I Married a Good Man

You guys.  I am basically indulging in a sick day right now, which most moms are never able to do unless they are hospitalized.  Except thankfully I'm not even ill in the slightest, at least not in a physical way.  But it is Saturday morning, after a long, cold week, and Joe is playing with the children downstairs and bringing me coffee and The Writer's Almanac podcast in bed.  This is just what I needed, and I suppose it would take a blind and deaf man not to have known it.

Yesterday was a terrible day, not in a life crisis sort of way, but I can't remember a worse day of parenting on my part.  If two weeks ago I was the mom doing icy science experiments at home, by yesterday this unrelenting winter had me feeling like Jack Nicholson in The Shining.  I yelled at the children and then apologized.  Only to later yell at the children and then apologize.  It was an ugly, vicious cycle that I hope not to repeat, but I confess it here because I am human.  Our heater could not keep up with the winds, and our living room was topping out around 54 degrees.  Cabin fever set in, and no one got enough exercise or fresh air.  The kids watched too much TV but could not handle a movie, but I suppose that is a topic for a different post.  We went to a McDonald's drive-thru for lunch, which is a rarity because of how awful it makes me feel afterwards.  I endured another "Weepy Dinner", the term I've coined for anytime Joe can't make it home from work in time to eat with us and one of the girls (this time it was June) sets off a chain reaction of tears.  As always, it was sad and comical at the same time, but I couldn't blame the kids for feeling distraught.  I felt pretty distraught by that hour, too.  In sum:  All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.

Somehow, at the end of this awful day of abysmal parenting June still jumped up in our bed before bedtime and said, "I want to snuggle with Mommy!"  Waylon ended his night with his usual, "I love you so much!"  And Georgia threw her arms around me from her top bunk at lights out saying, "I love you more than anything in the world."  Children are so forgiving, and I am incredibly grateful for that.

But back to Joe.  He's also rather forgiving and knows how to take care of me when I am suffering from the mental illness known as "total beat-down of incessant, loud, repetitious, whiny, simultaneous, conflicting demands of little ones".  It's a serious affliction, look it up.  Joe and I celebrated our 10th anniversary earlier this month, and I've been meaning to post something here to commemorate it.  I look back on all the places we've lived, the trips we've taken (I vaguely recall the freedom of traveling without kids...), the jobs we've worked, the relatives we've lost, the children we've welcomed, and how our hearts have grown.  We got married on the beach in Mexico, so of course every January 9th I want to magically transport myself there.

This year, in honor of our 10th, I brought out our official, stored on a high shelf, kept in a fancy protective box, wedding album to show the girls.  I knew they'd get a kick out of it but was moved by how much they plunged in with heart and soul, wanting to celebrate for us and with us.  They painted  us anniversary cards.  They demanded to put on their flower girl dresses from Aunt Sara's wedding.  And then Georgia put forth a pleading request, "Mama, can you please, please, pretty please, please say yes, put on your wedding dress and come play wedding with us?"  I replied by informing her that my dress was sealed in a box in Missouri, but maybe the next time we visited Nana we could get it out.  (Ever protective of the girls' sense of body image, I neglected to mention that it's also quite possible I would need to have a rib removed to fit in the dress, thanks in large part to my children's existence on this Earth.)  Not to be thwarted, Georgia tried again, "Then can you please put on a different dress and come be in your wedding with us?"  How can you say no to that?

So I shed my layers of fleece and slipped into a sundress, the only other all white ensemble I own.  Soon we were dancing and spinning in the basement, and my heart nearly exploded.  No one seemed to mind that I, the bride, had not showered or done my hair on this fine wedding day.



These flower girls (and their brother) were mere sparkles in my eye 10 years ago, but they have the magic to transport me back to that beach on a moment's notice.  What a gift.

And to Joe, for whom most of my thoughts are best conveyed off of the Internet, saying yes was the best decision of my life, and I would marry you again in a heartbeat.  For uncountable reasons, of course, but thank you, with every fiber of my being, for giving me a day off.     

Making It Our Own

I love it here/I hate it here. The kids are great.  I am still adjusting. In the meantime, we're doing our best to pick up with the old routines to make this house our home. I miss my old kitchen and its abundant counter space, but where there's a will there's a way for counter top dancing.






Just call me Dragon Mom.

"Georgie" Ballet 2013

Did I ever post about Georgia's ballet recital from 2012?  I think not, because life and death really got in the way.  But it was a big deal to see her up on stage.  (Wow, that was like 10,000 fewer words than I would've used to describe that day had I written about it when it happened.)

Moving on... 

One year later, and again the ballet recital did not disappoint.  I've got fun pictures to share, but for now here's a video if you've got a minute.  Georgia's the one on the far right, but the best part of the video to me (and the whole point of posting it here) is hearing Waylon yell out, "Georgie!" because he spotted her on stage.  He was way more into watching the dancers than I thought he would be, shouting out, "One more!" after each little act.  Only Waylon could get away with calling her Georgie I think. 

Georgie ballet 2013 from Kate on Vimeo.

Under-programmed/Over-programmed

Last fall we (meaning the kids, of course) had no scheduled activities outside of school.  Zero point zero.  This made sense to me for various reasons, and I think it was right for our family at the time.  And yet...oh my word those were some looooong weeks (turned months).  The children were not craving more, but I was.  Something to break up the weeks, something more than the occasional playdate (never a drop off, mind you) or outing to look forward to.  I have to admit that even though I am all for avoiding over-programming childhood, our family officially reached the other end of that pendulum swing and became decidedly under-programmed, at least for my taste.

So why is it that now with the simple addition of two measly things, swimming for the girls on Sundays, and dance on Wednesdays, it already feels like too much?  "Feels like too much" as in, I couldn't easily find parking today and came *this* close to just saying forget it and driving home.  Ugh.  Swimming is no problem, I suppose because it's a weekend thing so Joe is around to help.  It must be a Wednesday issue?  (June's doing a third day of preschool now on Wednesday mornings at Georgia's school, which means a whopping four round trips to that school on Wednesdays.  It's kind of ridiculous. Oh, and before you offer it up, yes, I have heard of the concept of a carpool before.  Undoubtedly this is precisely why they were invented.)

I'm sure some of you with older kids are laughing your heads off.  I get it - I have three kids.  My chauffeur days are coming, even if we do try to limit how many extra-curriculars they participate in.  I guess I am going to have to build up my stamina and pray that the angst/activity build-up/activity let-down episodes accompanying these things subside with time.

I signed the girls up for a joint tap class for the express purpose of blowing my own mind with unbearable cuteness, and I think these photos serve as proof that that goal was achieved.  Alas, their tap career was short-lived and my dreams of sisters together in tutus on stage were dashed when it was discovered that this tap class does not participate in the year end recital.  Georgia's lust for the roar of the crowd has driven her to the ballet studio down the hall, and June's on a short sabbatical until she realizes that hanging out with mom and Waylon in the waiting area is far less fun than being the youngest tapper in the room.  As for Waylon, he's doing well with his foray into years of being the little brother dragged along to all of his sisters' activities.  He eagerly stomps outside the door, a little Michael Flatley waiting in the wings.
       


(These aren't private lessons, we just happened to be the first ones there. Which means everyone else was running really late, because we are rushing to arrive late every. single. time.)


(This shot perfectly captures the essence of our tap experience.  Georgia dancing, June bored and entertaining herself in the mirror, Waylon's reflection captured in the window as he climbs all over the waiting area.)