just trying to be a "good mom". Whatever that means. To me, it means teaching my children that no matter what, they are loved. It means being their parent and not necessarily their friend (that will probably come into play more later, as they get older). It means teaching them to respect others (ALL others), use their manners, and to find the beauty in anything. It means instilling values into them that will serve them well their entire lives: being kind, working hard, staying true to themselves. It means advocating my ass off to ensure my child with Down syndrome gets what he needs (and will mean advocating for the other two if/when that time comes). Of course, it also means teaching them to do their homework, clean their rooms, brush their teeth...all that basic parenting stuff. I try to expose them to new cultural ideas, feed them organic vegetables, and keep the house spotless. Actually, I stress out if they aren't getting those things in their daily routines.
Even if they get all that, though, I'm still not Super Mom. I feed my kids Happy Meals. I let them watch Sponge Bob. Sometimes I give in to things I probably shouldn't, just so I get some peace and quiet. I realize that some of you reading this probably have to stop and pick yourself up off the floor. That's ok. Judge me all you like, for deep down, I know you have some Mommy Secrets that you are not terribly proud of, and judging me just makes yourself feel a little better about those things.
I would encourage you, though, to come to terms with those issues. It's ok. Being a parent is totally a work in progress. Nobody gets it "right" the first time, and what is "right" for you is not going to be "right" for me. Stop comparing yourself to other parents, because that isn't fair to anybody. As with everything else in the world, live and let live. As long as your kids are loved (ok, and fed and clean and educated), then you are doing your job. Let's put the Super Mom myth to rest, shall we?
Now, I'm off to treat my youngest to a sugary donut before we rush off to dance class and school. That totally makes me Super Mom in his book...and since it's coming from him, I'll take it.
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