the world according to me

The final score

2009-11-10T08:49:00.003-05:00

The other night was an average night in the world according to me. The kids were in bed and I:

*Plopped onto the couch and kicked my feet up on the coffee table,
*Sipped my glass of wine,
*Noticed a baseball game on tv,
*Felt my eyelids begin to droop as I slipped into a semi-comatose state. Baseball has the magical abiliy to transform me from a chatty and energetic KathyB! into a catatonic lump in nothing flat.

It's a wonder Pat doesn't watch it more often.

***

I hadn't fully completed the transition to my zombie-state when something on the screen caught my eye. Grasping desperately to stay coherent I attempted to start a conversation.

KathyB! What a shame! What did the park used to be called?

Pat: What are you talking about?!

KathyB! You know... Like when they changed Candlestick Park to 3Com Park... I like the old, traditional park names much better. Besides who can even keep up with all the names. Didn't they change Candlestick to Monster Park...?

Pat: That was years ago, Kathy. It's still Candlestick. And what are you talking about?!?

KathyB!: (a tad of annoyance creeping into her voice) Chan Ho Park. What was the original name?

KathyB!: (thinks to herself) For cyin' out loud, this isn't rocket science. Follow along hubster.

Pat: (an equal amount of annoyance in his voice) What.... ?!

And then, he saw the light. His face burst into an ear-to-ear grin.

It would be fair to say he looked smug.

Pat: The pitcher is Chan Ho Park. They're playing at Yankee Stadium.

***

Final score of the 2009 World Series?

Pat: 1

Kathy: 0

Ebony and Ivory

2009-11-04T21:49:00.002-05:00

I still have two of the four rescued kittens living on my back porch.

They're becoming more curious.

We've tried to keep the rabbit off-limits by separating her from the kittens with a fence.

It's not working.

This isn't going to end well.

Anyone want to adopt some kittens??

Please??

The best part of Halloween this year

2009-11-02T14:20:00.000-05:00

Drum roll, please....

**Third Place**
KathyB!: Somebody needs to stay here and hand out the candy. Do you want to trick or treat with daddy or me?

Abby: Actually, mom, I think you both better come.

KathyB!: Why...?

Abby: Because those candy bags get really heavy and slow us down. We'll need both of you to haul the bags if we wanna make good time.

**Second Place**

On the afternoon of Halloween we were getting ready to go to a party, then trick or treating, and then straight to an outdoor movie/bonfire at our neighbor's house. Adults were supposed to dress up, but I spent so much time making the kids over that I was running out of time to do my own costume: I was going to be leftovers. All I needed to do was wrap myself in tinfoil and put an expiration date on my front. I dispatched my dearest husband (hereforth known as Captain Smart Ass or CSA) to check on the tinfoil inventory:

KathyB! Just go check so I know what I have to work with...

(returning from the kitchen where he checked the half-full box of tinfoil. 250 square feet of tin foil)

CSA: I dunno Kathy. I don't think we've even got enough to get around your middle...

KathyB!: (Using the evil mommy death stare...)

CSA: Um. Er. (pause. pause) Have you lost weight? No. Really. I mean it.

***First Place***
I know everyone's in kids-in-Halloween-costume overload right about now but, well, it's my blog :)

Let the holiday season BEGIN!

How KathyB! lost her sparkle (part 1)

2009-10-29T18:37:00.010-04:00

I've gotten more than a few kind emails of late pretty much asking... Did I fall off the face of the earth... Did I quit blogging... Did I die... What the heck?!

I didn't die literally but I think, figuratively, a little bit of me might be gone.

Late this summer I unexpectedly found myself pregnant. PREGNANT! This was not planned.

After I picked my jaw up off the floor and ran through the 1,001 reasons that this pregnancy could not be happening to me now, I realized it could work. And as the shock slowly began to wane, I felt a small seed of joy begin to take root. I wandered through the days nurturing my secret, and frantically clutching at the the initial glimmer of peace that comes with acceptance and the first gossamer wisps of excitement that come with the creation of new life. And every time the specter within me questioned the fledgling joy or whispered oh, so seductively that it would be better if this baby didn't happen. I tried to let the seeds of happiness and peace grow over that terrible voice.

I hadn't told anyone. My husband was crazy-busy working on a special project and traveling and I knew this would knock him for a loop. Big time. I wanted to wait a few weeks until his schedule returned to normal. And I was only just barely pregnant. I had time.

And then I lost the baby.

And I was so terribly, hauntingly, heart-breakingly sad.

And so angry and disgusted with myself. How could I honestly mourn the loss of someone who I hadn't been completely sure I wanted? How could I be sorry to lose someone who I had secretly referred to as a mistake? How could I have the audacity to mourn this child when there was a small, dark part of me who was thankful that it was gone?

***

I did what I always do - I packaged up my sadness and chose to focus instead on the things in life for which I am thankful.

And it worked.

Kind of.

But my shiny, happy view of the world suddenly looked a bit dimmer, and had a noticeable and bitter undertone.

I didn't leave the blogosphere right away, but I didn't really want to be here either. I've always found such joy in blogging. It seemed wrong to be indulging myself. Making myself happy.

When a part of my heart had wished this baby away.

I'm starting to see a trend

2009-10-23T08:28:00.004-04:00

It started with these little guys. They were purchased for a first grade science unit. The little fishies obligingly reproduced and taught the children what they needed to know. So when the teacher casually mentioned that she was going to flush them down the toilet at the end of the school year, I offered to take them. The teacher told me they would only live a couple of weeks anyway...

The water in my house must be like the fountain of freaking youth, because I must have at least 50 guppies swimming around now.

Then came these little guys. When I took the four kittens in I honestly thought at least one was going to die. I thought I was keeping them warm and safe so that they could pass in peace. Apparently, I thought wrong. We still have two.

Then came this little friend. I was taking two of my daughters to the orthodontist and there was a cute little bird sitting right smack dab in the middle of the street! As we drew closer I was surprised he didn't fly away. When we walked right up to it I was officially concerned. I couldn't very well just leave him sitting there to be squashed by a car, could I?

I got the girls situated with the orthodontist and headed back to the street armed with some of the dentist's latex gloves to save the sweet little bird. I scooped him up and put him under a tree to rest while I went back to check on the girls. I also needed to find a small box to carry him home...

Thankfully, he was gone when I got back. I already have a beaver/rabbit, and two kittens on the back porch.

Plus, I think Pat might make me sleep on the porch if I bring any more animals home.

What if...

2009-10-20T05:08:00.000-04:00

Soon after I had my first child someone gave me some advice. The wise person likened raising a child to filling a pot. The pot is given to you empty, and your job as a parent is to pour love and wisdom and courage and kindness into that pot until it's full.

At the time I found that rather poetic.

Lately, I find it frightening. I have a big heart and a strong mind. If anyone has the abundance with which to fill the proverbial pot, it's me. But...

What if the pot has a teeny, tiny hole at the bottom?

What if the gifts I pour in are slowly escaping?

What if, like the eroding force of water, the escaping gifts weaken the fiber of the pot and the hole becomes larger?

What if the extra love I pour in isn't enough to compensate for the leak?

What if I am not enough?

* * *

Note: This is not a plea for validation of my parenting. While far from perfect, I rest comfortably knowing I've done the best I could possibly do. At least most days. But lately there have been some problems in my world that have caused me to question whether the sheer force of my love for my children is enough for them to feel validated. And complete. And worthy.

For the first time I can truly see that, as freely and eagerly as I pour my love into the pot,

this particular pot may never be full.

Wait for it

2009-10-19T09:44:00.006-04:00

Pat and I went to a toga party last weekend.

We had dinner at home with the kids before heading out for the evening.

Guess what I made for dinner?

CAESAR SALAD!

Okay. I know that was bad. But I love it. And the best part of all is I didn't even do it on purpose. I almost fell out of my chair laughing when I realized I was eating Caesar salad with a guy dressed like Caesar.

Just humor me with a little polite laughter....

running errands with a...

2009-10-02T08:39:00.000-04:00

Some of my kids are on break (remember, we're on a year round school calendar) and they are old enough to find great joy in surfing the web. Yesterday before we went out to run some errands three of them were gathered around the laptop laughing like evil genius'. I peered over their shoulders in curiosity, but it was just a page full of tired jokes so I went about my business.

***

Later that day we were at the bank waiting to use the ATM. The kids were whispering and giggling as we waited for our turn. I'll admit to being a little curious but I ignored them since they weren't hitting each other, screaming, or doing anything embarrassing. I had some deposits and I also needed some cash. I was focused on the banking and the fact that the kids had grown ominously quiet didn't register until after the fact.

I had just finished the transaction and taken my cash when Abby, who was standing right next to me, starts hopping up and down and yelling:

Jackpot! We hit the jackpot! Woo hoo!

We're rich, we're rich...

This went on a bit longer than it should have because I was literally frozen in place as I watched Abby do her little leprechaun dance and shriek about our "windfall."

The faces of the people behind us in line were almost as funny as Abby's performance. From the look of things I think they thought we had just pulled off some sort of heist. I clapped my hand over Abby's mouth and shot the other two with my evil-mommy-death-stare and hustled them all to the car.

Apparently, the joke site they were on had given them the impression that this would be funny.

I need to do some cyber-sleuthing fast so I can figure out what else they read...

before I take them to Costco today.

No monkey business today

2009-10-02T00:01:00.004-04:00

Kevin of Always Home and Uncool has asked me to post the text below. He is raising awareness of juvenile myositis, a rare autoimmune disease his daughter was diagnosed with on this day seven years ago. This day also happens to be his wife's birthday. And while this post will surely raise awareness and money, it is also his birthday gift to his wife... so that no other mother has to suffer through the fear and uncertainty of a child stricken with this disease.

Our pediatrician admitted it early on.

The rash on our 2-year-old daughter's cheeks, joints and legs was something he'd never seen before.

The next doctor wouldn't admit to not knowing.

He rattled off the names of several skins conditions -- none of them seemingly worth his time or bedside manner -- then quickly prescribed antibiotics and showed us the door.

The third doctor admitted she didn't know much.

The biopsy of the chunk of skin she had removed from our daughter's knee showed signs of an "allergic reaction" even though we had ruled out every allergy source -- obvious and otherwise -- that we could.

The fourth doctor had barely closed the door behind her when, looking at the limp blonde cherub in my lap, she admitted she had seen this before. At least one too many times before.

She brought in a gaggle of med students. She pointed out each of the physical symptoms in our daughter:

The rash across her face and temples resembling the silhouette of a butterfly.

The purple-brown spots and smears, called heliotrope, on her eyelids.

The reddish alligator-like skin, known as Gottron papules, covering the knuckles of her hands.

The onset of crippling muscle weakness in her legs and upper body.

She then had an assistant bring in a handful of pages photocopied from an old medical textbook. She handed them to my wife, whose birthday it happened to be that day.

This was her gift -- a diagnosis for her little girl.

That was seven years ago -- Oct. 2, 2002 -- the day our daughter was found to have juvenile dermatomyositis, one of a family of rare autoimmune diseases that can have debilitating and even fatal consequences when not treated quickly and effectively.

Our daughter's first year with the disease consisted of surgical procedures, intravenous infusions, staph infections, pulmonary treatments and worry. Her muscles were too weak for her to walk or swallow solid food for several months. When not in the hospital, she sat on our living room couch, propped up by pillows so she wouldn't tip over, as medicine or nourishment dripped from a bag into her body.

Our daughter, Thing 1, Megan, now age 9, remembers little of that today when she dances or sings or plays soccer. All that remain with her are scars, six to be exact, and the array of pills she takes twice a day to help keep the disease at bay.

What would have happened if it took us more than two months and four doctors before we lucked into someone who could piece all the symptoms together? I don't know.

I do know that the fourth doctor, the one who brought in others to see our daughter's condition so they could easily recognize it if they ever had the misfortune to be presented with it again, was a step toward making sure other parents also never have to find out.

That, too, is my purpose today.

It is also my birthday gift to my wife, My Love, Rhonda, for all you have done these past seven years to make others aware of juvenile myositis diseases and help find a cure for them once and for all.

To read more about children and families affected by juvenile myositis diseases, visit Cure JM Foundation at www.curejm.org.

To make a tax-deductible donation toward JM research, go to

www.firstgiving.com/rhondaandkevinmckeever

or www.curejm.com/team/donations.htm.

Happy Birthday, Rhonda!!

((Comments off))

No good deed goes unpunished

2009-09-29T05:53:00.001-04:00

The Scenario: Abandoned kittens, hardly able to feed themselves let alone fend for themselves, are found in the neighborhood. The kittens are in bad shape and will not survive on their own.

The Solution: Take the kittens into your home for 24-48 hours and take them to the Safe Haven for Cats

What could go wrong? Let me make a list:

1) The kittens. They were very young and weak. Initially they would only eat from a medicine dropper. The good news is they got stronger quickly. The bad news is they got stronger and started eating on their own. Apparently, eating on your own involves standing in your bowl of kitten formula and knocking your food dish over. Oh, and taking in food also means you immediately begin peeing and pooping everywhere.

2) Fleas. I thought the cats were dirty, but then the dirt took off running across the kittens' tummy. The good news is the vet told us how to solve the problem - a bath with Dawn dish soap followed by some prescription medication. The bad news is I had to bathe four kittens. Bathing one cat is bad, bathing four? Traumatic.

3) The Beaver (aka our rabbit). We thought it was cute that the rabbit and the kittens hit it off so well. Then we found the fleas. Guess who else needs a bath and medication? Bathing a cat sucks, but it's doable. Bathing a rabbit is like giving birth, but without the good part at the end.

4) The Fear. It quickly became evident that the no-kill shelters in the area were full. FULL! What in the heck was I supposed to do with these kittens?! I'd keep them, but then the hubster would probably not keep me. I spent Sunday night crying like a school girl as I tried to concoct scenarios to save the kitties.

5) The adoption. It was never our intention to keep the cats. So today when we miraculously found someone to adopt two of the kittens we should have been happy, right? I spent the afternoon stoically reassuring the girls and keeping them from having a nervous breakdown. Now, they are in bed and I am sitting here typing and trying to cry very quietly. The hubster knows the extent of my stupidly soft heart. If he catches wind of this stupid blubbering he won't let me take in another stray if only because he wouldn't want to see me hurting like this.

Maybe he's right. 60 hours with those kittens and I'm a sobbing lump of boogery humanity. I seriously need to get a grip.

Farewell sweet kittens.

Garden surprises

2009-09-28T08:22:00.004-04:00

This weekend our calendar was full of college football games and birthday parties and sleepovers and everyone was excited. So when I found these in the garden on Friday:

And these in the garden on Saturday:

I was considering myself pretty lucky.

Then we found these:

Technically they weren't in my garden. The four orphaned kittens were under the porch of an unoccupied home, and a neighbor came over to tell us about them. The mother is a feral cat and rumor has it that the neighbor's dog chased her away.

Guess who's their mommy now....

I don't even know where to start

2009-09-25T06:34:00.000-04:00

A couple years ago we gutted our kitchen for a remodel. After eating countless meals lovingly prepared in the laundry room, we took the kids to Denny's for breakfast. Madagascar had just come out and they were giving away these masks. The kids thought the masks were brilliant.

This picture makes my heart swell a little when I look at it.

Lack of self-awareness

Free spirits

Open minds

Alive

They make me try just a little bit harder every day, and

inspire me to be a better version of myself.

These little critters are my heroes.

Check out Lolli at Better in Bulk!

She's hosting more fun photos today and every Friday!

Super Mama?

2009-09-24T00:11:00.001-04:00

This week has been a monster. Middle school has been like opening Pandora's box: Shaving legs, cell phones, dances... Each one of these could merit a post in and of itself, but I'm so overwhelmed by it that, frankly, I haven't earned the perspective to write it.

And then I stumbled across Mama Kat's writing prompt:

If you could be a superhero,

what would your superpower be and why?

I want to control time - I want to rewind to the blissful days of infancy, but skip the sleepless nights and colicky days. I want to fast-forward through ridiculous battles of will, and freeze time and savor last weekend at the beach.

I want to read minds - I want to know the monkey-business before the kids have a chance to do more than think about it. As the mother of four girls who are roaring towards the teen years, I'd pay a very steep price for this power.

I want to move without making sound - That way when the little miscreants were up to no good I could sneak up on them and scare the sh*t out of them. If you' re gonna have superpowers you should get to have some fun. Right?

And since we're having fun...

I want to be able to control technology with my mind - Between my well documented battles with the bloggy gods and my latest (undocumented) issues with feedburner... Let's just say the wine budget's been a little, um, inflated.

I don't know what this fabulous foursome of powers would be called. At the moment?

I'd call it perfection.

My guest for a day

2009-09-23T00:06:00.011-04:00

I had an out of town visitor recently: Moxie Mona.

Mona is the dream child of Better in Bulk, Mama's Losing It, Scary Mommy, Seven Clown Circus and Mayhem and Moxie. She's touring the blogosphere this week, and stopped to visit North Carolina! I agonized over what to show her, and finally had an epiphany: While there are certainly wonderful places to see in my home state, it's the people of North Carolina and their southern hospitality that make it so beautiful. And what better way for Mona to meet people than to take her to a barbecue?!

It goes without saying that Mona had a blast, but she's definitely a West Coast kinda girl. I think she was unfamiliar with some southern-isms. So, without further ado, I present to you:

The Top 5 Things Mona Learned in North Carolina

1. When a friendly neighbor invites you over for a barbecue it means pork cooked over an open fire and seasoned with vinegar, salt, and pepper. Eastern barbecue is legendary out here. Barbecue is NOT burgers and hot dogs.

2. When the friendly neighbor asks you to "give him some sugar," he is not looking to sweeten his tea, if you catch my drift. Tread lightly.

3. The person speaking to you is not French if they look at you inquiringly and say, "D'jeet?" North Carolinians are truly some of the most hospitable people on Earth. They also take some short cuts with standard English. The person is simply being kind and asking, "Did you eat?"

4. When someone says, "Bless your heart, that's the most unusual headband!" It is NOT a compliment. There is a code in the south... whenever a sentence starts with "bless your heart," you're about to be insulted. If it comes at the end of the sentence (She's been sick as a dog, bless her heart) it's a legitimate show of concern.

5. The food in North Carolina is delicious. Grits, greens, barbecue, and butter beans are all wonderful things, but they are surprisingly high in calories.

I had such a good time with Mona. I wasn't ready for her to go, but she has lots of other blogs to visit. If you see her jogging along the side of the road do not offer her a ride. She needs to do a lot of running to work off all that southern hospitality.

Want to see where else Mona is today? Of course you do! Go see Angie at Seven Clown Circus to find out...

They said, we said

2009-09-22T07:49:00.000-04:00

Today I am playing along with Mayhem and Moxie!

For today’s topic, the lovely ladies at Mayhem and Moxie have asked participants to write a tribute to that special aspect from their summer vacation. This year is a special year for us because it's the first year we've been able to enjoy our vacation together, and also as individuals...

***

This week hubby had business near the coast, so the rest of us did what we always do: tag along!

No one wanted the weekend to end... but we had very different reasons:

We all had ideal breakfasts:

The adults: Coffee and newpaper on the balcony in the balmy sunshine overlooking the beautiful North Carolina coast.

The kids: Breakfast in bed, served by mom, while they watch their own t.v.

We all had spa treatments:

Mom: Rubbed her heels, cracked from a summer of endless flip-flop wearing, in the grainy sand to reveal baby-smooth feet.

Seriously. All you have to do is grind your heels in the wet, beach sand and when you pull them out you have a pefect pedicure and a big, fat lilly between your ankles. It's worth trying.

The kids: The girls have become champion boogie boarders. Unfortunately, riding big waves means you wipeout. As such we have coined the term "spa treatment" for those occasions when events are particularly catastrophic. For example, you might get the "full body exfoliating polish" courtesy of the sand into which the crushing wave grinds your body. Good times.

We all had stellar meals:

The adults: Grouper, softshell crab... yum.

The kids: Had some of this, which I will admit I love... but it's not seafood.

Clearly we all had fun but I have to wonder...

Were we all on the same vacation?

Life lessons learned in the minivan

2009-09-22T06:49:00.002-04:00

You can see more in the light,

But you can think and feel more in the dark.

However, you can smell the most

when trapped in a minivan with four gassy kids.

***

I know... it's profound stuff.

You're welcome.

We were having a bad day

2009-09-18T09:22:00.001-04:00

You know the type. The kids are bugging each other, and every little thing they do seems to end in a verbal smackdown. We were in the car when I reached boiling point, and so I did what I always do, which is clearly ineffective, but I'm apparently powerless to change. I lectured them.

KathyB!: Wah, waah, wah, wah, wah, waaaah... I don't know why I even bother. I swear, it's like I'm talking to myself.

The kids made the appropriate contrite faces and then lapsed into silence. I briefly contemplated pulling over and running screaming into the woods, but abandoned that idea when I realized we were a good 5 miles from home. Instead, I flipped on the radio hoping to divert the seemingly inevitable return to bickerdom. I succeeded in distracting myself but apparently it didn't work for the kids because soon there was giggling in the back, and it wasn't the happy kind. It was the mischievous kind. And yes, there is a difference.

Visions of potty talk and inappropriate humor danced through my head, and I felt my irritation roar back like a freight train as I demanded to know what was going on back there.

KathyB!: Now what? Honestly, you guys don't start. It hasn't even been 5 minutes.

(more giggling except this time it's on the verge of hysterical)

KathyB!: What already?

Hannah: Promise you won't get mad?

KathyB!: (Silence)

Hannah: It's the song.

(now they're laughing like hyenas and I'm looking confused. It's Billy Idol for cryin' out loud, not Weird Al Yankovic)

Hannah: (suddenly breaks loudly into the chorus of the song)

Oh, oh talking to myself

Well, there's nothing lose,

And there's nothing to prove

And I'm talking to myself

We were listening to Dancing with Myself. They didn't get any of the other words but they were clear on changing the dancing to talking.

Seriously. It's like I was trapped in ~~a tin can~~ my minivan with The Three Stooges.

I rolled my eyes.

And then I laughed. Maybe I should make that my theme song?

Here's a little Billy Idol video refresher if you don't remember the song

Billy Idol - Dancing With Myself- Watch more Music Videos at Vodpod.

Where did I go wrong?

2009-09-16T22:07:00.000-04:00

On Sunday I had my Brownie Girl Scout troop over to learn about campfire safety and making fires. It was supposed to be a straightforward affair.

Step 1: Explain fire safety and general campfire rules? Check.

Step 2: Light fire with assistance from girls? Check.

Step 3: Prepare dinner? Ummm...

This is the part I was most excited about. Last year when I was camping with my eldest daughter's troop we had the best hot dogs. Basically, you take a raw hot dog, place it in a bun, wrap the hot dog/bun tightly in tinfoil, stick it in a cardboard juice container, and toss the whole mess in the fire. When the juice carton has completely burned... magic... the hot dog is perfectly cooked. An idiot-proof dinner.

I knew the girls would get a kick out of this, and I also knew that it would keep a bunch of 7 year old girls from tempting fate and my sanity by leaning over an open fire with a hot dog rammed onto a sharp, pointy stick. I was already patting myself on the back and tossing the b-word around. And just so you know? B is for brilliant.

It started out well enough. I goosed the fire to get it nice and hot (and yes, that's a technical term). The girls assembled their hot dog packets and hucked them into the fire. I set about getting condiments and side dishes when one of the mom's called over that the juice boxes were finished burning. What? I specifically remember that this took at least 15 minutes - not five. I took my time and finished what I was doing before I went over to check.

The fire really had made quick work of the juice boxes. I reluctantly pulled the first, charred hunk of foil out of the fire and gingerly tried to unwrap it. The buns were charred. Actually I think charred might not be accurate. The buns were cremated. Hardened little nubs of charcoal. It was not edible.

My error? On the original camp out we put the juice cartons in hot coals, not a hot fire. Apparently this makes a huge difference.

Good to know.

Some days it's all I can do

2009-09-15T14:11:00.003-04:00

I usually enjoy my volunteer time at the school. Some days I even love it.

And then there are the other days.

I was working one-on-one with writing students last week. I had one particular child who came to me with absolute gibberish all over the paper. Sentences didn't even make sense let alone have proper punctuation. This is a child of at least average intelligence. There was no excuse for this state of affairs. He just wasn't in the mood. I tried coming at it from a variety of angles to no avail. He then proceeded to tell me that I was the problem. That I could not appreciate his "art."

Riiiiight.

I kindly explained that I was definitely not a connoisseur of the arts and that I might very well be missing the meaning of his "art," but that we needed to get busy with some writing. Art would have to come later. He responded by telling me: "You're not very nice."

I had two things to share with young Picasso that I, thankfully, had the sense to keep to myself:

The fact that no one understands you does not make you an artist

I'll try to act nicer if you'll try to act smarter.

I think I'm ready to make rock candy with the fourth-graders tomorrow.

Wish me luck.

picture from google images

Truth can be insightful

2009-09-14T09:31:00.001-04:00

This weekend I ended up with a block of time on Saturday morning that I spent at home with Abby and Emily (my youngest). We played board games for a bit, but they lost interest and began digging through their room and unearthing long forgotten treasure (and bubble gum wrappers). In their search they did manage to find one true gem... They found a bag of goodies a friend made to keep us entertained on one of our long road trips, and inside the goodie bag was a book with famous sayings that were intentionally left incomplete.

We spent two hours completing al 30 pages of the book. The objective was to complete the sayings accurately. We couldn't pull off accuracy, but I got some fun responses:

1. Don't bite the hand that . . . that gives you chocolate.

Mom's response: They're cute and smart.

2. Better to be safe than . . . get Hannah mad. You will never hear the end of it.

Mom's response: Add perceptive to the list. I must be doing something right!

3. If you lie down with dogs, you . . . why would you even do that when you could lie down in your bed?

Mom's response: Practical, too! Where is that Mother of the Year application form. With brilliant kids like these I'm going to be a serious contender this year.

4. If at first you don't succeed . . . you should try again. And if you still don't get it then ask Mom. And if she messes it up get Dad. He can always fix things.

Mom's response: What is this Dad business?! I fix all sorts of things. Just because I wrecked the bike ride because I couldn't figure out how to pump up my flat tire and ended up trailing the pack on a scooter doesn't mean I don't know how to fix things. Sheesh. I probably shouldn't include this part on my application, right?

5. Where there is smoke, there is . . . mom playing with her blog and not watching dinner.

Mom's response: What? That hasn't happened in at least a ~~week~~ year.

Maybe I should hold off on that Mother of the Year thing 'til next year?

My apology to the universe

2009-09-11T08:27:00.004-04:00

First the blogs I follow went missing and spoiled my evening of blog reading, but then they came back. I thought that meant that the universe and I were good. Friendly even.

I should really know better by now, shouldn't I.

I was in the garage to and was just getting ready to slip on my shoes when I see this:

Can't see it?

I don't blame you. It's hard to see.

Let me blow it up for you... That better?

In. my. freaking. shoe.

I love nature. Really. I do. I put up with the snakes in the pool and the snakes in the skimmer basket and ginormous groundhogs eating all of my flowers. But this?

Reptiles in my shoes are NOT OKAY.

Clearly, the universe is ~~upset~~ pissed. I don't think the usual fare of lucky rabbit's feet and four leaf clovers are going to get me out of this pickle. Fortunately, as I sat contemplating my miserable fate blogger Janie Woods came to my rescue with this comment:

"I pay homage to the blog gods by lighting a candle and dancing naked to some tribal music. It usually doesn't work, but my husband laughs his ass off."

I'm just desperate enough to restore order to my world and get off the universe's shit list that I'm going to have to try it.

Monday's post will be the video.

Stay tuned.

I wonder what I did to tick off the universe?

2009-09-10T22:14:00.005-04:00

I just sat down for the evening to catch up on all of my favorite blogs but Blogger says:

You are not currently following any blogs.

Click the add button blah, blah, blah

What the heck?!

I guess I should be thankful I didn't lose my followers, but still. I'm not sure what to do other than to start from scratch. So if I followed you before leave me a comment. Otherwise, I guess I have to start over from scratch.

I told Mother Nature to bite me once and I understood when she hit back. But this I don't understand. I always play nice with the bloggy gods.

Hello, ACME Pest Control?

2009-09-10T06:39:00.002-04:00

Hannah is an awesome kid. She's bright, enthusiastic, driven, incredibly funny in a very dry sort of way which I LOVE. I could go on and on. But...

Hannah is also a pest.

She has the innate ability to make peoplecrazy with the snap of her fingers. She knows just what makes people tick and exactly which buttons to push. That child can walk into a room where her sisters are peacefully busy and have all three of them in an uproar in 33.2 seconds. It's almost a gift, really.

***

After school the other day Hannah and I were sitting in my office reviewing a logic worksheet. She didn't "get it" so I was trying to explain it from yet another angle when I noticed she was looking over my shoulder and clearly not listening to what I was saying. I caught her attention, but rather than going back to the worksheet as I had hoped, we had this conversation:

Hannah: Hey mommy? What's a pest service?

KathyB!: (not paying full attention as I'm still trying to wrap my head around a good explanation for that stupid logic problem) You know... exterminators. They come out and get rid of the pests.

Hannah: What's a termite, mom?

KathyB!: (still not there) Seriously, Hannah?! It's a pest. There's a termite warranty on our house and every year the exterminator comes to make sure we don't have pests. You know... like termites.

(pause)

Hannah: Um. I'm not a termite. Am I?

KathyB! Wha... no. NO! (lightbulb finally goes on) Hannah, termites are bad bugs - like fire ants. The exterminator comes... Why on earth would you think you're a termite. For Pete's sake, Hannah...

I followed Hannah's gaze to where this was sitting on my desk:

I'm thinking I need to stop calling her a pest before I land her in therapy.

There's always the bus

2009-09-09T07:29:00.000-04:00

I'm still reeling from the impact of having the kids on different schedules. Rachel is embarking upon her third week of school, and the others are just two short weeks away from their first break. The kids seem to be handling it fine, but me? I think I ran into myself at the intersection of crazy and busy. I may or may not have hit my head.

I try to present an optimistic, focus-on-the-positive kind of attitude to the kids. I try to be a good role model. Unfortunately some of my modeling must come across like acting, and I'm guessing I'm not a contender for an Academy Award. At nearly 12 years of age Rachel has become a master at seeing through my, um, baloney and getting an accurate read on my more honest opinions.

***

The other day I'd waited in the carpool line for half an hour, picked up Rachel, and the two of us were waiting in the next carpool line to pick up her three sisters. I was trying to resist the urge to repeatedly smash my forehead into the steering wheel as I sat roasting, again, in the hellishly humid heat that can be part and parcel of a North Carolina summer. Rachel appeared oblivious to the stagnant air and blazing sunshine as she breathed a little sigh of contentment and said, "This being-on-different-schedules-thing might not be so bad." I brushed at the sweat trickling down the side of my face, and tried not to roll my eyes as I waited for her to finish. I was hot and cranky and not in the mood for contentment and happiness. And I had a feeling she was getting ready to take a verbal poke at me. She grinned knowingly as she delivered the punchline that she knew that I knew was coming:

"Yeah, the different schedules might actually be the best thing for our family. (pause) We actually get along really well when we're not around each other all the time."

Remember I said I got into an accident with myself and that I might have hit my head? Well now I'm certain that I did. And I must have hit it hard.

Had I been in my right mind she would totally have been walking home.

Something smells good!

2009-09-08T16:04:00.000-04:00

Do you know the Muffin Kid?

She made muffins, yes she did.

This feisty little Muffin Kid,

Made muffins this fine day.

She measured very carefully

Her face is earnest, can't you see?

She served her muffins so proudly.

To her hungry family.

I love that little Muffin Kid

Into my mouth a muffin slid

It's a shame that the little Muffin Kid

Baked in some egg shells

I took an enthusiastic bite

Something clearly wasn't right.

But I love that little Muffin Kid

So I ate them anyway.

My stomach has been upset a lot recently. I've been seriously contemplating whether I might be getting an ulcer. The kids have been doing a lot of cooking lately. They enjoy it and are finally at a point where they can do the bulk of the work themselves with minimal supervision.

But when I stand back and look at these two seemingly unrelated pieces of information

I have to wonder if it's simply something I ate.

I'm like rubber, you're like glue

2009-09-04T13:13:00.000-04:00

I've been conspicuously absent in the blogosphere lately because I was lucky enough to go and spend some time with my beautiful sister who just had her first baby.

Ack. It makes my ovaries weep just looking at this picture:

I spent the better part of a week doing my best to spoil that little bundle of love rotten.

And trying to come up with a nickname.

I am the queen of nicknames. Everyone in my life has nickname(s). There is no way I was leaving without giving that little monkey a nickname. But it's tricky when they're so little. It's not like they've got much personality to work with. I mean, it's not like his nickname could be "blob." Unless I could convince my sister to change his name to Bob. Bob the blob could kinda work.

When my visit concluded I only had three potential nicknames:

Hambone: You know, he kind of reminds me of a little Easter ham when he's all curled up. But then, remember that show Growing Pains? And that kid they called "Boner..."

Not good. I think anything with "bone" in it will have to be excluded on principle. Can you imagine if this sweet child became Boner 2.0?! My goal is to welcome the little man into the family with a nickname - not to get myself excommunicated.

Hamlet/hamlette: This one picks up on the whole ham-vibe nicely, plus makes him look scholarly by throwing in the reference to Shakespeare, but his parents didn't really seem to be loving it. That may or may not be a problem. Once I've birthed a nickname they tend to stick around. Regardless of whether the recipient appreciates it.

Spongebob Wetpants: His diaper feels like a bloated sponge when it needs changing. Get it? Spongebob... Wetpants... You aren't laughing, are you? I didn't think so. My kids thought is was H-I-L-A-R-I-O-U-S. They've clearly got my DNA.

This is the face my little buddy made when he heard the nicknames:

So I'm the rubber, and you're the glue.

It bounces off me, and sticks to you.

I can't wait to see which one "sticks."

Por favor?

2009-09-01T21:13:00.001-04:00

I haven't really talked about my past much on my blog. I wasn't a prostitute, or a drug addict, or a child movie star. But I was diagnosed with ovarian cancer in my early 20's. I had some surgery. And some chemo. And I got better... I'm thankful every day, but it isn't something I spend much time thinking about. Frankly, it was a long time ago and it feels very surreal in retrospect. The older I get the more I understand just how serious it was. If I'm being truthful I'll tell you that is frightens me to my core to think about how things might have ended...

***

Jessica Bern contacted me the other day. She asked me to request help from my lovely readers. You see, Jessica was contacted by Seventh Generation, the company that makes environmentally friendly cleaning products, diapers and now tampons. They asked if she would make a video for them for their campaign, "Let's Talk....Period." And she did!

Honestly, I would have sent you over to watch even if she was selling dryer lint. She is a wonderful comedienne, and I am proud to call her a friend. She's also a fellow blogger who got a shot to do something awesome as a direct result of her blog. All those reasons alone are enough for me to send you over there. But if you head over and sign up you'll have the opportunity to make a difference for the 22,000 women who will be diagnosed with ovarian cancer this year.

Please head over to letstalkperiod.com, watch her wonderful video from “Aunt Flo”— and then please sign up (it's only three clicks). If you do, Seventh Generation will make a donation on your behalf to the Ovarian Cancer Research Fund.

Do it because she's funny.

Do it for me.

But if that's not enough, then do it for the 22,000 women

who'll have their world rocked with a horrifying and deadly diagnosis this year.

Do it for them.

All that and a box of chocolate

2009-08-27T06:40:00.001-04:00

Once upon a time I entered a giveaway. I was intrigued by the prize. The brilliant blogger, Cassie, promised to make a totally customized and unique gift for the winner. She would create this mystery prize based solely on information she would pull from the winner's blog. I was hooked, and I played, and I won!

My box arrived on Monday and I eagerly tore into it. Wanna know what I got?

There was literally something for everyone in the box:

For Emily: Let me introduce you to Michael Paul (brother of Michelle Paul). Emily was over the moon when she found Michael. And when I told her he wouldn't rot? That was the smile I got.

For Rachel and the Beaver McBun (aka the stupid rabbit): There were rabbit treats. Rachel is speculating that these blueberry treats are to rabbits what chocolate is to a PMS'ing woman. Next time McBeav has another false pregnancy we'll know just what to do.

Honestly, The Beav was more interested in chowing on Michael, the coconut, but Emily stopped short of letting The Beav actually chew it.

For Abby: There was some Immodium AD. Now Abby can eat fruit until she is ready to explode (and, yeah, I wrote it that way on purpose.) and the Immodium will keep her "safe."

Unfortunately, Abby has lost all of her top front teeth. What she really needed were some dentures. I don't think she could chomp into that peach if her life depended on it.

And for Hannah: A plastic snake with which to torture mommy! It's already been in my shoe, in my bed, and flung into the shower at me causing soap to get in my eyes.

Yeah. Good times. Hannah is lucky she can run really fast.

And for me? I got a rockin' t-shirt. I mentioned that getting my kids moving in the morning was like herding turtles and I also came to a complete stop in the middle of the road to save our friendly turtle, Freaker. This shirt is brilliant.

The only person in this house the brilliant blogger didn't take care of was hubs! I started to feel badly that he was so obviously left out of the gift bonanza. For a fleeting moment I felt sorry for him. But then I shook it off as I realized that living with the fabulousness that is KathyB! is more than any mortal male could ever fully appreciate... and so Cassie was just quitting while she was ahead.

Life is really good sometimes. I got a box full 'o goodies in the mail AND I get to sit with my laptop and a glass of wine and talk trash without any chance of somebody calling me on it.

I love this blog.

And thanks again to Cassie for the awesome goodies.

We've had a blast and I truly appreciate it.

I'll shut up about it after this

2009-08-26T07:03:00.000-04:00

The most common reaction I get when people hear about the kayaking trip is a groan of horror/sympathy. But you wanna know something funny?

I LOVED it.

The day of the trip I must have asked myself a thousand times what the heckity-heck I was thinking when I signed up for this. I'm certain I was surly to anyone who came within 5 feet of me, and I may have crossed into bitchy territory, but I'd never admit it. I'm still trying to convince hubs and the kids I'm perfect.

The trip was everything I feared it would be: hot, sticky, humid and hard.

But a funny thing happened. I worked my tail off. Once or twice I was literally trembling from exertion. I should have been miserable, but instead? I was energized. I can't honestly remember the last time I attacked something that physically, intellectually and emotionally intimidated me. I won, and it was invigorating. I felt as though parts of me were awakened that I didn't even realize were sleeping. Suddenly I was strong... capable... invincible. And definitely not bitchy.

I'm soaked to the skin, riddled with bug bites, and exhausted. And EXHILIRATED.

But I don't know how to do it. How do I keep this part of me alive?

Without battling imaginary snakes, of course.

That part wasn't fun at all.

I didn't mind...

2009-08-24T22:09:00.000-04:00

* The work. We paddled eight miles to the island. Holy-screaming-triceps. It was hardcore.

* The heat. The temperature was pushing 100, and it felt like the seventh circle of hell. Don't let the pictures fool you. They make the pictures look good to suck the first-timers into the vortex. It is hot, I tell you. HOT.

* The rain. I was okay with the flash-flooding. And digging drainage canals when we discovered some of the tents were literally in 4 inches of standing water. And hey, the rain took care of the heat and washed a little of the stench off of me... so it wasn't all bad.

If you look closely at the bottom of the tent where it says "Kelty" you can see a water shoe floating away. And this was taken at the beginning of the "flood." It got worse. Much. much. worse.

Actually, there were a lot of things I didn't mind: the half mile hike to the compost toilet, the camping food, the sleep deprivation, the BUGS.... I could handle all that stuff. In fact, I was enjoying myself. Loving it even.

But there was this one part...

We were getting into our kayaks for the return trip. Everyone was hot and tired and focused. There was a storm heading our way and if we didn't get out ahead of the lightning, we were going to have to paddle back to the island to wait out the storm without any shelter and then try to make the trip again. Did I mention it was an 8 mile paddle? To say we were motivated would be the understatement of the century.

So I'm out on the water in my kayak along with roughly half the girls. I'm snapping a few last photos knowing that once everyone was geared up and ready to paddle we'd be moving too fast for more. I was just stowing my camera in it's Ziploc bag when one of the girls started screaming in her kayak. I froze for a moment as I tried to process the situation. And then she screamed, "Oh, God... help me... IT'S ON ME!" In that brief moment my brain spun through a thousand different scenarios before coming to rest on the only rational conclusion:

SNAKE.

(And I don't want any snappy remarks in the comment section about how snakes don't live in the ocean. Yeah, yeah, yeah.... blah, blah, blah. And don't you DARE suggest that my irrational reaction had anything to do with sitting in the tent after all the girls were (finally) asleep telling stories about crazy animal encounters. The blog is called the world according to me for a reason. So cork it.)

Everyone was scrambling to get to her. I paddled for all I was worth and I was just closing in on her, when she flipped her boat. I was closest, so I threw common sense out the window, and jumped in, too. She was still screaming when I reached her so I grabbed her by the life jacket and tugged her to shore. At this point she'd stopped screaming and was struggling against me a little, but I was going to get her out of that water and away from that 60 foot, man-eating snake if it was the last thing I did.

By now everyone had gathered and was peppering her with questions.

Turns out there was a spider in her helmet. When she put the helmet on her head, the spider crawled out onto her face. It was a BIG spider. She was screaming and flailing trying to kill the spider when her kayak went over.

There was no snake.

I was waffling between relief that nothing was lurking in the water waiting to get me, and irritation that I was all wet and salty... when I noticed my own kayak had gone over in the pandemonium. And my fanny pack was bobbing in the briny water. I quickly scooped it up, but it had been floating for a couple minutes. As I frantically assessed the state of the camera one fact became crystal clear: I had gotten the camera back into it's Ziploc, but I didn't zip it closed. The camera was soaked.

There were a lot of things I didn't mind on that trip.

Ruining my camera wasn't one of them.

The revelation

2009-08-21T09:02:00.001-04:00

Yesterday I promised you the gory details so... We're headed sea kayaking!

On previous trips we've stayed in tent cabins and, occasionally tents. We camped but I wouldn't say we were roughing it. This trip should be a bit more interesting.

Here's a portion of the email I was sent:

Bear Island Pack List (BIPL)

(edited by KathyB! for length and to get rid of the boring stuff )

BIPL says: Fleece blanket to sleep on (NO SLEEPING BAGS and NO PILLOW allowed)

KathyB! says: Good thing my body is nice and squishy. I guess that's the benefit of carrying a couple extra pounds of chub on your body -- built in cushioning. Otherwise that would sound u-n-c-o-m-f-o-r-t-a-b-l-e.

BIPL says: One set of dry clothes to wear when not kayaking. This MUST be a LONG sleeved shirt and LONG pants to protect from bugs.

KathyB! says: Helloooo! It's, like, 90 degrees with 90% humidity. That's the equivalent of a tropical freakin' rainforest. I'm gonna die of heat stroke dressed like that. How bad can the bugs be anyway?

BIPL says: Tooth brush/paste, hair tie, small comb, bandanna. NO OTHER TOILETRIES.

KathyB! says: Um, soap? No soap?! That's just gross. Wait... I have a plan. I'll use the stench of my unbathed body to ward off the bugs. This way I won't need to pack the long pants and shirt. I can use the space that I'll save to smuggle over a bottle of wine. And yes, I know I'm brilliant. I tell myself that all the time.

BIPL says: Rain poncho. With the hurricane moving up the East Coast we expect rain and damp conditions in it's wake.

KathyB! says: About that hurricane... Is sea kayaking in the wake of a hurricane really the best idea? You're sure? Well, if you say so... I personally feel more secure knowing that I'll have ~~a flimsy sheet of plastic~~ my trusty rain poncho to protect me from the gusty rain and 14 foot waves that are predicted.

BIPL says: Girls will be getting into the tents for bed on the island as soon as the sun goes down to protect from bugs and ensure they are rested enough to make the trip.

KathyB! says: Holy crow! Are these bugs or vampires that we're dealing with? And if the girls need to be "specially rested" (they're kids! I was like the Energizer Bunny at that age!)... What does that mean for the nearly-forty-year-old-mommy who came along for the ride? Is there a powerboat trailing us that will pick up stragglers?

BIPL says: All fresh water will be carried onto the island on your kayak. DO NOT PACK ANY EXTRA GEAR as it will weigh down the kayaks and make paddling more difficult.

KathyB! says: So my plot to smuggle in a bottle of wine should be aborted? Sigh. I guess if there's no water I can understand why we don't need soap. You're going to smell me before you see me when I return from this little soiree.

BIPL says: Again, please speak with your daughter about the primitive style of this trip.

KathyB! says: Speak to my daughter?! I still have to remind her to brush her teeth every night. I think she's going to be fine. I think maybe somebody needs to speak to me about the primitive nature of this trip.

So wish me luck! I'm all packed up and ready to roll. It should be fun, right?

What could go wrong?

Here we go again

2009-08-20T06:04:00.001-04:00

This weekend I am going on another adventure with my eldest daughter's Girl Scout troop. Last time I camped with them we went to the Outer Banks. The plan was to tour a famous lighthouse, and go horseback riding on the beach.

It was an adventure and I was looking forward to it with anticipation.

***

I was most excited about the horseback ride on the beach. The day of the ride was soon upon us and the stars seemed aligned for a wonderful trip. The weather was nothing short of perfection, and the scenery was breathtaking.

The ride began as wonderfully as I had imagined it would. When we finally made it through the dunes and onto the beach I caught my breath in awe of the pristine, untouched sand sparkling in the crisp sunlight.

I was literally having the time of my life. All I can say is I must have been a little giddy when the guides asked if we wanted to let the horses "loose," because I agreed enthusiastically. The guides explained that the horses were not trail horses, and would do as we asked. If we wanted to gallop? Just give them a kick. If we felt uncomfortable? We were welcome to continue at our current walk/trot pace.

The moment the horses were given their freedom everything went wrong. One of the girls in the rear of the group was riding a pony. I have no idea exactly what happened back there. What I do know is that her pony decided it was running the Kentucky Derby. That stupid pony blasted through the group of horses in front of him at full throttle. And immediately the mellow horses on the beach were transformed into a stampeding herd.

I held my own for about 20 seconds of this bedlam before I was yelling WHOA, and yanking back on the reins for all I was worth. The horse's eyes bulged a bit as a result of my yanking and screaming, but otherwise he was unfazed. If this was the Kentucky Derby? My horse was in it to win it.

At this point I was screaming bloody murder, flying along the beach at break neck speed, and gaining on the evil pony that started this whole mess. I was also pretty sure I was going to either fall off the horse, or get a black eye. Protective helmets are important but when riding uncontrollable horses on the beach, never underestimate the importance of a sturdy bra.

In a fit of desperation I dropped the reins, grabbed hold of the horse's mane, closed my eyes, and held on for dear life. One of the guides finally caught the demon-pony and wrestled it to submission. The demon-pony stopped, and miraculously, so did the rest of the horses. The balance of the ride, thankfully, was uneventful.

***

And so here I sit. One year later. On the cusp of another adventure. I'm definitely excited. It seems like it should be the trip of a lifetime. But there's a tiny part of me wondering what in the heckity-heck I've gotten myself into this time. You have to admit, stupidity happens an awful lot around here. It's more the rule than the exception.

Wanna know where I'm going? I'll fill you in on all the gory details...

Tomorrow.

Little Shop of Horrors?!

2009-08-19T07:57:00.000-04:00

My blueberries and peaches were spirited away by birds and squirrels.

But the tomatoes?

BINGO!

If I didn't know better, I'd swear that plant was eating Hannah.

It sort of reminds me of this...

I thought I knew it all.

2009-08-17T06:25:00.000-04:00

Before I had kids I was full of all sorts of things. Mostly opinions. I thought I had it all figured out. I knew what type of mom I would be, how I would discipline my kids, and that I would never, under any circumstances, have any of those kids. Wanna guess how many of those I had correct?

Fast forward a dozen years. All the answers I thought I had? Turns out I didn't.
Yeah. I fell pretty hard off that giant pedestal I built for myself. I might have hit my head on the way down.

These days I pretty much fly by the seat of my pants and pray that I don't muck up to the point that they all wind up in therapy by the ripe old age of 14.

* * *

Since Rachel was old enough to talk she's been obsessed with horses. I diverted her attention by signing her up for every sport known to mankind. And at the conclusion of every season she asked about the horses. I tried everything I could think of but over time she wore me down. But even after I gave in and let her start riding? I still tried to talk her out of it every chance I got.

I got to take her to compete in a horse show this weekend. My heart nearly broke with pride as I watched her do something for which she clearly has such passion. The fact that she managed to get to this point in spite of the fact that I actively discouraged her humbled me.

I'm still flying by the seat of my pants, but every once in awhile I have days like yesterday. Days when I catch a glimpse of their passion. Days when I can see the fire in their spirit. Days when I catch a fleeting glimpse of the person they might become.

And I feel like I'm doing okay.

In spite of myself.

It came out better this way

2009-08-14T05:32:00.001-04:00

I was working in the classroom with a group of fifth graders. The kids had recently had their health education talk about the "changes" their bodies would soon undergo. Every parent I know took this opportunity to take things a step farther and have the talk with their kids. Inadvertently, it had turned into a week-long cornucopia of sex education. As a result, the kids were all wandering the halls with heads filled with the horror of how that baby really got into mom's tummy. None of the kids were really talking about it.

But sex education was in the air.

The kids were filling out some sort of form for middle school. It was the standard stuff: name, birth date, sex, address... The teacher was out of the room and my role was simple. All I had to do was get the kids to complete the forms and deliver them to the office. Piece of cake.

I wandered the rows casually assessing the answers provided. Until I saw this:

Name: Naive Innocent Girl

Birth date: Does it really matter?

Sex: Not yet.

I hope her answer remains the same for many years to come.

* * * * * * *

When I sat down to write this post I thought it would be funny. Yes, my jaw dropped. My eyes were like saucers. I froze. We had an awkward and embarrassing (for her anyway) conversation where I explained her misunderstanding. I was just getting ready to go back and edit my writing to highlight the funny.

But I realized that as I wrote, it didn't feel funny anymore.

It felt more like stripping away one of the last shreds of her innocence.

It feels bittersweet.

And sad.

Sometimes I just walk away

2009-08-12T06:19:00.002-04:00

Not too long ago we were on summer break and I was encouraging my girls to write about their favorite thing they'd done while away from school. I was trying to be sneaky and get the kids to write over the break without actually calling it writing. They immediately recognized it for the ploy that it was and began focusing their efforts on getting around the task rather than just getting it done.

Abby was in particularly fine form and thwarted my efforts by writing:

I love summer!! I love the hole in tire thing!

Two sentences? Wow.

I decided to go with the positive and see if I could coax more out of her. We began talking about what she wrote and I explained to her that the correct word choice was entire -- the whole entire thing. But Abby insisted I was wrong. She told me her teacher taught them about those phrases, and I'm not supposed to take everything I read so litterly (her word - I didn't even try to correct it). We went around and around... but Abby wasn't budging. And no amount of logic or reasoning could change her mind. After 11 years of Swiss cheese logic and irrational conversations you'd think I'd be used to this. But I'm not.

Eventually, I threw in the towel (see Abby? I get it. I didn't actually throw any towels) ~~and admitted she was brilliant and my meager brain was no match for her clear mental superiority~~ and told her to ask her second grade teacher when school started.

* * *

Monday afternoon Abby brought her weekly folder home from school and it was filled with the product of last week's school efforts. And there it was again. The hole in tire thing. Complete with teacher correction.

I mentioned this to Abby and was mildly surprised when she let out a heavy sigh as she shook her head in disappointment and gazed reflectively at her feet. She said, "I know, Mom. I was so surprised. She got it wrong just like you.... If she's not careful she might really confuse us kids... It's a good thing I've got it straight."

Um, yeah. Good thing.

I'd love to be a fly on the wall when she explains this one to her teacher.

I expect I'll hear about it shortly.

Hannah say what?

2009-08-10T03:33:00.000-04:00

When my kids ~~conscientiously place their dirty clothes~~ fling their clothing into the laundry basket, 99.9% of the time they can be sure to over-shoot their socks and/or underwear. And by overshooting, they guarantee the clothing will be eternally trapped in the no-man's land that is the 4.5 inches between the washer and the wall.

You know the spot. It's tight enough that you can't do more than stick your arm in the gap, but the gap is long enough that you just... can't... reach the stuff that's fallen in there.

I let the menagerie of laundry build up as long as I can. But after awhile the basket full of lonely socks staring longingly at me as I sort the darks from the whites gets the better of me.

So Friday I had my arm wedged in the gap. I couldn't quite reach. I jammed my shoulder into the crevice as far as it would go. I hoisted my butt into the air and angled myself down as hard as I could. My shoulder shrieked in pain. At this point my rump was flying high and proud like the American flag on the 4th of July. It wasn't attractive, but I could almost reach... I pushed a little harder and felt the washer shift against my weight... so close...

Just then three of my kids waltzed into the laundry room, and before I even registered their presence Hannah said:

Hannah: Man, mom! That should be illegal! You could break a bone doing that!

KathyB!: ((furiously)) What the heck is that supposed to mean?

Hannah: ((looking confused and clearly unaware of whatever she just stepped in))

KathyB!: ((mentally scrolling through all the snappy retorts I could fling at her if she wasn't 9... and wondering why acting like an adult never feels good))

Hannah: I don't know, mom... What did I say?! When the guy said it on tv everybody laughed.

***

Hannah finished collecting the socks and unders from the impossible gap.

It was trickier than it looked to get those socks and unders.

She didn't break any bones.

And it was totally legal.

Value

2009-08-07T05:17:00.005-04:00

Yesterday it seemed as though every blog I visited was discussing the fact that it costs $221,000 to raise a child to age 17.

I have four kids.

That means, hypothetically, I'm out $900,000.

I spent the day listening to my eldest daughter moan about being bored. So that I could spend the afternoon in meetings. So that I could volunteer to do things that, most days, I don't want to do. So that I could glower at my children during the meetings as they giggled just a little too loudly. So that I could come home and have one of my children pitch a royal tantrum - directed at me - for something I had absolutely nothing to do with. So that I could send her to her room until dinner. And listen to her bemoan her tragic fate.

I got all that for $900,000. Yeah. I'm that good.

Then I did the math:

* 4 kids x 17 years = 68 years

* 7+7+9+11 (their current ages) = 34 years

* I'm basically 1/3 of the way through the specified years.

* 1/3 of $900,000 is $300,000.

That means I have $300,000 in equity

So I'm wondering...

Should I post them "for sale"

And hang this sign over the front door?

(Ignoring egregious grammatical errors, of course)

I have a lot of equity

I could be flexible on the price.

My family tree

2009-08-06T06:05:00.001-04:00

Do you ever watch your kids and, you know, wonder?

If they're a few fries short of a Happy Meal....

Or, if that time they fell on their head while learning to walk was more serious than it looked...

Most days I think my kids are pretty stinkin' brilliant, thank-you-very-much. But every once in awhile, well, I have to wonder. I'd been noticing lately that a lot of the clothes coming through the laundry basket were covered in cherry juice. I didn't think much of it until yesterday when I saw Emily leaning over the sink. At first glance I thought she'd cut herself and was trying to wash up. I rushed over to her in concern.

Turns out, she just can't spit. Seriously.

And it has nothing to do with the missing teeth, either.

She just....

can't.....

spit...

She was tearing the cherries apart to remove the seeds and, in the process of shoving them in her mouth, leaving a sloppy trail of cherry juice all over her hands, face and clothes. I guess I know who was loading the laundry basket with cherry-stained clothes.

***

Emily and Abby may look exactly like me.

But they clearly act more like their father.

Snakes on a plane in the pool

2009-08-04T08:16:00.002-04:00

Yesterday I gave you some background on our pool and it's magnet-like ability to attract frogs and snakes. I really needed you to appreciate my state of mind when I approach the pool and contemplate peeking into the skimmer basket. The vast majority of the time I pop it open and find only cute little frogs. But every once in awhile, when I start to feel complacent....

I was standing by the pool preparing to check the skimmer basket . I was alternating between saying little prayers that it would be empty and berating myself for being such a big wuss. DH was out of town, and he was going to be gone for a solid seven days. Sometimes I just ignore stuff while he's gone, but not for a whole week. I sighed in resignation and had just hunched over and pulled the lid off the skimmer basket when I noticed a long, black tail sticking out and floating in the pool. I gave a muffled shriek of dismay and dropped the lid to the ground with a loud bang.

Inside the basket, swimming against the downward swirl of the water, was a long, black snake.

I took a moment to ponder the fact that this sort of crap happens almost exclusively when my husband is out of town. I figured I had two choices: I could leave the snake there swimming futilely against the current to eventually drown. Or I could grab the pool net and try to fish him out.

I'm a lot of things, but heartless isn't one of them. And besides it wasn't a poisonous snake, so what could go wrong? I grabbed the net and gingerly tried to lift the snake from the skimmer. It worked, but it worked a little too well. The snake new exactly what to do, and when presented with the net's pole he he wound himself rapidly around the handle and began worming his way towards me at lightning speed. I froze momentarily in total panic, but there's nothing like the prospect of a snake crawling up your arm to ~~make you wet your pants~~ jolt you into action.

I try to act like an adult most of the time, but every once in awhile the veneer cracks and I morph into, I don't know, it's like a cartoon character version of myself. So I screamed, and trust me when I say that I can put a B-list actress in a cheesy slasher flick to shame with my vocal talents. And then I hucked the snake and the pool net as far away from me as I possibly could. Except it didn't go very far. The whole lot of it -- the snake and the net -- ended up in the pool.

In addition to trying to act like an adult I also try to be a good role model. Not that day. There was a blue cloud of profanity hanging over my head by that point. I think I might have invented a few new cuss words. Sailors the world over were proud. I finally got the net back using my legs (hello! legs in the pool with swimming snake! I should really get a medal here) and a swim noodle. I tried the snake removal again, and it was like deja vu. The snake came up the pole, I screamed like a girl, I hucked the whole mess like a javelin, again, for all I was worth...

Except this time I pitched it away from the pool.

I hurled some more creative profanity at the snake

as I retreated to the house on wobbly legs.

And I sent the kids into the woods to retrieve the net.

Remember that snake story I promised to tell you?

2009-08-03T09:05:00.000-04:00

Well, you need a little background first. You need to understand the evil that regularly lurks waiting for me in the pool...

About a year ago, a month or so after our pool was complete, my husband was traveling and I was in charge of cleaning the pool's skimmer basket. There was torrential rain the night before. I tell you this because soon after the rain ceases a veritable orchestra begins. One frog begins with a tenuous chirp and in a matter of minutes the woods are filled with the cacophonous croaking and chirping of what sounds like at least a thousand frogs. Apparently, the increase in water makes conditions suitable for breeding so the males croak to attract female frogs for mating. Female frogs think croaking is very sexy. I think the croaking is very LOUD.

When we first moved to NC I envisioned the kids playing in the shallow creek behind the house. I fantasized about the hours they would spend with nets scooping frogs, and toads and minnows. It never even occurred to me that we had moved into a giant, all-you-can-eat buffet for SNAKES! Because you see, snakes just adore eating frogs. And based upon the racket the frogs were making there was no doubt the buffet was open for business. The really, really bad news is that when the buffet is open the snakes chase the frogs, and the frogs end up trying to escape into our swimming pool. Guess where the snakes end up?

I headed down to the pool with trepidation, and spent several minutes assessing the situation.

This is what s skimmer basket looks like. See the lid? You have to put your fingers in there and there's no way to see what's hiding in there waiting to get you...

In order to get the lid off of the skimmer basket I had to stick my finger into a hole in the lid to pull it off. Of course you can't see through the lid to see if any unwanted visitors are in there with your finger. So essentially you are sticking your top two knuckles into a black hole with God-only-knows-what waiting to have a go your defenseless finger. As long as the pool pump is on it creates a bit of a whirlpool in the skimmer basket. It would be difficult for a snake to overcome the current and reach up to get me, but still... Stranger things have happened in the world according to me.

So this fine morning I tried everything before actually removing the lid. I stuck my eye right up to the hole to see if I could spot anything. Of course when you push your face up to the hole like that light can't get in, thus making it impossible to see. So I tried to pry the lid off with a stick, but the stick broke. I tried the handle of a rake, but it was too straight and the lid kept crashing down before I could see anything. At this point I had wasted a good 20 minutes dancing around the skimmer basket and accomplishing nothing. I was feeling more than a little silly at this point so I decided to just stick my finger in there and hope for the best. Unfortunately, the second I got my finger into that hole there was an ear splitting screech from some sort of construction going on across the street. I don't normally consider myself to be jumpy, but the timing was horrible. I flung the solid brass lid to the skimmer about 20 feet in the air above my head, and then had to duck and cover to avoid getting whacked as it returned to Earth. At this point I am on my back in the wet grass, fairly soggy, a brass skimmer cover laying roughly two feet from my head and feeling like a huge idiot.

I have to tell you that there actually was a snake (he was dead. But really? Does that make any difference) in the skimmer basket that morning. It was third we'd found in the pool.

Five a day keeps the doctor away

2009-07-31T06:39:00.000-04:00

I love summer fruits. North Carolina is littered with road side fruit stands overflowing with produce at the peak of freshness. It's irresistible. And so it is that we've been gorging ourselves on tomatoes and peaches and blueberries and cherries and melon and corn.... It's heaven.

Yesterday one of my daughters was feeling a little "loosey-goosey" before school. That's code in the world according to me for intestinal issues. She had no other symptoms of illness whatsoever. I was 99% sure that it was just first-week-of-school jitters, so I said a little prayer for both my daughter and her teacher. Because nothing starts the school year off right like uncontrollable diarrhea... I was relieved when she made it home without incident.

She sat after school slurping on a sweet, juicy peach when a very loud, rude noise vibrated through the air. She finished the peach and reached for a handful of cherries. And then there was that noise again. And then I had an epiphany:

KathyB!: How much fruit have you eaten today, anyway?

FruitChomper: Well, that was my third peach... and I had blueberries at snack... and maybe I had some cherries, too... There might have been more.

KathyB!: I think you need to seriously lay off the fruit. No more fruit!

FruitChomper: (( emitting another wretched noise and a foul smell ))

KathyB!: No. more. fruit.

Fruitchomper: Okay, mom. You might be right. I think if I toot again poop's gonna come out. I thought fruit was good for me. Why is this happening?!

And so it is that we got a powerful lesson in moderation...

5 a day might keep the doctor away,

but eat more than six and you're asking for it.

Lessons in shopping for school supplies

2009-07-30T03:41:00.002-04:00

* Do take a Xanax 30 minutes before entering Target. I've never had any myself, but I'm 99% certain it will help.

* Don't fool yourself into thinking that the signs screaming "SALE" mean that you'll leave the store without needing to sell a kidney to finance your purchases.

* Don't assume the Back to School aisles are in the same space/time continuum as the rest of the planet. 60 minutes in there is like 60 years.

* Do consider wearing your bicycle helmet. Even though you can't technically ride your bike to Target because you'd never be able to carry the 72 bags of needed items home on your handlebars, the helmet will protect you from falling school supplies. Three-ring binders fell onto my head not once... not twice... but three times as I was scrounging through the lower bins in an attempt to find the elusive $1.00 box of Crayola markers.

* Do consider steel toed boots as well. I know it'll look odd with your shorts and tank top, but you already look like a freak walking around Target with your bicycle helmet jauntily strapped to your head. Everyone will be too busy wondering why you didn't take it off to notice your feet, so go for it. When the ~~pack of unruly heathens~~ kids pushing shopping carts take the corner at mach 20 and run over your foot you won't even cringe. If you were wearing flip-flops you'd be hopping around like the Easter Bunny. Or at least I think you would. It's not like any of this happened to me.

* Don't underestimate the the lure of cheap office supplies. Remember my steel toed boot suggestion? Well, Kevlar body armor might be just the key to completing your ensemble. Why? Because those cheap pencils and erasers are like crack to senior citizens. There were more 80 year-olds than there were kids in those aisles... I got slammed in the butt by a shopping cart and was preparing to turn around and shoot some wound up little twerp with my evil-mommy-look -of-death when I realized the kid who rammed me was actually a 90 year-old man (give or take a decade).

* Don't be offended when the sweet little old man who can barely see over the top of the shopping cart tries to apologize for ramming his cart half-way up your butt by saying, "Oh! Oh! I'm so sorry I hit you, young lady! I thought I could fit through there. I really didn't think it was that big.... (pause) ...The cart! The cart is big! I didn't mean your keister is big. I meant the cart."

* Do rip open the pack of composition books and a package of pens. You need to make notes so you'll remember exactly how that just went down.

Impotence

2009-07-28T06:06:00.000-04:00

Given that yesterday was the first day of school I offer you, my beloved readers, the requisite back-to-school photo.

But something is wrong! Why are three children sporting new backpacks, freshly combed hair, and grins of anticipation laced with a tinge of anxiety while one is...

Moppy-headed and still in her pajamas?!

I'll start by saying that I love the year round school calendar and I think it is educationally superior to a traditional calendar for a variety of reasons. That was the disclaimer.

We live in Wake County, North Carolina and the schools here are so screwed up I can't even articulate the mess. Actually, I take that back. The schools themselves are fine, in fact I love the school we've attended since moving here and have nothing but glowing remarks for the teachers and administration, but the administration at the school board level sucks. Case in point: My youngest three are on a year round calendar but my eldest, who is attending middle school this fall, is now on a traditional calendar. She'll be home for the next month while her sisters are in school... And in October, when the other three are out for almost a month? She'll be in school.

There are some pros and cons to the situation, and I am nothing if not a glass-half-full kinda person... but this? Even I can't make it good.

This morning as the (three) girls were getting ready for school I had this conversation with Rachel:

Rachel: <heavy sigh> I always felt like we were a team... The Belinski girls... Like we were in stuff together.

KathyB!: You are a team, sweetie. That's the best thing about having all those sisters. It's special, and you will always be there for each other. No matter what. <gives big hug>

Rachel: Except I'm not part of the team anymore. It's kinda like I got cut. I'm separate now.

KathyB!: Oh sweetie.... <more hugs>

Rachel: It's okay, mom. I know you have to tell me that it's a good thing. But I'm old enough now.... you don't have to pretend with me like when I was little...

KathyB!: <spinning internally on so many levels. And silent...>

***

I expected to feel impotent as my daughter entered middle school. I expected to feel powerless and weak in the face of mean girls and peer pressure and hormones.

I did not expect that the board of education would deem that my child not go to school with the children with whom she attended elementary school. I did not expect to spend the next month scrambling to make connections so that she'll at least recognize a few faces on the first day of school. I did not expect that the school board would put her on a schedule that would be hugely incompatible with the rest of the family, or that they would deny all of my appeals. I did not expect to feel so frustrated and powerless and impotent as my children, at least most of them, headed to school this morning.

***

I know this sort of vitriolic spouting isn't why most of you come here. And yes, I wrote the letters, I appealed the decisions twelve ways from Sunday, I quite literally pleaded with the powers that be and I exhausted all recourse. Make no mistake, this is a very complicated situation, and I understand that it's bigger than me.

And yet, for me it's quite simple. My job is to take care of my children and foster an environment that nurtures our family, and I take that job more seriously than I usually express.

And for the first time in my life...

I'm impotent.

Summer's last hurrah

2009-07-27T06:39:00.001-04:00

My kids are back to school today and I'm a little sad because I wasn't quite finished with summer. In an effort to close summer break with a bang, we headed to the beach on Saturday. When we arrived, parking was a beast. We eventually got a spot, but I had to be at my sneaky best to make it happen. This was probably the first indicator that "things" were not going my way.

The second sign came after we had lubed the kids with sunscreen and sent them off to play. I sat back in my chair and breathed deeply of the salty ocean breeze. As the fragrance-laden air filled my lungs I put my arms behind my head and relaxed. I took in the crisp blue sky, the crashing waves, the myriad assortment of people around me, and let go of my thoughts.

The family next to me was setting up their spot in the sand and as I turned my head to watch them I nearly screamed. What could yank me from the cusp of relaxation? I caught sight of my underarms. Apparently I'd taken pains to ensure freshly-shaved legs, and neglected another critical area. Fabulous. In addition to driving a minivan, having stretch marks, and being 15 pounds heavier than I was in my 20's, I can now add questionable personal hygiene -- in public-- to the list of things that would never happen to me.

I quickly pressed my arms to my body and decided it was time to go play in the surf. After all, if you're up to your neck in water no one can asess the status of your armpits, right? I headed for the waves and was pleasantly surprised. Wrightsville Beach has been experiencing abnormally high surf and the waves were huge. My family played together for awhile, but I was secretly happy when they left to get some watermelon...

I must have been body surfing for half an hour when I mis-timed a wave and got my ass handed to me on a silver platter. Sometimes when you're getting rolled by a wave you literally don't know which end is up. I briefly felt my legs kicking spastically to propel me to the surface... and yet had the odd sensation that my feet were actually above the surface. Right about the time I figured out that up was really down I had two more realizations: 1) The water was pulling me insistently in warning that I was about to get slammed again, and 2) I was about to lose the bottom of my bathing suit.

Sure enough, the second wave hit and the next thing I knew I was scrambling my half-naked self into a standing position. As I righted myself, I frantically scanned the surface for my bathing suit bottom. I debated whether to enlist the help of the swimmers around me. I chose to share my predicament when I contemplated making the half-naked walk of shame all the way to our beach area.

The people around me were kind enough not to ask questions, and immediately began scanning the frothy waves for my black bathing suit. Luck was on my side as one of the surfers near me spotted my suit and yelled to his friend at the top of his lungs, "Dude! Mike! Grab those pants! Those black things... Dude!! The lady lost her pants!"

Thanks for sharing. Now the entire beach knows that I've lost my pants. My humiliation is complete.

Fortunately, my bathing suit bottoms were recovered. Luckily, I remained chest deep in churning ocean water through the entire ordeal and was able to re-suit myself without exposing myself.

And I don't think anyone noticed my armpits either.

Double bonus.

Mixing Bowl

2009-07-24T09:09:00.002-04:00

There are lots of things I love about summer: lazy mornings and loose schedules, the smell of my kids' sun-kissed, brown bodies after a day at the pool, the sweet nectar of summer's fruit... These are the main ingredients of my summer.

Unfortunately, summer has a few ingredients that are rather bitter as well: ~~obnoxious children who pick on their sisters until fists are flying~~ bickering kids, ~~a constant parade of humanity marching constantly in and out of my house and eating all of the food~~ scheduling insanity, ~~unimaginative kids who have lost the ability to entertain themselves for 5 minutes~~ the occasional bout of boredom. And that's okay... really. I mean, what would ice cream be if you didn't add the salt?! You'd just have mush. I like to think the bitter ingredients balance the sweetness and keep it from becoming overwhelming.

The real problem is, there's no recipe for summer.

I just keep dumping stuff in the mixing bowl and hoping for the best. Every year I throw the same ingredients into the same bowl. And some days I get a brilliant fusion of flavors that dance on my metaphorical tongue.

And some days it's just crap.

On a decidedly better note, I've been eating like a queen all summer thanks to the fantabulous recipes on these blogs. If you aren't already regular readers you are seriously missing out. I've tried their recipes, and you know what? I never get crap...

The Ungourmet

The Kitchen Witch

The Good Cook

Chubby little kid butts

2009-07-23T03:09:00.001-04:00

On most days I can look at my life and I can see the situations in which I find myself, and I can appreciate the humor (or stupidity). Sometimes it's cute and sometimes it's hilarious, and occasionally it's shocking.

And then other days? I don't appreciate anything... It's just. not. fun.

Yesterday was one of those days.

* I was yanked from my peaceful slumber at 4:00 AM by a daughter who had a bad dream and she scared me so badly coming down the stairs that I couldn't go back to sleep after the nearly fatal heart attack I'd just suffered. This was actually kind of funny, but I'm too busy being a grouch to tell it right.

* I sat by the pool playing lifeguard for 5 hours.

* I got eaten alive by mosquitoes (which honestly never happens).

* I was hot and sweaty and cranky from chaperoning in the pool all day and somehow I got bamboozled into having a a sleepover at my house. And I have this thing where I give my all during the day. 110%. But after 8:00? That's MOMMY TIME. Sleepovers often cause me to forgo MOMMY TIME and over-shoot my bedtime. Did I mention I was up at 4:00 AM?

* I had nothing to feed the sleeping-over-child for dinner except A LOT of watermelon (really, there was some other stuff, but mostly it was watermelon).

* And hubby is traveling. Everything is always harder when you have to go it alone.

I was crankily parading around in a funk while pretending that I was happy when I waltzed by my computer that was playing it's random-picture-screen saver-thing-a-ma-jig, and I saw this:

That makes me happy.

Even on the worst days...

Apparently

2009-07-21T00:12:00.000-04:00

In North Carolina we get the craziest rain. It's not like regular rain. When the term "torrential downpour" was coined I'm pretty sure they were talking about the type of rain we get here. Today we got one of those rains, and the result was minor flash flooding everywhere.

Apparently, water running EVERYWHERE requires that moms and kids make paper boats and float them around the neighborhood.

Sadly, the boats didn't last long...

Apparently, the logs we use as a bridge over the creek got squishy in the rain because one of them broke when I was crossing. And yes, I fell into the stupid water.

There were, like, 27 logs there and I stepped on the ONE that wasn't sturdy. I refuse to believe that my weight was a factor.

Apparently, my boots were enough to ward off any encounters with snakes. I was scared to death some slimy serpents might be loose in all of that water. *shudder* On the flip side, I did walk into the most ginormous-freaking-spider web I have ever seen (actually I didn't see it. If I'd seen it I would've gone around it rather than through it). And I might have screamed a little while jumping in circles and clawing at my hair. I might have been afraid there was a grapefruit-sized spider going for my throat. Rachel might have told me to "get a grip." I might have restrained myself from shoving her into the creek. Barely.

Apparently, if you fall into the creek trying to save one of the boats the muddy banks will make it nearly impossible to climb out:

Hannah: Help me! I'm trapped.

KathyB!: You have to try, sweetie.

Hannah: I can't. I'm stuck.

KathyB!: Climb, Hannah...

Hannah: I can't, mom I'm really stuck.... You need to come down and get me.

KathyB!: Seriously, Hannah?! If I climb down there and I get stuck, too, then we are both going to be down there. Abby is going to have to go home and call 911 to get us out of the stupid creek. That would just be ridiculous...

Hannah: Yeah I suppose you'd kinda look like an idiot.

KathyB!: < I was thinking we'd look stupid together, but thanks for clarifying... >

KathyB!: That's great, Hannah. Now, grab my hand and climb. out. of the creek...

Yes, she's crying. And in her defense, that bank is close to four feet of liquid mud. There was no way to get a foothold and it was A LOT harder to climb up than it looked.

Apparently, there IS fun stuff to do on a rainy day, you just have to...

*Fall on your ass in a stream,

*Have one daughter tell you to "get a grip,"

*Have another daughter insist you strand yourself with her in a swollen stream.

Or, you could just head to Target...

and get a jump on your back to school shopping...

And call it a day.

This is why I don't play sports

2009-07-20T08:14:00.003-04:00

Last night I was getting Hannah settled for the night. Hannah loves tumbling and has a gymnastic mat in the middle of her room. I wish I could explain what it is about that stupid mat that inspires me to bust a move . It just does. And so now we have stories that start like this: "Hey, mom! Remember that time you were teaching me how to do a back handspring and you...."

Anywho, Hannah does this thing at bedtime where, just as I'm about to leave, she'll say, "Hey, mommy?" But then she doesn't really have anything else. And she'll do it 15 times if I let her. In my heart I know she does it because she's happy and enjoying the moment and she doesn't want the day to end. In my head it makes me a little nuts.

I have these funny little made-up songs that I've been singing to the kids since they were tiny babies. The lyrics change almost on a daily basis. I've been trying to get out of Hannah's room without the "hey, mommies" by singing outrageous things and making her giggle as I slip out the door. It worked for awhile, but lately I've had to get more creative. Sometimes I'll do gymnastics. Nothing too fancy, but she gets a kick out of watching my nearly middle-aged body try to contort itself into the shape of my youth.

In an attempt to keep my act fresh, I threw in some ballet moves last night. I pirouetted and twirled... and concluded with a graceful landing on the mat. In my head it looked something like this:

In reality it was a little clumsy. And my landing was a little... off. And a strange popping noise shot from my calf - sort of like the sound of snapping fingers.

I guess overall it was a success. After convincing Hannah I was okay she just about fell out of bed laughing. I escaped with no "hey, mommies."

***

We live in a community where we have access to golf and tennis. Every so often DH encourages me to take up one of those sports, and now I know why I always decline: If I can hurt myself tucking my kid into bed can you imagine the damage I could do to myself and others with a tennis racket?

Or worse yet... a golf club?

Another lesson learned.

2009-07-16T03:06:00.001-04:00

Do not give your child control of the garden hose on a hot, summer day unless you are standing close to the faucet so that you can turn the water off quickly if the hose should "accidentally" be directed at you.

If some child did have the audacity to blast you, point-blank, with a hose full of cold water do not run around shrieking like a banshee, as the child might confuse your running and shrieking as playing along. Even though you're fully clothed. Even though you are demanding she STOP.

Lesson 296: Sometimes it is much easier to do the chores yourself than it is to enlist the help of playful children.

This is the end, at least for now...

2009-07-15T03:44:00.000-04:00

By show of hands - how many people are sick of hearing about my critter invasion?

That's what I thought. I swear, it's starting to feel like Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom around here. So despite the fact that I have a hilarious story about a recent encounter between myself and a black snake in the swimming pool... plus another good squirrel story... I'll give it a rest.

Right after I finish this post.

I'm sad to say that the birds gobbled up all the baby frogs. Really, it's been like a frog buffet around here. I know the whole circle of life thing, but it's still kinda sad. We actually went looking for them today and the bad news is we couldn't find a single one. The good news is their ~~good for nothin free loading parents who can't be bothered to use the stream behind the house like they're supposed to~~ adult counterparts were swimming happily in our pool. As usual.

Trust me when I say it's better to get them out when they're alive than it is to scoop them out dead. Blech.

Except today the kids didn't rescue the frogs. They played with them.

They built elaborate boats for the frogs.

And zoomed them back and forth for hours.

I know there were a lot of people yesterday that swore this was bad news...

who were mortified by all the slimy frogs...

But I sat by the pool for 3 1/2 hours and read books. No one asked for snack or drinks. Frankly, no one even talked to me. It was as if a babysitter had taken the kids for the afternoon. It was that peaceful.

And then I held up my end of the bargain and made the kids release the frogs while they were still healthy and viable and able to make more baby frogs.

And that was peaceful, too.

Maybe I should apologize?!

2009-07-14T04:09:00.000-04:00

I guess when I said yesterday that Mother Nature could bite me I might have been a little rude. But I was frustrated. I was really looking forward to all that yummy fruit.

That was my lame-o attempt at an apology.

I bet you're wondering why I'm apologizing.

Well you know what?

When I told Mother Nature to bite me... she did.

Literally.

Well, not me... but my garden. Again.

First she sent the deer to bite the flowers off my hydrangea.

<--Before

After -->

Then she sent a squirrel to nip at my tomatoes...

and pop out from under the deck...

and run over my bare foot in it's frenzy to escape.

Yes, I screamed.

Next I noticed that my flower beds were missing a lot of, well... flowers.

I wasn't sure what was happening.

I contemplated a shot of Miracle-Gro.

Not for me. For the plants.

And then I saw him:

Except he looked more like this by the time I raced downstairs

and shooed him away:

Seriously.

A Ground-flipping-hog is gobbling up what's left of my garden. Apparently yesterday, when I told Mother Nature to bite me, she decided she needed to go beyond the veggies and get the flowers, too. Hit me where it hurts.

I may be a soccer mom, but even I know a throw-down when I see one. This was war. I started plotting to remove the screens from my windows so that I could throw things from the kitchen when the critters came to graze. I had my melon-baller lined up and ready to sacrifice as the first casualty since I don't really use it much. It makes nice little fruit circles and all, but I never know what to do with the melon that's too close to the rind for balling... Stupid melon baller deserved to go.

I guess the thought of KathyB! throwing kitchen implements out the window at Bambi and Thumper made Mother Nature pause. Because instead of more hungry critters?

Mother Nature sent me these. Hundreds of them. Literally.

The world's tiniest little frogs.

That frog is on the tip of my youngest daughter's finger, and her finger tip is small. The frogs don't appear to be hurting anything....

And if they're harmless?

They must be a peace offering.

Mother Nature can bite me

2009-07-13T03:56:00.000-04:00

I really try.

I recycle. I turn the water off when I brush my teeth. I use those stupid, curly, compact-fluorescent light bulbs that turn the colors of my home a strange off-shade of normal. I freeze in the winter and roast in the summer in the name of energy conservation. I'm pretty sure I do other things, too, but I'm too cranky right now to brainstorm. I don't really enjoy any of these things, but I do them because it's the right thing to do. So you'd think Mother Nature would want to reward me. You know, throw me a bone.

I have five blueberry bushes in the backyard.

The spring was promising and I'd hoped for a bountiful season.

This is what I got:

All because this guy:

came and ate all of the green berries before they got to turn blue

I struggled through the grief from the loss of my precious blueberry crop by focusing on the 67 luscious peaches ripening on my peach trees. Yes, I counted them. No, I didn't name them. I'm not a total nut case. Unfortunately, when I got home from Colorado last week I discovered

all of the peaches were gone.

Thanks, Mother Nature. I'm glad you didn't put yourself out on my account. I'll keep doin' what I'm doin' because I'm all about doing the right thing. I'm defective like that.

But Mother Nature? You and I are not talking.

Not until I get some fruit.

Snowmass IQ

2009-07-10T10:07:00.004-04:00

KathyB!: Your zipper is stuck. Quit yanking on it like that or you're really going to gum it up. Do you need help?

Child: But I have to get it down. I have to go to the bathroom NOW!

KathyB!: Yes, but your shirt is caught. If you keep forcing it like that....

Child: <furiously yanking zipper with all her strength> HELP MEEE!

KathyB!: I'm trying to help you, but you have to hold still. And you have to quit pulling on that zipper. I can't even get my hand in there to...

Child: <doing her best impersonation of the Lucky Charms Leprechaun as she dances around in circles and wanks on the zipper like nobody's business>

KathyB! Seriously. Let me help you. You have to hold still. I can't see what I'm doing when you're hopping around....

Child: AGHHHHH!

KathyB!: Oh, for cryin' out loud.... <tackles child and frees zipper>

Did I not say hold still? Did I not say to quit with the pulling on the zipper? There are some days when the ridiculousness of being a parent wears on me. Days when I feel as though I am way too smart to be doing what I'm doing. Days when I'm pretty sure I'm the smartest person in the room. By a long shot.

***

The other night we were enjoying a nice dinner out with family and my brother-in-law ordered a drink called the Snowmass IQ. He asked, rhetorically, what we thought about the name, and I quickly replied, "If you drink one you'll feel like a genius. If you drink two you'll look like a fool." The drinks were delivered and there was some lighthearted joking about how I got to be so knowledgeable about the Snowmass IQ.

My brother-in-law had taken maybe two sips of the drink when he knocked over his water glass.

I giggled to myself. Maybe the Snowmass IQ was more potent that I thought.

We cleaned up the mess and the incident was forgotten as we admired the natural beauty of our surroundings: brilliant sunshine, mountains jutting defiantly skyward, crisp air, the distant crashing of the river... At this point my brother-in-law, who had consumed maybe a quarter of the drink and weighs in at an athletic 6'3 and 225 lbs, offered to take our picture. We handed him the camera and positioned ourselves for the photo. My brother-in-law angled the camera in preparation, and then paused to announce, "Wow. This camera's a lefty. Hmph."

He was holding the camera backwards. Looking through the actual camera lens rather than the viewfinder.

Being the kind person that I am, I only zinged him a little.

My brother-in-law let his wife finish the Snowmass IQ.

***

I've often thought consumption of alcoholic beverages might be the link to effective parenting, but I think I can finally appreciate the nuance of this theory. Not just any old alcoholic beverage will do. It's gotta be the Snowmass IQ.

The Snowmass IQ would have helped me solve the zipper problem in record time by giving me the intellect of a 6 year old.

And if it didn't actually solve the problem I'm sure I would've felt a lot... happier. Regardless of the outcome.

It's safe to call me brilliant again!

2009-07-09T09:48:00.004-04:00

Have you ever lost control of your child?

Have you ever tried to put your child in time-out only to have them leave their spot the minute you turn your back?

Have you ever wished for ~~a couple of freaking minutes of quiet! I mean, is it really that much to ask?!~~ a few precious moments of peace?

If you answered yes to any of these questions, then I have just the thing for you!

I'm calling it the KCD, or Kid Containment Device.

Simply insert your wound-up, mouthy or out-of-control child into the convenient strap and hang from the nearest tree. It's perfect, too, because the children think it's all fun and games until it's too late to escape. Notice the dejected face of the child in the strap as compared to the happy bouncing of the child on the ground who is anticipating her turn. The bouncing child has no idea...

Brilliance.

Disclaimer:

- I did not punish my children by hanging them from a tree, and I certainly wouldn't recommend it. All the cousins took turns doing this until the eldest cousin was too tired to lift anymore kiddo-o's. Those little whackadoodles were having the time of their lives and would have stayed there all night if they had their way...

You guys are good!

2009-07-06T12:19:00.003-04:00

We are definitely in Colorado.

We're in Aspen.

Isn't this photo beautiful? I love the sunny wildflowers in the forefront and the ominous gray clouds in the background. Well, I love it in the picture anyway.

I might have gotten a little wet shortly after that picture was taken.

And the lightning on the ridge might have caused my horse to rear up....

But it sure was fun.

I'll be home soon and then I'll be able to tell you all about it...

Clue #2

2009-07-03T10:55:00.003-04:00

I wander near I wander far

I couldn't get here inside my car

I went by No Name

A town of some fame

But I still hadn't arrived

Just the same.

condron.us.com

Where in the world is KathyB!?!

2009-07-02T09:32:00.004-04:00

I'm on the road again.

This is a sign I passed on my way.

Any ideas where I might be?!

From now on you can call me MacGyver

2009-06-30T03:30:00.002-04:00

I got a lot of questions about the dress and what exactly I did to it. First of all, let me preface my explanation by saying that I don't sew. I've tried. Honestly. I even have a sewing machine that my mother diligently tried to teach me to use. Let's just say that after a couple hours of "teaching" my mom suggested that I give it up. She's a very patient woman.

So to summarize, I can do buttons but anything else exceeds my skill level.

The first thing I had to do was remove these from the dress:
My daughter has a very athletic build. Translation: she's flat as a pancake. She put this dress on and was parading around the house. My husband was caught by surprise when she came around the corner. His jaw dropped, his eyes bugged out and he grabbed me by the elbow and yanked me into the kitchen to ask, "What in the heck...! Her chest?! That didn't just... happen. Did it?!"

Honestly, that reaction was almost worth the fire drill that the rest of my evening became. Of course, I had to tear the inner seam to remove my daughter's newly found b-cup prowess. I made a clean tear, but the seam was continuing to further unravel without any real encouragement. It clearly needed to be re-sewn, but wait... I don't do that.

So I stapled it closed.

I needed about four staples to repair each cup. Can you see the first one?! It gets better.

Once the boobies got deflated the whole top half of the dress sagged. Suddenly the arm holes were too long, the empire waist was at her regular waist... Clearly the shoulder straps needed to be shortened... At 9:00 PM the night before graduation. Did I mention I can't sew?

Fortunately, this is the world according to me, and in my corner of the world lack of ability doesn't ~~usually~~ hold me back. I improvised. I pinched up the excess fabric and tied it off with a brown, elastic hair-tie. Then I did the only stitch I know, the-sew-a-button-on-a-shirt-stitch, to tack the offending fabric to the shoulder.

And of course the finishing touch was the camisole that she wore underneath. I wanted to cover some of the skin that was showing, but I also needed to protect her from the staples all over her chest.

One of yesterday's commenters inferred that the dress was MacGyver'd together.

She had no idea.

Famous last words

2009-06-29T03:00:00.001-04:00

I Will Never...

* Have all four of my children at the same school again

* Understand how I got so lucky as to be the mom of such a sweet and wonderful kid

* Figure out where the time went

* Have kids who are too young for middle school

* Fail to recognize the gifts with which I am blessed

* Comprehend why the Juniors section at Kohl's looks suspiciously like Hooker's R Us. If I wanted my daugther to look like she's working a street corner I'd make an appointment to get her a boob job at the ripe age of 11. I wouldn't sew falsies into her dress. Do you know what I had to do to that dress to make it appropriate for an 11 year old?! Why in the name of all that is beautiful and childlike can we not allow our children to look like (gasp) children? I'll admit that I was shopping in the 11th hour and my options were limited... but seriously?! And just because everyone else is doing it does that mean you should let your kid do it? Are their peer groups parenting the kids or are we?

* Forget the way my heart broke when I realized I couldn't stop her from growing up... When I accepted that she was no longer a child who relied on me for every want and need

* Erase the image of her excited and wondrous expression as she contemplates a future...

that's wide open.

How did you think that would end?

2009-06-26T02:35:00.002-04:00

As the year winds down there is the requisite flurry of parties. Yesterday was Emily's end-of-year party, and my job was to run the station where the kids made Jello aquariums. We were working on a 15 minute rotation. It was important to time the work so that the kids finished on schedule, and I was fortunate to find a good balance quickly.

This similar to what we were making --

clear cup filled with blue jello, swedish fish, graham cracker sand, and Cool Whip)

I was on the last group of kids and was enjoying my time with them thoroughly. I was bantering back and forth with one little boy in particular - let's call him PITA (for Pain In The Anterior-region). PITA was having a hard time following the rules and rather than chastising him I was distracting and engaging. I typically have good luck with this approach, but not today.

After a lot of fruitless effort I was getting exasperated with the boy and his 12,000 questions: Can I smush it? Can I stir it? Can I share it? Can I take it home... You get the idea. Finally, I'd had enough.

PITA: Can I eat it? Can I eat it?

KathyB!: Sure!

PITA: Can I mix it all together first?

KathyB! (wondering if he didn't remember that we'd discussed this 3 times already). Yes, PITA. Of course you may eat it. Go ahead! I bet it's yummy!

PITA: Really?! I can eat it? Really...?

KathyB! Honestly, you can do whatever you want....

Do you ever get the feeling the world is moving in slow motion? As soon as those words passed my lips time changed. I remember looking into his eyes as his face lit up. I remember thinking that I'd made a terrible mistake but being unsure of the exact nature of the mistake. I remember the look of pure glee as his face burst into a smile. I remember thinking, "Noooooo..!"

I also remember PITA digging his hand into his Jello aquarium and slinging a handful of goop at his neighbor.

My eyes bugged out a little as I turned to look at the other mommy working the station. She didn't say anything, but I could see it in her eyes....

You opened the door...

How did you think that would end?

I'd like you all to meet Freaker

2009-06-25T00:38:00.001-04:00

The other day I was driving the kids to school. Things were proceeding as they normally do: The girls were in the back bickering and nit-picking and generally doing their best to push me to the edge of my sanity before 8 AM, and I was forcing myself to breathe deeply and trying to calculate the odds on whether or not I'd be able to make it through summer break without duct-taping the kids' mouths shut.

Without warning and with nary a car in sight, I slammed on the brakes and jumped out of the car. When I returned the kids were completely and utterly still. The only audible sound was the chirp of the crickets and the occasional croak of a nearby frog. As I opened the car door I could see from the look on their faces that they were preparing for the mother-of-all-lectures. I really couldn't have planned this better if I tried. I mean, talk about shocking your kids into silence!

When the kids got home that afternoon I asked Hannah what she thought was was happening and she said, "Well, you know how you always tell us if we don't stop with all the fighting you are going to lose your mind? I thought that, well, this time we maybe went too far and you were just, like, going to freak out and run off into the woods or something."

I might have to try that sometime.

So, given Hannah's train of thought I'm sure she was floored when I hopped into the car and set this little guy on the console between the seats:

This poor, sweet, little turtle was literally trying to cross the road, and there was no way he was going to make it to the other side. He was about to become a turtle pancake.

There was no time to usher him safely to the woods as we were already running late for school, so I told the kids I'd find a safe place for him when I got home. The kids passed the turtle around for the rest of the trip and I reveled in the peace.

When we got to the school Emily took the turtle and unceremoniously plopped him into the car's cup holder. She proclaimed it the perfect turtle "car seat" and declared he would be comfy and safe there until I arrived home. The turtle was propped up on the back-end of it's shell, and I'm pretty sure he wasn't happy, so the minute Emily turned away I returned him to his spot on the console and headed for home.

I was about halfway home and singing my heart out to Boston's More Than A Feeling when something heavy fell into my lap. Having completely forgotten about the turtle I curiously glanced into my lap....

And nearly drove into oncoming traffic when I realized that I had a cranky turtle thrashing about on my thighs.

And since we shared such an intimate, life-or-death moment together I felt it only fitting that I give him a name.

I'd like you all to meet Freaker.

I named him as such because if he ever falls into a woman's lap again, I'm sure he'll freak 'er out, too.

And he's off to find another hapless victim.

And for my loyal readers? Those are the remains of Michelle Paul at the top of the picture.

Striiiike TWO!

2009-06-23T03:13:00.000-04:00

I love Field Day.

I love the silly games and the camaraderie and the intent, determined faces of the youngest participants, and the celebration of another school year successfully completed.

Or maybe I should say I love the idea of Field Day.

Last year for Field Day my job was to run the Sneaker Relay. The kids took their shoes off, threw them in a bucket and competed on teams in a relay race to see which team could get their shoes back on first. Great idea in concept. In reality it was so hot that local farmers were feeding their chickens crushed ice to keep them from laying hard boiled eggs. The impact on the kids? They were sweaty... and some weren't wearing socks... and a lot of them were boys... and the smell of those feet? Let's just say I started the day with my normal, naturally straight hair and when I went home it was curly.

This year I knew better. When the call went out for volunteers I responded quickly and snatched up an event called, "Duck, Duck Splash." It's basically "Duck, Duck Goose" played with a sponge so that you dribble on each person you "duck" and drench the person you "goose." A water game and the participants keep their shoes on? Brilliant.

I was committed to making this year better. I had sunscreen, a hat, a bottle of water and, most importantly, a game I could have fun with.

Bring it, kids. This time I was ready.

And we got off to a great start. I added some strategic elements to the game to keep it fun for the older kids, like:

* If you get caught by the "ducker" you have to dunk your head in the water bucket, or

* If you don't make an effort to get away from the "ducker" I get to squeeze a sponge full of cold water on your head, or my personal favorite...

* I get to dump the bucket of cold water over all the kids at the end of each round.

I was having fun and the kids were having a blast. I started to relax and enjoy myself. This is what Field Day is supposed to feel like.

One of my kids who received the bucket 'o water to the head!

Don't feel sorry for them... it was hot! They were begging me to soak them.

Until my fifth group of kids. Everything began just as it was supposed to. The kids were excited but under control. It was perfect... until one of the third-graders slipped and fell hard on her chin. I watched as she went down and I knew it would be bad before she gasped her first tentative sob. As I gently pulled her crumpled form from the ground she looked up at me with pain in her eyes and blood in her hands, and I knew there would be stitches.

After her mother had spirited her off to the doctor's, I returned to Duck, Duck, Splash. I know it wasn't my fault but I felt horrible nonetheless. I plastered a smile on my face and tried to ignore the weighty lump in the pit of my stomach. I mentally called on my former enthusiasm, but the crimson flowers of her blood on my shirt continually gnawed at me.

So, Field Day...

STRIKE TWO!!

I'm giving you one more year and then I'm OUT.

A new species, and a brilliant invention

2009-06-22T07:23:00.006-04:00

We drove to the beach for Father's Day and had a wonderful day with Dad splashing in the waves. We even got a few scrapes with seashells under our skin to remind us what brilliant body surfers we are... not.

The real news, though, is that we made several discoveries at the beach. First, we discovered a new tool. Look carefully at what my eldest daughter is holding:

Not the bucket, the other thing.

It looks like a hoe, right? Actually it's a sandcastle-whacker. According to Rachel, the person holding the sandcastle-whacker, can take down their sister's hard work with one strategic swipe. Trust me when I say you have to see this in action. It really is brilliant.

I'll be off to the patent office first thing this morning.

Our other discovery was this:

A new sub-species we are tentatively naming homowatermelonanis. It is a strange creature prone to running on the beach and shrieking in a high-pitched voice. She is not an unusual creature but she likes to come out on crowded beach days, so she blends in. She looks very similar to a homoerectus, except for her unique teeth that are particularly well suited to eating watermelon.

After I visit the patent office, I'll be off to the U.S. Department of Zoology to register my new critter.

Between the new patent and the scientific discovery you should expect to see me on the Today show by the end of the week!

Stay tuned...

Are you smarter than a fifth grader?!

2009-06-19T01:42:00.003-04:00

I sure like to think I am! I assumed Rachel's fifth grade teacher was, for sure, but today for the first time I had to wonder. Wait. Did I just insult Rachel's teacher?

Let me explain. In North Carolina students are required to take an End of Grade (EOG) test in order to be promoted to the next grade. A minimum score of 3 (out of a possible 4) on the test is required for promotion. The school tries not to make the whole test thing stressful, but there's a lot at stake and everyone knows it. In a genuine effort to get the kids excited for the test and challenge them to do their best, the teacher made a bet with the kids: If they all passed all of the tests he would dye his (dark brown!) hair blond.

The testing week came and went and lo and behold, every single kid passed.

I volunteered to come into the classroom and help him with his dye job. After all, I've been covering my gray hair since I was 23! I am like the queen of hair color.

What could go wrong?

Turns out a couple things could, hypothetically, go wrong...

Time management was the first problem. It takes a lot longer to turn yourself into a blond than it does to cover gray. I figured it would need to sit for 45 minutes... After 70 minutes we still had a very brassy-blond-look working. As a result, I needed to take the kids to technology and then take them to recess. I got them to technology without incident. Getting them to recess is where the problems started.

When I arrived at technology the kids were expecting their newly blond teacher, and it nearly started a riot when they got me instead. I settled the situation and we were half-way outside when one of the kids asked for a soccer ball. When I said I didn't have one with me, he quickly offered to run upstairs to the classroom and get one. HA! I did not just fall off the turnip truck, kids. Sensing a ploy to get upstairs and check on the teacher I sent them outside and went to fetch the ball myself.

You have to get up pretty early in the morning to outfox KathyB!

I hustled up to the classroom and asked the teacher for a ball. I was vindicated when he told me there were no balls in the classroom. I grinned in victory knowing that I had thwarted their sneaky plan. Except when I got back down to the playground I discovered that the child who had asked for the ball had subsequently taken another student's shoe (the acquisition of said shoe is a different story completely) and thrown it up onto the roof.

Seriously. Who does this stuff?!

The other adult on the playground told him to go and find his teacher. Ack. Iwould not have seen that one coming from a mile. I intercepted him again before he could get into the building and told him to have a seat outside. I watched to make sure he listened this time.

I wasn't congratulating myself on outsmarting the kids any longer. Someone definitely was bamboozled here. I'm pretty sure it wasn't the kids. Fortunately, the teacher arrived on the scene and saved me from further bad decision making. What did he do after arriving on the scene? He proceeded to play soccer with the kids. In 97 degree heat.

*******

While we were sitting in the classroom (and I was saying silent prayers that his hair would pass the pumpkin-orange stage) I asked him why he would make such a rash bet with the kids. Why didn't he just offer to buy donuts? He told me he didn't really think about it... He wanted to get the kids pumped up. He wanted them motivated to realize their full potential.

But is this teacher smarter than a fifth grader? I mean, he did dye his hair blond...

In two hours those monkeys had me running all over the school thinking I was in control. He, on the other hand, successfully led a class full of kids to success , maintained control (clearly that's harder than it looks) and had a blast with the kids along the way. Is he smarter than a fifth grader?

In my book he's brilliant.

And to the teachers who may read this post? Thank you.

For everything.

Pay it forward

2009-06-18T23:17:00.003-04:00

I've never done this before, but...

This family has been dealt a crap hand. There are enough stories in the blogosphere detailing the rough lots that some families are dealt. This family is struggling through cancer, and chemo, and pensions, and the requisite financial chaos that inevitably results...

I believe in the concept of "paying it forward" with all of my heart. I can reflect on my life and clearly see the times when people who didn't know me well made a small effort that invariably changed the course of my life. I will be forever thankful to them.

I will take the opportunity to do the same for others whenever it is presented to me.

You probably don't know this family. Their struggles transcend personal friendship and speak on a more intimate level. If you can make a small contribution via the Paypal button on the left to ease their struggle please do and, if not, please hold them close in your prayers...

Story webs

2009-06-18T03:13:00.000-04:00

I was in the classroom again today, and his time I was helping the kids with Story Webs. A Story Web is like the first grade equivalent of an outline. The circle in the center is the main idea and the lines that radiate out from the center are supporting ideas. My job was to work with the kids on their webs and make sure that their supporting ideas made sense, ask probing questions if they were stuck, and check for spelling and grammar if all else was in order.

I worked with a little girl who was writing a report on the octopus. She had listed five facts about the octopus:

1) Hides to stay safe
2) Spits black ink if he gets scared
3) Has three hearts
4) Lives in saltwater
5) The fifth fact?

I included the Story Web for you...

Sorry about the wrinkled paper... I had to, ahem, recycle it...

Any guesses??

Drum roll ....

5) He has eight legs called testicles

Tee hee hee!

Can I get a rim shot, please?!

My maturity is really one of the highlights of my personality. I'm sure my mom is thrilled...

It's time for Chick Chat!

2009-06-17T00:01:00.004-04:00

Yes, it's that time again!

It's time for Chick Chat and the Three Bay B Chicks asked me, once again, to play along. The topic this chat is multiples, and I was beyond excited to participate....

I had so many ideas for the video....

And then something went wrong.

With my face...

My upper lip looks as though I might be the wife of Donald Duck.

And my head?

Picture a regular KathyB! body with a hot air balloon head on top.

I don't normally consider myself to be horribly vain,

but there's no way I was going to videotape myself in this state!!

The good news is that there are four other healthy participants and I highly encourage you to head over to their blogs and take a peek into the life of a Mother of Multiples. These are some seriously talented women and they are funny to boot... Add an endless source of hilarious material and I promise you won't be disappointed!

I'm Living Proof that God has a Sense of Humor

Buried with Children

Follow Our Journey - Triplets and Beyond

And of course, you'd be a fool to miss the Three Bay B Chicks!!

I know you guys are busy and it takes time to follow links and watch videos, but check these out! I don't ask for much. And I turned comments off for this post.

Now shoo!

Get going...

The shoe is on the other foot

2009-06-16T03:50:00.001-04:00

I spent this weekend in Florida helping my sister prepare for the imminent arrival of her first child, and fighting to keep my infected lip from falling off my face. My lip was disgusting the entire weekend, but that's a topic for a different post...

Julie is my only sister and this is her first child. For the last 12 years, I've been the one making babies and doing "kid" things, and all those years Julie traveled to be with us and share enthusiastically in our milestones.

In talking with her lately I'd gotten the impression that she could use a little help pulling all the little details together and I offered to come down. I left my hubby with the kids (or the kids with my hubby -- I like how that's kind of ambiguous -- who was really in charge this weekend?!) and spent a surreal three days helping prepare for every minute aspect of the birth of this child. I've never prepared in such detail for a child who wasn't my own.

In my head I still see myself as a potential new mom. Yes, I have four kids. No, I really don't want another child... but that's not the point. In my heart it could still be me, even if I know in my head it's not true. This makes me a little sad. And no meanies, it's not because the spotlight has been taken off of me and the party is for someone else. I might be a tad self-centered sometimes, but I'm not that bad... it's because seeing my baby sister embark upon this chapter of her life serves to underscore something I have known for awhile, but have struggled not to acknowledge: this chapter of my life is closed. And some of the best years of my life were part of this magical chapter. And I sometimes wonder if life keeps getting better? Or if I already sipped from the cup of perfection.

I know change is good, but more and more I wish time could stand still.

So while I celebrate the beginning of this magical chapter for my sister...

I secretly mourn the closing of my own chapter.

Just a little.

How to entertain your kids on the airplane and embarass yourself in one easy step

2009-06-12T07:00:00.003-04:00

This post can stand alone, but there is history behind the peeing baby. If you want to fully appreciate the history you need to read the Smithsonian posts here and here.

Returning from our recent trip to California I had to fly home with the four girls by myself. It shouldn't have been a big deal as the girls are self-sufficient these days... Except we forgot to Redbox (if you don't do this you should really check it out!) some new movies for the DVD players... And the batteries for the DVD players couldn't seem to hold a charge... I sighed to myself as I mentally transitioned from 7 hours of leisurely reading and napping as the girls slipped into a movie-induced coma... to playing 9,465,782 games of hangman.

In a fit of hangman desperation I whipped out the ubiquitous Sky Mall magazine. My kids love animals so sent them on a scavenger hunt through the magazine. They were to make a list of all the different animals they could find and whoever found the most would win a prize. The kids flipped furiously through the magazine eagerly making their lists. My kids are a little bit competitive with one another. The prospect of a prize on top of that? I figured I could get at least half an hour out of this.

I spent the next 20 minutes alternating between working on my to-do list and trying to figure out what in the heckity-heck I was going to award the winner as a "prize." I had nothin'. I was so caught up in my musings that at first I didn't even notice my 7 year-olds laughing. And then I heard it:

"naked baby... giggle, giggle... peeing... giggle, snort... whisper, whisper.... pickle... little pickle!"

As a sick feeling of deja vu flooded over me I peeked over to see what they'd found and had to choke back a groan of dismay. The giggling was getting louder. The grandmotherly woman in front of us who was so taken by my children and their impeccable manners (her words, not mine) at the beginning of the flight turned around in her seat to see what it was that had my twins doubled-over with laughter.

My spidey-senses kicked in as I realized what was about to happen, and I hastily tried to snatch the Sky Mall magazines away from the girls. I wasn't quick enough. I only got Emily's. The elderly woman was half out of her seat and fully turned around and facing us as she smiled benevolently at my girls. Before I could fully gather my wits she asked, "What's so funny you little imps?"

Abby and Emily, being identical twins, occasionally do this stereotypical tag-team thing where they talk fast and finish each other's thoughts in rapid-fire succession. It happens fast and there is literally no break in the conversation. This time it went something like this:

Abby: (holds up Sky Mall magazine page 80 to display the nearly four foot fountain of a peeing naked baby. Just like we saw at the Smithsonian)

Emily: It's a naked baby...

Abby: It's a peeing naked baby...

Emily: He's peeing in the pool!

Abby: He's peeing with his little pickle!

Emily: Little pickle, little pickle!!!

Both: giggle, snort, giggle (they're pretty slap-happy at this point)

I finally snapped out of it and silenced them, but I was a little late. My spidey-senses are getting seriously rusty. I thought spidey-senses are supposed to be ageless... The grandmotherly woman with the benevolent smile had magically transformed into an icily judgemental old biddy. As she turned away and took her seat her expression made it clear what she thought of the girls. I made eye contact with a businessman seated diagonally a row ahead of us. He winked conspiratorially and I smiled weakly in return.

And then, just as I took a few literal and figurative deep breaths and wrapped myself in my rapidly fraying dignity, a very, very bad smell, like a malfunctioning port-a-potty smell, made it's presence undeniably known on the plane. One of my other daughters (ahem, Rachel)... who was wearing headphones.... and listening to music... loud music... addressed her sister, with whom she was sitting in a row across the aisle from the twins and myself, in a booming voice and said,

"Oh, man! Hannah was that you?! Do you have gas?! That smells bad. BAD! Jeez Hannah, are you sick?!" And she would have gone on. In a very. loud. voice...

Did I mention she was LOUD? I was trying to get her attention and tell her to pipe down, but she was in a different row and oblivious to me... Apparently we need to work on voice moderation while listening to our iPods. I'm fairly certain the entire back half of the plane heard the full play-by-play of both the pickle scene as well as the stink scene.... The businessman who had been winking at me conspiratorially less than a minute ago? He shot a little of the Diet Coke he was sipping out his nose. Seriously. I really hope he didn't dirty his tie.

Oddly, the next five hours proceeded without incident.

And yet I never quite relaxed again...

NOTE: Hannah has not read this yet, but I am certain she would want you to know that she was not the source of the "odor" on the plane. We were seated near the lavatory, though. I'll leave it at that.

Silence

2009-06-11T03:23:00.001-04:00

The other day my daughter and I were sitting silently on the porch quietly enjoying each other's company. We weren't talking, we were just being and it was nice. I could sense the weight of my daughter's gaze on my face. Her gaze was more reflective than questioning, though, and I was reluctant to break our easy, silent togetherness. I let her gaze linger until I felt a shift in the quiet.

I turned to fully meet her gaze and found her intently studying my face as if she were drinking in the details. I waited until her inquisitive eyes met my own and she finally spoke. "Mom," she said, "Are you happy?" In that brief instant my mind washed over kids and marriage and opportunities and life and without even needing to reflect I said, "Yes."

I waited as I could sense there was more. The silence stretched between us and I knew she was gathering her thoughts. Finally she spoke again and said, "I thought so. I can tell because of all the tiny lines on your face. The lines are like the shadow of the creases your face gets when you smile, and you look so pretty when you smile."

She paused again and then said, "I hope I look exactly like you when I grow up."

I hope she is fulfilled enough to answer that same question without pause.

I hope she'll look exactly like me.

You're the boss, applesauce!

2009-06-10T10:39:00.000-04:00

Young children and babies have ruled my world for a long time.

No one bothered to warn me, but when I brought my beautiful bundle of joy home from the hospital I essentially relinquished control of my life. That sweet-smelling, cuddly bundle of joy? She was really a benevolent dictator who influenced every facet of my life with her feeding and diapering and napping schedules. It was difficult to get used to in the beginning, but I ultimately succumbed to the promise of unconditional love. I quit trying to resist and eventually started playing by the new rules.

At some point a shift occurred, and it was a subtle shift. So subtle, in fact, that I didn't even notice until one day I realized my little dictator had become rather demanding... greedy... bossy even. In fact, this revelation came while we were on vacation last week. I was chatting with my friend and describing events that had not gone my way and how surprised I was at the turn of events. As if on cue one of my daughters adopted a sassy stance complete with hand on hip, and said:

"Snap out of it, Mom!"

Her tone of voice was condescending, and the entire comment completely unacceptable. Obviously I dealt with the sass, but it was then that the winds of change began blowing. The world according to me is on the verge of a coup. This little dictator no longer has cause to be in power and is, in fact, beginning to abuse said power. There must be a parental uprising and I expect power will be returned to the rightful leaders efficiently.

But please... alert the UN if you don't hear from us soon.

You may need to dispatch a peacekeeping envoy.

What's the best thing about vacation?

2009-06-09T03:10:00.000-04:00

We got home from our California vacation late last night. This morning as the kids and I sat around the breakfast table reminiscing about our adventures I asked them to name their favorite part of the trip. They did not choose:

A) Fabulous sunsets on the beach
B) Catching buckets full of sand crabs
C) Hanging out for an entire week with our very best friends in the world
or
D) Campfires on the beach and making s'mores

Instead they chose this:
Why on earth would this be the highlight of their trip you might be wondering. Look closely. Can you see it? In the bowls...

This was our last morning in Seascape. The kids were hungry for breakfast and there was clearly no way ice cream would make the trip back to the Bay Area. So we did what any good parents would do and fed our kids giant bowls of ice cream for breakfast... With a side of fruit and a glass of orange juice, of course!

The kids were in heaven.

My only regret? I'm just sorry we didn't think of this

without being prompted by end-of-vacation-fridge-cleaning.

You can call me...

2009-05-27T03:21:00.001-04:00

No multiple choice today. I'm just telling you straight up what you can call me...

Yesterday I had to take Abby to the doctor unexpectedly. Over the years I've had to take the kids to the doctor for unplanned visits more times than I care to recall. The problem with unplanned visits is the doctors have to squeeze you in, and squeezing usually means waiting, and waiting means WAITING!

When you're trapped for an hour waiting in the exam room? Let's just say it inspires creativity. One day, during a particularly long wait, I came up with this:

Coloring on the paper that lines the exam table! When they were younger I used to trace their body and we would spend our wait adding a face and hair and clothes. Now that the kids are older we spend the time playing tic-tac-toe and hangman.

The good news is, all you need is crayons! That roll of exam paper is endless...

The bad news? First, you'll get strange looks as you leave the exam room with 12 linear miles of exam paper folded carefully under your arm. You have to take it because it's your kid's new favorite thing. You might even paint it when you get home. The kid's cranky and sick... you'll do anything for a break in the fussing. Trust me on this.

The worst news? You really need to have crayons in your bag at all times for those unexpected emergency trips. It has to be crayons. Pens and pencils will poke through the exam paper and mark on the table, which tends to make the doctors grumpy. Not good when your kids' health is on the line.

Toting crayons really isn't a big deal. They don't take up much room. In fact you'll never even know you've got them with you... unless you have a brand-new handbag... the only "nice" handbag you've ever owned in your entire life... and it gets really hot outside... fry an egg on the sidewalk hot... and you leave the crayons in your purse and they get melt-y... and you discover the melt-y crayons and pull them out in panicked haste to save your "nice" handbag... and you accidentally drag the bottom of your "nice" bag through the melt-y crayons, thereby staining the bag for all of eternity with either black wax or the oily stain said wax leaves behind... ACK!!

Just be careful with the crayons!!

But as long as you don't let the crayons get overheated?

You can call me brilliant.

Bikini body

2009-05-26T03:33:00.001-04:00

I don't wear bikinis anymore. And it's only partially because the world would tremble in the face of the hotness that is KathyB!

Remember, this is the world according to me. I get to make the rules here. I'm allowed to pretend.

I was at our community pool yesterday standing in line to get a hot dog with my kids. One of the managers of the pool came out and was making small talk while we waited. As we chatted, a less-than-shapely woman walked by wearing less bathing suit than she needed to cover her curves. As I was making a mental note to ensure that all of my pieces and parts were adequately covered, the manager shook his head in disgust and said, "Well, that's sure not what I want to see when I step outside."

What?! I almost fell face-first into the baked beans. He did not just say that. At this point I did what I always do: Run in circles in my head trying to figure out if I really understood what was said and stand there like a fool with my eyes bugging out and mouth hanging slightly agape.

As I mechanically scooped food onto my child's plate, the manager continued on: "Really. You think they'd do something about that... It's disgusting."

At this point I'm working myself up to outraged and preparing to give him a good piece of my mind... And then I notice the hot dog and baked beans spilled all over the sidewalk... And the people walking by rather than taking a minute to help clean it up... And the fact that he's not even looking at the woman...

Can I just say thank God I run on a bit of a delay?! Can you imagine if I'd laid into him about having respect for women when he was talking about a plate of food on the ground?!

Based upon today's misinterpretation I'm trying to decide if I am:

A) Shallow and vain

B) Needing to focus completely on conversations to avoid making ridiculous leaps in logic

C) Feeling insecure in my bathing suit and projecting my insecurities into harmless conversation

D) Ever so slightly lost in my own little world.

E) Needing to change my name to CattyB! instead of KathyB!

I'm hoping it's a combination of B and D...

Keeping the memory...

2009-05-25T03:29:00.002-04:00

Dirge for Two Veterens

By Walt Whitman

from www.americanpoem.com

THE last sunbeam

Lightly falls from the finish'd Sabbath,

On the pavement here, and there beyond it is looking,

Down a new-made double grave.

Lo, the moon ascending,

Up from the east the silvery round moon,

Beautiful over the house-tops, ghastly, phantom moon,

Immense and silent moon.

I see a sad procession,

And I hear the sound of coming full-key'd bugles,

All the channels of the city streets they're flooding,

As with voices and with tears.

I hear the great drums pounding,

And the small drums steady whirring,

And every blow of the great convulsive drums,

Strikes me through and through.

For the son is brought with the father,

(In the foremost ranks of the fierce assault they fell,

Two veterans son and father dropt together,

And the double grave awaits them.)

Now nearer blow the bugles,

And the drums strike more convulsive,

And the daylight o'er the pavement quite has faded,

And the strong dead-march enwraps me.

In the eastern sky up-buoying,

The sorrowful vast phantom moves illumin'd,

('Tis some mother's large transparent face,

In heaven brighter growing.)

O strong dead-march you please me!

O moon immense with your silvery face you soothe me!

O my soldiers twain! O my veterans passing to burial!

What I have I also give you.

The moon gives you light,

And the bugles and the drums give you music,

And my heart, O my soldiers, my veterans,

My heart gives you love.

Sometimes, being a girl sucks!

2009-05-22T03:44:00.003-04:00

The other day I noticed the Beaver (or Beav, our infamous pet - a rabbit/beaver hybrid) was acting strangely. She was aggressively tearing her boxes and chewing everything. This is pretty much what she does all the time, but the sheer ferocity with which she was attacking everything caught my attention. I chalked it up to the Beav needing more time to run free and went on with my business.

I didn't think more of it until I went out later and discovered she had tape adhered to her chin. Since we can't actually catch the Beav I wasn't sure how to help her. I was worried she'd get it in her mouth and choke somehow, and so I chased her around trying to get it off. I might have overreacted just a little.

Thankfully, the tape lost it's stickiness and fell off on it's own.

Her strange behavior escalated from that point forward and culminated yesterday with a bunny breakdown. She was in some sort of cardboard-shredding frenzy and proceeded to:

* Chew a good-sized hole in the box she uses to jump in and out of her cage.

* Get a long strip of cardboard wedged in her teeth.

* And finally, crawl into the hole she created in her box and get her big, fluffy, bunny-butt stuck

At this point I was more amused than concerned. Is it really such a stretch of the imagination that our slightly, ahem, eccentric family would have a pet that marched to it's own beat? I didn't think so.

However, a short time later she began ripping huge clumps of fur from her body, and that finally got my attention. It's disturbing to see a living creature literally tearing itself apart. I couldn't imagine what sort of pain was prompting this, but she was definitely agitated. I began scouring the internet for clues, but as I sped through the blogosphere I heard a strange rustling noise coming from the Beav's cage area. I dismissed it initially but it continued...

I went out to investigate:

The Beav in a bag! It was easy enough to shake her loose (the bag wasn't supposed to be in her cage. Apparently it was stuffed inside the box she'd chewed into).

My internet search quickly yielded results: false pregnancy. Symptoms include changes in temperament (especially being more aggressive or moody) and plucking fur from their bellies to line a nest with. They will also collect hay, grass and other appropriate materials to aid in nest building.

BINGO.

In the meantime, the normally mellow, potty-trained rabbit has turned into a hormonal beast who poops wherever she sees fit, sprays you with pee if you offend her, leaves a trail of hay all over the screened porch, and has pulled so. much. fur. from her body that there are now bunny-hair-tumbleweeds blowing willy-nilly all over the patio. I usually vacuum out there, but I'm not supposed to upset her... and she hates the vacuum... so the rabbit is now the supreme ruler of my home and dictates the loudness of my voice, whether I vacuum, how we access our backyard...

Basically I am at the mercy of a grouchy, hormonal female and tip-toeing around the house to avoid doing anything to garner her displeasure. I'm like a prisoner in my own home.

I have new respect for my husband.

Note: Getting the bunny spayed will solve this problem for her. We are looking into procedures and will DEFINITELY take measures to see that she isn't put through this again.

Hammer time!

2009-05-20T03:44:00.001-04:00

The kids were dragging as they got ready for school this morning. I chatted with them about a baked oatmeal recipe that I was thinking of making for breakfast tomorrow, and even the prospect of a breakfast treat didn't lift their tired funk. In the world according to me, the promise of good food can usually turn a frown upside down, but not today.

I decided to pull out the big guns. I turned on a 90's music station and started bopping. I don't like to brag, but I can coax even the grumpiest person out of their deepest funk if I put my mind to it. I can prove it, too. If you ask nicely, I'll tell you about the time I ~~humiliated myself in the middle of the grocery store~~ cracked through one of hubby's rare surly moods in less than 30 seconds...

Really, it's a gift. Don't be jealous.

MC Hammer's U Can't Touch This came on and I quickly got into character. I couldn't have asked for a better song. I've got moves like the tin man before he gets his hinges oiled, so me doing my best MC Hammer is funny. Jaw-dropping actually might be a better description. And there's no video, so don't ask.

At this point I'm in the groove. I'm rockin' around the kitchen pulling out ingredients for tomorrow's baked oatmeal. The kids are smiling, and Abby is doing her best seat dancing. Having successfully changed the mood, I'm just having fun now... So I'm dancing along after refilling the oatmeal container from the ginormous box of Costco oatmeal. I'd tipped the ginormous Costco box delicately onto the highest-shelf-in-the-pantry-I-can-reach-without-a-stool as we arrived at this part of the song:

This is it, for a winner

Dance to this and you're gonna get thinner

Move, slide your rump

Just for a minute let's all do the bump, bump, bump

And then something went horribly wrong. I swear, I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried.

Just as we get to the bump, bump part I'm shakin' my money-maker in the doorway of the pantry and the ginormous box of oatmeal falls off the shelf, lands smack on my head, crashes to the floor, and explodes.

We will not discuss whether the shaking of said money-maker caused the oatmeal to fall.

It looked something like this... except that's not my oatmeal. Or my kitchen floor. I had to grab this from google.images because my computer has decided not to recognize my camera. My pile of oatmeal was seriously three times the size of that paltry mound. Maybe four times.

Mt. Oatmeal on the pantry floor pretty much killed the Hammer Time buzz.

And we are not having that baked oatmeal tomorrow.

Just so 'ya know.

***

And I also get two new awards! Ladybug Blessings gave me this:

And Shop Girl gave me this:

Be sure to check in on these fabulous girls and see what they're up to!

This is just the tip of the iceberg, isn't it?!

2009-05-19T03:26:00.004-04:00

You know how it goes... The kids are home from school. The house that was pristine not 30 minutes ago has been transformed into a war zone littered with last weeks homework papers, shoes, announcements from the school, dirty socks, and lunch boxes. The kids are hungry and a little bit grouchy after a long day at school. I, on the other hand, am very hungry and grouchy after a long day of starvation (1200 calories is not adequate) and laundry.

I ask, for the 9,000th time, the kids to pick up their ~~freakin' crap that literally seems to cover every square inch of the kitchen - even the floor~~ stuff. As the kids slowly begin gathering their belongings I can literally feel grumpiness oozing from my pores. Because really, it's like Groundhog Day, and we seem to need to replay this exact scene every. single. day.

In a move not destined to win me Mother of the Year I begin griping at the kids:

"Is it too much to ask for you kids to pick this stuff up... I ought to get a big garbage bag and just... blah, blah, blah....

Can you imagine what this household would be like if I wasn't around here bugging you guys to keep you in line?!"

At this point I had taken my rant inside my head where it belongs and wasn't really paying attention.

Note to self: In the future do not end rants with rhetorical questions that beg to be answered with unflattering comments.

I almost didn't notice when Rachel said:

"Well, if you really wanna know, there would be a lot less grouching and bossing people around, that's for sure..."

Her comment floated in the air momentarily as we locked eyes. I gave her my fiercest evil-mommy-death-stare, and then I sent her to her room for being sassy.

As she glumly plodded up the stairs I could hear her mumbling to herself that those are the kind of comments you're supposed to say in your head, and not out loud.

And I could hear the other three giggling softly around the corner...

I'm gonna be in over my head here soon!

Forever young

2009-05-18T06:13:00.000-04:00

I've noticed a change over the last couple years, and for once I'm not talking about my less than perky breasts or the fact I affectionately refer to the loose skin on my twin-stretched stomach as my third boob. When I first had kids I was the fun mom. I genuinely liked to play monster and hide-and-go-seek and wrestle with the kids. I liked to chase them, not in Target, of course, when they've disappeared into the clothes racks, but around the backyard. I remember times when I'd play tag until I would collapse in the grass out of breath only to be buried under a pile of breathless, sweaty kids.

I'm not sure when the shift occurred. It was definitely subtle, but I've noticed the kids don't ask me to do these things much anymore. Yes, they're older but I know they still like it. That's not the reason. I think they've stopped asking because they know I don't say yes anymore. Somewhere along the way I got tired. Instead of enjoying the play I started going through the motions. And I know my kids can tell when I don't have my heart in it.

I've been thinking about this quite a bit. How do I get the energy and playfulness back? Part of it is that I'm older. I'm tired. I may be a kid at heart, but I don't act that way as much anymore. So now what? I've identified the problem, but how do I get the magic back?

***

Today it was a whopping 60 degrees. It was a huge bummer because Saturday was in the 80's and beautiful pool weather. The kids woke up and they wanted a repeat, but instead they got rainy and chilly. They asked if they could swim. I checked the pool temp and it was definitely on the cool end of reasonable. I told them to have fun and followed my instruction with a mental eye roll. Who swims when it's 60 degrees outside?!

I watched them leap into the pool and splash around. I reminded them to keep swimming. As long as they kept swimming they'd be fine. I remembered when I was a kid and the grown-ups would be huddled in their sweatshirts laughing and shaking their heads at the foolishness of youth. I remember laughing right back at them, too, because they were the ones missing the fun and they didn't even know it.

I don't strive to be a fool, but the foolishness of youth isn't always a bad thing. I ran upstairs to get my bathing suit as fast as I could. I had to go quickly before common sense got the better of me.

Hubby was laughing as I tested the water and dove straight in.

My face looked like this when I surfaced.

I only stayed in for about half an hour, but the kids looked like this.

I still haven't figured out the answers... How do I get the spark back? Under what rock is my playful-self hiding? And what in the heck do I have to do to get my stomach to flatten back out?

But I do know I felt a lot better after that swim today.

Isn't it ironic?

2009-05-15T06:25:00.000-04:00

Yesterday started like any other day. I wrangled the kids into the car in spite of their moderately successful efforts to kill each other, delivered them to the school, and wandered my way down to help in the classroom.... Except yesterday after circle-time the teacher caught my attention and stage-whispered that she needed to talk to me.

I could tell this wasn't going to be a regular conversation going over my instructions for the morning. The vibe was all wrong. This was gearing up to be one of those talks. As in, let's talk about what your child has done. Given that my kids tend to be ~~uptight, rule-followers who completely take after their parents' Type A personalities~~ fairly well-behaved I was more curious than concerned.

The teacher didn't actually say anything at first. She simply handed me this:

I glanced furtively at the teacher out of the corner of my eye and she was clearly waiting for a response, so I shifted my eyes back to the picture. There was a brief pause and then BINGO! My eyes surely bulged a little as I snapped my head up to meet the teacher's blank gaze.

I was processing as quickly as I could but it wasn't fast enough. I stood there, mouth agape, staring at her mutely as my thoughts ran in circles....

Does that woman not have a shirt on... Clearly she doesn't... She's topless... And what is on her chest... Those can not be breasts... Does my daughter have a learning disability... Some sort of defect that prevents her from recognizing the correct proportion of objects.. She must because there's no way she has ever seen breasts like those... Those melons are as big as the poor woman's head... And where would she get such an idea... Not from looking at me, that's for sure... And why are they lopsided...

At this point the teacher, who had been expressionless just a moment ago, burst out laughing and said, "That's what I thought, too! It's not what it looks like but I wanted to see your face..."

Turns out those aren't breasts; they're puffy sleeves. And those suspicious purple ~~nipples~~ dots? That's decoration around the sleeve. You know, where your arm sticks out.

I got this little treat the same day I did the "For the love of art" post.

How ironic is that?!

Anyone want to guess which of my children drew this?!

***

On an unrelated and less juvenile note, I received this lovely award from a new bloggy friend named, Minka. Her blog, Stirring My Thoughts, is an interesting read. She is located in a land far different from mine and I enjoy her insights. Be sure to check her out!

I'm supposed to award this to 15 blogs. I have been fortunate to have good success with my traffic and followers lately.

Please visit the blogs who are newest on my follower list and see what new gems you might find...

For the love of art

2009-05-13T06:34:00.000-04:00

Last Friday, as I was bee-bopping through the blogosphere, I came across something that really resonated with me. It's called We Heart Art, and it's purpose is to promote art and creativity in our lives. For more details on We Heart Art please visit:

3 Bay B Chicks

Domestically Challenged, and

I'm Living Proof that God has a Sense of Humor.

I feel strongly about giving kids the opportunity to express themselves and be creative. Early in my mommy days I struggled with this because I don't like messes. Finger paint is not my friend. But then one day I saw sheer joy radiate from my daughter when I gave her a paint brush and encouraged her to paint with chocolate pudding. She painted the paper... and her face... and her high chair... and her body... She was joy personified, and she was proud of what she'd done, and I was converted. I still strive to minimize mess and maximize creativity, but I've never looked back.

Here are my three tips for getting creative with your kiddo-s:

* Encourage art as a process, as opposed to a defined project. I firmly believe the majority of value kids receive is from the experience of figuring it out. Allowing our children to explore the process on their own terms develops creativity and encourages them to think and solve problems independently.

* Resist the urge to show examples of what their project "should" look like. Provide supplies and general guidelines, and let them take it from there.

* Ask your child to explain their creation. I'm amazed at the nuances in their projects that I would never have observed, let alone understood. It brings your appreciation to a whole new level.

Here's a peek at some of my favorite's

Spring flowers made by the whole family (inspired by faemom)

Rachel's apple still life (watercolor pencils), age 8

Hannah's flower still life (watercolor), age 6

Mommy's still life (water color pencils), age undetectable ;)

Now, go...

Paint with pudding

Sculpt with shaving cream

Blow paint bubbles

Make art!

I was the best... for about 5 minutes

2009-05-12T06:23:00.000-04:00

We were driving to school today and the children were waxing poetic about Mother's Day. I was glad to hear they enjoyed it almost as much as I had. The kids were enthusiastically singing my praises.

Abby: You are the best mom in the whole wide world!

KathyB!: (needing to learn when you should keep your mouth SHUT) Really? You think I'm the best mom in the world?!

(pregnant pause)

Abby: Mom, really, you are great.

Hannah: You are REALLY good, mom!

Emily: But if you were the best, well, would there be that sticky stuff in the fridge?

Hannah: Best kinda means you can't make mistakes....

Abby: You definitely make mistakes, mom.

Hannah: Not that many... but some...

Abby: Remember last week when she burned dinner and set off the smoke alarm? That was definitely a mistake...

Hannah: But that was just because she got distracted with... and we had swim team...

Rachel: STOP! You are great, mom. Top ten for sure.

Hannah: Definitely top ten!!

KathyB!: ( SERIOUSLY?! I thought I was the GREATEST? How quickly we fall...)

My name is KathyB!, and I am a...

2009-05-11T08:52:00.000-04:00

Yesterday started well. I got to sleep in, I was served my favorite breakfast... And I got to wear my new sleepshirt. It's a little fuzzy, but it says, "It's official, I've become my mother."

My mom gave me this shirt, inspired by <<this post>>.

I had the luxury of doing whatever I wanted yesterday. I told everyone that we were going kayaking. And I really meant it. Really. I love kayaking and the girls are old enough now to handle themselves in their own boats.

But then I went outside and the weather was fabulous. Sunny, but not hot. Definitely not humid. The perfect day to head to the nursery and load up on plants.

And I got so involved with this

And this

And this

And this (it's a little toad peeking out between my fingers)

That we never got to do this

My name is KathyB! and I am a garden-aholic.

The aftermath of a tornado

2009-05-08T07:04:00.000-04:00

I would just like to say, right now, before I even start, that I must have been a really bad person in a previous life, and I'm being punished for it now. You don't believe me? Want some proof? Let me show you...

- Arrive home around 6:30 PM tired from schlepping kids around all day, and realize you have no plan for dinner, hubs is out of town on business, and the kids are hungry and bickering.

- Jump out of your skin when you're jolted out of your perusal of the refrigerator by both the weather alert radio and the regular radio squawking out tornado warnings simultaneously.

- Wander over to the computer for more details on the storm severity, and discover there are funnel clouds in the area. For real.

- Inform the kids, in your calmest and most unemotional voice, that we should head down to the basement to watch TV. I might as well have told them to panic. I never tell them to go watch TV, and I certainly don't send them to the basement to do it. I can't see them down there while I'm getting dinner ready. Can you imagine the trouble they could get into?! Anyway, my out-of-character instructions were a dead giveaway that something was amiss, and the questions started to fly.

- Deflect questions like a champ as you fiddle with the basement television.

- Blink eyes in confusion when you get the message "your cable box is not authorized for service." Really? That's funny because it was authorized enough for the cable company to cash my monthly check.

- Call cable company and wait on hold while continuing to deflect questions and observing the ominous gray-green color of the sky.

- Begin answering tech support questions, and ignore the flurry of frantic activity around me. This is the part that really gets me. After 11 years I like to think that my mommy radar is finely honed. How did I not notice what was going on?!

- Find yourself jammed headfirst into the entertainment console in a quest to find the cord with a serial number on it. Who knew there were so many cords back there anyway?! Decide that we will not have spaghetti for dinner.

- Miss a critical part of the kids' conversation because you're now waist-deep in the console with your butt waving in the air like the American flag... still searching for the dang-blasted cord.

- Resolve issue with cable company and take a deep breath as you worm your way back out of the console. Notice the quiet. It is really quiet. Now your mommy radar kicks in. Apparently it isn't as finely honed as you thought it was.

- Realize one of your daughters, we'll call her Chicken Little, has convinced your other daughters that a tornado is imminent and they must be prepared. In theory this would be a good idea.

- Have epiphany as you survey our "safe spot:" Tornado preparedness from a child's perspective bares no similarity to my own definition of tornado preparedness. In the 15 minutes I spent dealing with the cable company Chicken Little convinced her sisters to strip all of our beds, and cart all of their bedding and earthly possessions to the basement.

Can I just say they made amazing progress?

- Feel eyes bulge... Holy blooming mess! Forget tornadoes outside, one has clearly been through the basement from the looks of things. I grabbed the kids and tried to calm them down with my there's-no-need-to-panic speech. It was just starting to work when the newscaster on the TV behind us began gleefully dissecting a live shot of a real funnel cloud that was about 20 minutes from our house. Soooo not helpful.

- Abandon the there's-no-need-to-panic speech as the weather alert radio starts warning tornadoes have been confirmed by trained tornado spotters in Wendell... And that the tornado is heading for Lizzard Lick.

- Pause for a moment. Where is Lizzard Lick? Scratch that. What in the heckity-heck is a Lizzard-Lick?! And why don't I know whether we're east or west of it?!

- Flinch when the weather alert radio starts shrieking again. This time it's telling us all persons in the general vicinity should take cover as there is so much rain that you won't even be able to see or hear the tornado coming until it's too late... A stealth tornado?! At this point someone is yelling (that might have been me)... there is bedding and clothing everywhere thanks to the kids' emergency preparations... someone is whimpering they want daddy (and no, it wasn't me)... the radio is shrieking at us to take cover... and Rachel remembers the beaver (it's really a rabbit. Click here if you're curious) is outside in the storm and we have to save her.

- Do mental math and feel relatively certain that we have a solid 15 minutes before annihilation and run to save the beaver... Now, in addition to the above mentioned chaos, we also have a deranged rabbit going bonkers in her cage and kicking poop out of her litter box.

- Get everyone (except the rabbit. She was too busy flinging poop around to be concerned for her life) in the appropriate duck and cover position.... waiting... waiting...

Photo from www.newsandobserver.com this is the actual tornado!

It was close, but it missed us. Don't get me wrong. I am thankful. I fully realize that this could have ended badly.

But now that we're safe, I'm left to fully appreciate the stripped beds.... the pillows... the drawers of clothing hastily piled in corners... the rabbit poop that's gone everywhere...

the complete and utter destruction that comes in the wake

of being missed by a tornado.

Note: We were prepared for a tornado. The kids knew where to go and, hypothetically, what to do. We have candles, batteries, flashlights, a radio, blah, blah, blah. We're new to the tornado business having only arrived from California last year. Next time we'll do better. Much better.

Fairies are in our midst

2009-05-07T11:50:00.000-04:00

Today I was at the school helping some first grade students who are struggling with their spelling and grammar. I was dictating sentences and spelling words and then checking each student's work and helping them correct their errors. As I leaned over to help a student I was unaware that the child sitting next to him was also looking over the child's work... until I heard him comment:

"Oh, man! The f**k-up fairy was all over your paper!

You got 'em all wrong."

The child had made quite a few mistakes, but I don't know that I would've phrased it quite like that. Of course, I pulled him aside and we talked about it. He didn't know it was a bad word (and I really believe him). He was contrite. I asked him where he'd heard that phrase and he replied that last night his dad was trying to fix a neighbor's car. His father had his head under the hood and announced:

"Man, the f**k-up fairy has been all over this car."

I guess I should give him points for using the statement in the right context.

A time for every purpose under heaven

2009-05-06T06:54:00.000-04:00

For those of you unfamiliar with Michelle Paul you need to read this post to make any sense of what's happening here.

The other day Emily went to get Michelle out of her high chair and commented that Michelle needed to start wearing a diaper because she'd pooped in her high chair.

Unfortunately, Michelle needed more than a diaper as her bum was rotting and leaving coconut goo in the highchair. She might have gotten dropped a few ~~hundred thousand~~ times in her short life. Or it could just be that she's a coconut and not a baby doll.

It was quickly determined that an emergency was at hand. Doctor Mommy was paged and quickly performed triage, but it didn't look good. The tissue damage was extensive. The hemorrhaging couldn't be stopped. It was clear there wasn't much time. Relatives were called in to say their good-bye's. Michelle's mother was nearly hysterical with grief.

Since Doctor Mommy is no longer allowed to use power tools (we'll discuss this another time), a specialist was called in.

Dr. Mommy explained that Michelle's time was done but if we were lucky, we could toast the coconut and sprinkle it over some vanilla ice cream with hot fudge sauce and some whipped cream. Emily, being genetically linked to Dr. Mom, heard the word ice cream and immediately calmed down.

But, alas, Michelle was too rotten to eat. Dr. Mommy worried that Emily would be scarred by her loss, but she was wrong.

Emily moved on within minutes.

She has a new baby now...

www.tent-caterpillar.com

Actually, she's had several of these. Her track record is a little spotty at this point.

But, practice makes perfect.

Right?

So many choices, so much...

2009-05-05T07:50:00.000-04:00

I have this problem with my neck that rears up occasionally. If I stretch my arms above my head and move at anything other than just. the right. angle. I'll hear a tiny popping noise and instantly lose the ability to move my head without excruciating pain. Inevitably I do this to myself, to some degree, every few weeks.

And so as I sat, nursing a very stiff neck and reading my friend zelzee's blog, my heart dropped when she wrote that she, "was told many years ago, that when you turn 40 you lose a body part a year" and went on to state that this prediction has become reality for her. Fabulous. I will be 40 in just a few short months. Wonder what I'll lose first?!

I began thinking of all the things I might lose as I got older: my flexibility, coordination, eyesight, smooth skin... I don't even want to think about the loss of my health. I began to feel the tiniest bit depressed, but then I really thought it through. It's not like I haven't lost things already:

My natural hair color: I started coloring my hair at 24 because I was prematurely gray. 24!

My boobs: I nursed all four kids for two years. That's a lotta mileage on the 'ole milk wagons, if you catch my drift.

My stomach: For four years I was a baby-making machine. Tacking twins on at the end? Let's just say when your doctor tells you that you can do all the sit-ups you want, and it ain't goin' back, well, it's time to throw in the towel.

My metabolism: And I miss this most of all. The other three can be resurrected with a Wonderbra, Spanx and a bottle of Lady Clairol; slow metabolism? Not so much. I swear, I live on 1200 calories a day just to maintain my weight. It's an evil curse.

As I started thinking about this I got a little fired up. I'm supposed to have 'til I'm 40 and I've already lost six things (boobs count as two, right, and we already talked about my neck). But then I started thinking... the world according to me is ruled by nothing, if not logic... and based upon my ~~half-assed reasoning~~ brilliant deductions I can conclude the following:

* I have a credit on my account and, therefore, I won't lose any more body parts until I'm 45!

* I will grow old, but I have decided that growing up will continue to be optional.

* I will not worry about health food. Rather, I will consume all the processed foods I want. I will need the preservatives to keep from deteriorating.

* I will ignore my well meaning friends when they tell me time is a great healer and instead rely on science for my beauty needs.

* I will acknoledge that wisdom comes with age. It just takes a detour sometimes. I feel confident that my wisdom is en route. It probably made a quick stop to see the sites in New York. I expect it will arrive any day.

And if all else fails, my lovely friend at the Un-Gourmet has told me that I can have my butt surgically removed so that I can't sit down. I imagine this will help burn calories as well as making me look slim and svelte in my jeans.

Good to know there are options... I'd hate to hit middle-age and just fall apart.

It's a little long...

2009-05-04T07:08:00.000-04:00

After my last post I exchanged a few emails with ladies who had left comments. A consistent theme was that I don't really talk much about myself. Well, duh! With all the stupidity that is busting out around me, how am I supposed to focus on me?! Anyway, at exactly the same time my bloggy buddy at Polymer Clay Snails tagged me for a meme that just happens to be about... ME! I usually don't participate because I think I'm about as interesting as the dried goo on the stove top from when I let the pasta boil-over last week, but... if you really wanna know... I'll tell you...

What’s your current obsession?
Mexican food. I swear I could eat it 7 days a week. And put some fresh cilantro in it. Somewhere. Anywhere. Mmmmm.... And my true guilty pleasure? Taco Bell sauce. I love fresh salsa, but there is something about that processed, artificial watered-down tomato paste that just does it for me.
If you could change your name, what would it be and why?
The Duchess of... Whatever comes after that doesn't really matter. I don't want to be a queen or anything, just lower level royalty who has servants at her beck and call. It's not like I'm greedy or anything.

Why is today special?
First communion day for my eldest daughters. Better late than never, right?!

What would you like to learn to do?
I'd like to learn to speak Spanish. I hate that there are all these conversations going in which I can not participate.

What’s for dinner today?
Egg white omelet with spinach and some sliced watermelon. It was healthy, and it was the right choice.... It tasted like crap. I should have put some Taco Bell sauce on it.

What’s the last thing you bought?
A ton of really cute clothes for my girls. And groceries. I always hear stories about how little girls don't eat much. Apparently I'm raising a pack of dogs in peak lactation. Did you know that a dog in peak lactation can eat four times her body weight? Well, they can. And so can my girls. I buy a lot of groceries.

What are you listening to right now?
Slamming doors. I should really do something about that before someone loses a finger. We've come close to finger loss once or twice. From the sounds of things right now we could actually be successful this time.

What’s your most challenging goal right now?
To figure out what I want to do with my life. I quit the corporate job that I loved after I had my first baby. Then I had three more. I am good at making babies, but I can't really make a career of it. Now that my four are in school all day I'm sort of at loose ends. I need a plan.

What do you think about the person who tagged you?
I think she's as cool in real life as I am in my imagination. And in my mind I am FABULOUS.

If you could have a house totally paid for, fully furnished anywhere in the world, where would you like it to be?
Beachfront somewhere in Australia. Or New Zealand, maybe? I'm not really well enough traveled to answer this question!

What would you like to have in your hands right now?
A new baby. I'm thinking of taking in emergency foster kids. I really have a gift for infants. I'm just not sure my heart can take the circumstances. I don't know if I'm strong enough to say good-bye.

What would you like to get rid of?
All the fruits and veggies in the fridge. I'd replace it with cheesecake, ice cream and, of course, MEXICAN FOOD!

If you could go anywhere in the world for the next hour, where would you go?
Sea kayaking with my hubby on the Monterey Bay in Northern California.
What super power would you like to possess?
I would fly like Superman. I think it would be fun. And can you imagine how much stress it would relieve if you could just take a lap around the world to clear your head?!

What’s your favorite piece of clothing in your own closet?
I have a pair of black sweat pants with a hot pink stripe down the side. I have a pink top that matches the stripe and a black quilted vest that I wear with it. It's like walking around in my p.j.'s all day. Heaven.

What’s your dream job?
Back in the day I got an undergraduate degree in Biology/pre-med. I was accepted to UCLA medical school, but bailed out when a counselor mentioned that I'd be $250,000 in debt by the time I was finished. I think I would've been a kick ass doctor. In fact I almost started med. school this fall but it didn't work out and, honestly, it's not the right choice for my family. It has all the makings of a dream job.

If you had $150 now what would you spend it on?
New make-up. I'm of an age where fresh-faced doesn't look so fresh anymore. Enough said.

What fashion show would you want tickets to?
That gal with the fab sweatpants. Oh, she doesn't exist? Maybe fashion isn't my gig.

Who’s closet would you want to raid?
Not sure. I think I'd rather ask for an intervention from the folks at What Not to Wear.

What are you most proud of?
My kids, but that's not a very fun answer. My number two? I'm proud of my choices. Somewhere along the way I found a little pearl of wisdom, and it states that hard work and perseverance will get you pretty much anywhere you want to go. If you want it and you are willing to work for it, then you can do it. You just have to know what you want.

The rules:

I was supposed to delete one questions and then add a question of my own, but I inadvertently left a couple questions out. I don't understand.... I did copy... And I did paste... Why isn't it all here?! I'll take these omissions as my creative input.

I'm also supposed to tag 7 people, but I'm not going to do that. If you're still reading, you're tagged!

The winds of change

2009-05-01T06:40:00.000-04:00

Our school year is winding down and usually by now I am dreaming of swimming pools and lazy days without schedules. But this year instead of anticipating end of year parties and warm summer days I find myself clinging to the here and now. As I flit through the blogosphere reading stories of children and mommies anticipating their first year of preschool I smile for a moment because it sounds just like me. Except my youngest children started preschool almost four years ago, and instead of anticipating a world of finger paints and ABC's and tea parties with mommy I find myself staring with apprehension at middle school.

The problem isn't middle school itself. In fact, the problem is mine. I had a group of friends in sixth grade that was a mixture of kids with whom I had long-term relationships and new friends discovered as a result of the bigger middle school environment. As I look back I see that I was a geek. I took my school work seriously, I went to bed early every night with a book, I wasn't interested in boys or the latest hairstyles or fashion. You get the idea.

One day I joined my friends in the cafeteria. I unpacked my sack lunch and began to empty a packet of mustard onto my brown paper bag. I was planning to dunk my potato chips in the mustard like all the other girls did. I wasn't really a fan of the taste but lately I'd been getting the strange feeling that I was no longer part of the inner circle.

I still remember sitting there painstakingly emptying those mustard packets and opening my bag of chips. I looked up as I completed my preparations and noticed my friends were all looking at me. The smile on my face froze as I registered the somewhat detached looks on their faces. I knew there was a problem but I wasn't sure what. I noticed some of the girls could no longer maintain eye contact and realized that I'd found the problem. It was me. One of the girls cleared her voice and announced I was no longer part of "the group." They were forming a club, and everyone was not welcome. They didn't mean any harm and they hoped I'd understand. I sat there for a moment dumbly processing the fact that these girls, some of whom I had know since the first grade, didn't want me. I don't know how long I sat there scrambling with my emotions, but it was too long. The silence morphed from awkward to uneasy. The same girl who had delivered my verdict was offended by the fact that I continued to sit like an idiot with my mustard and chips spread before me, and she icily suggested that I leave the table. A table where more than half the seats were empty.

I took my lunch and left a trail of broken chips as I numbly found my way to an empty spot far away from any other students. About halfway through lunch someone from the "popular" group came over to ask why I was sitting in the corner by myself. I offered her the brightest smile I could muster and explained myself. The popular girl made a small scene by loudly reprimanding the girls. She wanted everyone to know how terribly they had behaved. I'm sure in her heart she was vindicating me, but in my heart it only made me feel pitiful.

I sat at that table, alone, for the next two months. And then we moved to a new city. A place where no one knew me. A place where no one would ever have to know the real me. The pitiful me. I changed the way I wore my hair. I changed my clothes. I stopped acting intelligent and adopted a silly and giggly demeanor. I altered my entire presentation to the outside world, and I suppose you could say I was successful.

I managed to live a life of my own creation. I also graduated from high school a year early so that I could release myself from the hell of living a life that was not real... A life that I had manufactured to avoid being hurt and humiliated by people I trusted.

In college I found the strength to be me, and to be confident. I made friends who genuinely liked me for myself.

And I healed.

But if you were ever to catch me in a moment of raw honesty I would probably tell you that there will always be a tiny piece of my heart that waits for it to happen again. Without a doubt, this particular afternoon in middle school set off a chain reaction that shaped my life for many years.

Up until this school year I hadn't given that day, or the years that followed, a lot of thought. But as the fall draws near I have trouble mustering enthusiasm. I can only hope that my child, my baby who can't possibly be beyond preschool, is stronger than I was. That I've shown her how to have the courage to believe in herself. To be herself.

I pray she fares better than I.

The circle of life

2009-04-29T07:24:00.000-04:00

Field trips are usually fun. You get to take the kids out of their regular environment and experience new things with them. The kids are generally happy and they're always excited... Sort of like zoo animals that have been released unexpectedly from a lifetime of confinement... And then there are the other times... Normally I enjoy these things, but lately I've had a lot going on personally and all the volunteering has just added to the pressure. I was kind of looking forward to a day off, but it wasn't to be. Shoot, I can't say no to a reasonable request. I guess I've sealed my own fate in a sense.

And so it is that I present to you the circle of (my) life ...

-Receive permission slip for field trip from school and complete paperwork while stealing Cheez-its out of your daughter's bowl, assisting with word problems, and explaining why I won't sign off on a reading log before the actual reading has been completed.

-Put field trip completely out of your mind until your daughter comes home the day prior to the trip with your field trip "assignment."

-Scratch your head in confusion because you're 99% certain you didn't sign up to chaperon in the first place.

-Begin throwing profane expressions around in your mind as a little black rain cloud forms over your head.

-Look at daughter's eager face and decide you really want to go on this trip. Sigh.

-Apply false smile and adopt enthusiastic demeanor.

-Arrive at nature park for the field trip only to discover that LFS (your Least Favorite Student) is assigned to your group.

-Notice the ~~unseasonably warm~~ ridiculously freakin' hot weather.

-Realize that the heat is causing the decaying matter along the lake that the kids are digging through with giant nets looking for ~~the viral source of the swine flu~~ newly hatched dragonflies is causing a very. bad. smell.

-Notice a strange substance under your fingernails once the digging has concluded, and make a firm and conscious decision not to speculate about what exactly you've gotten under there.

-Begin nature hunt with your small group and notice that LFS continues to walk waaaay to close to the river bank in spite of your firm requests to step back.

-Roll eyes when LFS falls in.

-Begin use of mental profanity when you have to fish her out.

-Listen to LFS complain belligerently because her shoes are wet, and fight the urge to say, "I told you so."

-Notice LFS dancing along the river bank. Again.

-Pull her aside and tell her ~~that if she can't listen to your instructions you're going to shove her into the river yourself~~ she has to listen more carefully because you don't want her to get hurt.

-Finish your activities and return to the bus where you'll casually mention to the teacher that it's rather ironic how LFS always ends up in your group.

-Smile insincerely when the teacher happily remarks that it's because you handle her so well. Feel free to sling around a few more mental profanities.

-Feel your cold heart melt into a puddle of joy as your daughters race over and nearly knock you to the ground as they enthusiastically shriek about the fun they've had with you.

-Agree absent-mindedly when the teacher asks you if you can work a couple extra hours in the classroom next week.

-Realize that you've come full circle and have committed to even more volunteer work that you didn't really want to do, and yet know in your heart that their youth is slipping by... that these moments are fleeting...

and that you wouldn't have it any other way.

Home Alone?!

2009-04-28T07:29:00.000-04:00

In our neck of the woods, kids are on what's affectionately know as a year 'round school calendar. This means that we are in session for 9 weeks and then off for 3 weeks, and in the summer we get 6 weeks off. It's a bit confusing at first, but ultimately I have to admit to loving it.

Last week was our first week back to school after a 3 week break. Of course, all conversations revolved around what one did or didn't do over break.

We, personally, had a busy break. We tagged along with hubs on business trips to Miami, then home, and then to Washington, D.C. And we did it all in the car. We literally drove close to 3000 miles with all 6 of us crammed like sardines into the tin can we affectionately call my minivan. We had fun, but we spent A LOT of time together, and by the end I was definitely scraping at the bottom of my bag 'o sanity.

Today we were talking to one of Rachel's teachers about plans for the end of the year. Being a polite individual the teacher inquired about our track-out activities. Rachel proceeded to give a concise run-down of our shenanigans, to which the teacher commented:

Teacher: Wow, Rachel! You must be tired of all that driving around and being in the car, but I bet your great adventures were worth it.

Rachel: Yeah, we were in the car a lot.

Teacher: I'm sure all the driving got old after a while!

Rachel: Actually, being in the car wasn't so bad. Being trapped with my sisters in the car? I was sick of that before we got back from the first trip.

Teacher: (polite smile) Hmmmm....

Rachel: And mom tries really hard to keep it fun in the car. She thinks she's really funny... but after a couple hours in the car... well...

Teacher: (Clearly smirking at me). I'm just glad you're all back safely and ready for school!

KathyB!: (Hmmm is right. I know someone who might "accidentally" get left home on the next family vacation... Smarty pants.)

I think our next trip might look less like National Lampoon's Vacation

And more like Home Alone

Reduce, reuse, recycle

2009-04-23T06:25:00.000-04:00

Look very closely at the picture. Try to take it all in. There are three important components here: the dead plant, the full-length mirror, and the bar stool. It's been like this for so long that it has (in my mind, anyway) integrated itself into the decor.

Today as hubby and I were leaving the bedroom he says to me:

Hubby: Can we please just throw that dead plant out already?!

KathyB!: No way! If we pull the plant out of the pot then there will be nothing holding that mirror up.

Hubby: Well, can't we just hang it back on the door where it's supposed to be?

KathyB!: What? Then it's up too high... I can only see myself from the waist up. What good is that?! (All my trouble happens from the waist down, thank you very much)

Hubby: (Silently eye-balling the dead plant as he rounds the corner. I can tell by the set of his jaw that this discussion will be re-played in the not so distant future, and that if I want that mirror to stay I better be prepared...)

So in honor of Earth Day I hereby declare that this "thing" that I have concocted in the corner of the bedroom is an homage to mother Earth:

The plant - lived happily in the family room for several months until we ascertained that gnats were breeding in the dirt. Lots of 'em. We were literally overrun. It was deprived of water and banished to the bedroom until the spring. Now it serves as a functional mirror-holder. This falls under the category of recycling.

The mirror - hubby wants to ditch this mirror in favor of one that is meant to free-stand on the floor. I don't know what we'd do with this mirror if we got a new one... so by keeping it we are reducing contributions to the landfill.

The bar stool - We have no use for this bar stool. It fit the counter height of our California house. It doesn't fit anything here. The fact that it has a ~~dubious~~ role as a mirror holder is relevant because we're reusing it.

There's really no logic here but, then, sometimes shock and awe gets better results.

I'm betting the mirror will stay.

Am I the only one with weird stuff lurking in the corners of their homes?

The fantasy's final death

2009-04-22T13:47:00.000-04:00

This is a continuation of yesterday's post about life's reality intruding upon your fantasies... I wish I could change the title but it's forever preserved in all of the readers out there... I guess if you didn't know where I was coming from this all might sound a bit, er, off!

Yesterday I left off in the National Gallery of Art... We were doing the museum equivalent of the walk of shame through the gallery after laughing like drunken hyenas at a bunch of naked babies. I really wanted to see the Rodin sculptures so we were making a beeline to that corner of the gallery.

When we finally found Rodin everyone was still a little silly, but reasonably under control. Fortunately, most everyone in this area, including the artwork, had their clothes on. We finally got to "The Thinker" and we paused to admire the work. "The Thinker" was naked but had the decency to keep his pickle hidden from view. I explained to the kids that "The Thinker" is an icon that represents intellect and philosophy, and that Rodin had sculpted him nude because he wanted to represent the poetry of the human form as well as intellect. I kept beating the point about the poetry of the human form hoping that maybe someday it would emerge from their subconscious.

The kids had settled down enough to accept my explanation, but the minute we were through I began herding them toward the museum exit. I wasn't taking any more chances. We were just leaving the building when Hannah looked at me very seriously and said, "Hey Mom? If being naked is so great and is supposed to make The Thinker so intellectual and poetic then why didn't they make Lincoln naked in his big monument? That's kind of like a sculpture, right?"

I had nothing for her.

But thanks to Hannah, for a brief moments I wondered:

If the cherub's penis looked like a pickle,

then to what should we compare Abe's "apparatus"

if the Lincoln Memorial were nude...

That's me trying to emulate The Thinker... clearly none of the intellectualism rubbed off on us.

Maybe next time.

When reality intrudes upon your fantasy

2009-04-21T06:49:00.000-04:00

You know how you plan something with your kids and you have the best intentions at heart? You envision it, and in your mind's eye it's lovely. Everyone is happy and having fun; no one is bickering; birds are chirping and flowers are blooming. In that dark and scary place in the back of your mind (ahem, where your logic lives) you know this ridiculous perfection isn't how it works, and yet you always go there.

And I know better. I've fallen victim to this optimistic lunacy ~~two or three hundred times~~ once or twice and yet when I traveled to Washington D.C. with the family last week I had only visions of enlightened conversation and moments of shared knowledge dancing in my head.

I was especially thrilled because I was planning to take the kids to the National Gallery of Art. Now, I am not knowledgeable about art on any level but I love it, and I thought my enthusiasm and my two semesters of art history in my undergraduate days would carry us through. We entered the gallery and were immediately confronted by a huge fountain with a nude male at the top. Did I mention he was naked? Right about now the imaginary flowers that bloom in my fantasies began to wilt, but I was oblivious. The girls (mostly the 6-year-olds) giggled a little but were ~~somewhat~~ placated by my explanation of the artist's reverence for the nude form.

We quickly struck off into the gallery anxious to distract the still-snickering 6 year-olds. Unfortunately, we maneuvered ourselves smack dab into the middle of a whole hallway full of mostly naked bronze sculpture. Shazam! There were naked men... naked women... but most of all we found the naked babies. I think the angel babies are typically called cherubs, but at this point the educational portion of the tour was over and I was in damage control mode.

I'm telling you, if I could somehow harness the investigative speed and ferocity with which immature children can find the one nude cherub/baby in a painting with at least 1000 images, I could cure cancer... Without fail we'd enter a new room and I'd start counting down from 10... and before I'd hit zero the giggles would start... It was mostly the little ones, but stupidity is contagious.

And I guess the stupidity really was contagious. Those kids had themselves whipped into such a state over these dang-blasted cherubs that they were practically doubled over. And you know what? After a few minutes, I started laughing, too. I tried to navigate the herd away from the cherubs but it didn't work. They were E-V-E-R-Y-W-H-E-R-E.

Anyway, this was the funniest thing my kids have seen in their entire lives:

As they stood snickering in front of the exhibit one child asked if that was the baby's penis. I grumpily said, "Of course it is. You know it is. Why do you even have to ask?" To which she replied, "because it looks like a little pickle." I, of course, had no reply (other than the silent prayer for strength that I offered up -- because I almost snorted like a pig when she made that comment about the little pickle).

At this point we just needed to leave before we made complete idiots of ourselves. Oh wait... too late for that. The kids were contained, but barely. I know their limits and we were testing them sorely. We made a mad dash to Rodin (the artist I most wanted to see), and I'll tell you what we did there.... tomorrow.

Until then, I've had the pleasure of becoming acquainted with a real sculptor through the blogosphere. She's just completed a showing of her work and is looking to do a series of 12 sculptures inspired by blogging. I am going to be participating (if she still wants me after that dill pickle stupidity). Check out her blog to get all the details, and join me.

The World Cup is half-full

2009-04-20T06:47:00.000-04:00

Abby and Emily are playing their first season of soccer, and they are adorable to watch. Their youthful excitement and puppy-like enthusiasm for the game is contagious to players and spectators alike.

Unfortunately, the weather has been abysmal this year. We've had rain, cold weather, rain, rain... and did I mention rain? We've also been running around between Miami and D.C. for the last few weeks and missed a few games. As a result the season is well underway, and yet they haven't actually played that many games.

As with most children embarking upon their first season of a sport Abby and Emily's enthusiasm considerably outweighs their skill. On the way to Saturday's game we had the following conversation:

Abby: Our team ROCKS! We have got the best soccer team ever!

Emily: YEAH!!

Abby: We haven't been beaten yet. We're gonna do great today! We are sooo gonna win!

Emily: YEAH! (pumping fist)

Hannah: Whoa... I didn't realize your team was that good. How many games have you guys won now anyway?

Abby: Mom? Is this our first game or our second?

Hannah: (snorts)

Mom: (Sending Hannah my evil mommy eyes via the rear view mirror and defying her to comment on Abby's sweet, yet unfounded, confidence).

Ummm... You'd have to ask daddy, but I know your team is going to do really well today.

Emily: YEAH!!

Hannah: (wisely letting it go with an eye roll)

And for the record? They won...

In spite of the goal they scored on themselves.

Rodin? Not today

2009-04-16T07:11:00.000-04:00

I had a post about the National Art Gallery and Rodin that I was writing for today. I got stuck mid-way through and started reading blogs instead of writing my own... and that's when I ran across a trivia post at by the fabulous Inktopia. Essentially you throw your name into a trivia generator and it spits out a top 10 list about you. After reading Inktopia's list I immediately abandoned Rodin in favor of this:

Ten Top Trivia Tips about KathyB!!

1) KathyB! is black with white stripes, not white with black stripes. Well, duh! Everyone who's seen my hair before I get the roots touched-up knows this.

2) KathyB! is 984 feet tall. This is absolutely true... If you get rid of the 9, and divide 84 by 2, and then add 23 and convert the whole thing to inches this is exactly right!

3) Humans share over 98 percent of their DNA with KathyB!. I am the missing link! I always knew I'd make history.

4) The International Space Station weighs about 500 tons and is the same size as KathyB!. I'm not normally quite this large but Easter combined with lots of good food consumed in Washington, D.C.? Well, let's just say I'm well on my way.

5) The smelly fluid secreted by skunks is colloquially known as KathyB!. Now that's just rude. You can say a lot of things about KathyB!, but I smell gooooood.

6) A kathyB!ometer is used to measure KathyB!. I think it's time to start working out again. It's never a good sign when they name a measuring device in your honor.

7) Never store kathyB! at extreme temperatures! At extreme temperatures KathyB! is definitely unstable and prone to combustion and fiery outbursts. KathyB! prefers a constant temperature of 72 degrees and only indirect sunlight. She also prefers to be hand-fed ~~grapes~~ chocolate by men who resemble ~~Adonis~~ Brad Pitt and to recline on soft lounges while sipping red wine.

8) There are now more than 4000 satellites orbiting KathyB!. My magnetic pull is amazing. The satellites are just the tip of the iceberg. You don't even want to know what else is orbiting around here.

9) When KathyB! is swallowed, she will enter the blood stream within twenty minutes. Yeah, but you don't need to worry about this because when's the last time you saw someone swallow something the size of the International Space Station?! But if against all odds you do swallow KathyB!, do not induce vomiting. Instead remove yourself from the presence of small children, pour yourself a glass of wine, find a good book, and follow with a leisurely nap. If KathyB! is still present in your bloodstream then repeat process until your system is clear.

10) KathyB! will become gaseous if her temperature rises above -42°C. I 'm not going there. Either KathyB! will enter a vapor-state and become one with the environment around her, or there is going to be a really, really bad smell. Let's not find out.

Want to play along?! Go here...