It Is What It Is: December 2013

Monday, December 23, 2013

Sleds Away!

As if Christmas weren't dramatic enough in my household, last week's agenda was cut short by Joel taking a turn at our family's stomach flu epidemic while I suffered from a nearly hallucinogenic migraine headache. And because that was not quite exciting enough, our neighborhood was blanketed in a thick layer of ice on Thursday, and on Saturday night, several inches of snow.

While our winter wonderland is very pretty and a nice reassurance of a white Christmas, it has made traveling difficult, and we've been forced to find entertainment closer to home. And what better entertainment is there on a snowy day than sledding?

With two small children and one pregnant woman, there are probably better, safer choices. But this isn't a story about being responsible. This is a story about a black diamond-grade sledding hill, and how we put our kids on slippery surfaces and sent them careening toward the bottom.

Joel had heard about a particular hill known for very fast and steep sledding passes, so we drove (slowly) across our little town to ride the hill. I even thought that, provided there was no risk of running into anyone, I might be able to take a turn myself. But as soon as I stood at the top and felt as though I couldn't see the bottom for the clouds at my feet, I knew it wouldn't be an option for me. But for my innocent children and fearless husband? Bring it on!

Joel rode with Graham for the first pass, because our littlest wanted to go but was afraid to attempt it alone. I wanted to record their descent, but the drop was so steep (photos do not convey) that when they sat down, they immediately began sliding before I even had my camera out of my pocket.

They shot down the hill faster than my children run from asparagus. But they were safe, had fun, and I was able to catch a couple of photos of them climbing back up to the top.

Five minutes later they were still climbing. Eight minutes after that they'd ascended maybe three feet. And very quickly we realized that the real risk of sledding on this hill was not the danger of reaching the bottom, but paying the medical bills from the massive coronary suffered on the trip back up.

So when it was Cael's turn, we sent him solo.

He was fine, and I got a nice clip of his wipeout at the bottom. And he had so much fun that when he army-crawled back up and dropped the sled when he'd nearly reached the top, we simply laughed and headed home to the gently graded safety of our own yard.

In the end, it didn't matter that our sledding escapade got cut short, or that it would have been easier to build a snowman with baking soda than with such fluffy snow. In the end, what really mattered was that no one threw up.

Oh yeah, and that we were together.

Wednesday, December 18, 2013

Ism of the Week

"Mom, I think I know why Santa has such a big belly."

"Oh, really? Why is that?"

"Because we leave cookies and eggnog for him every Christmas. And if he eats cookies and eggnog at everybody's house, he'd be huge!"

"I bet you're right! He needs to eat better for the rest of the year or he won't fit into his sleigh."

"Yeah. You should be careful too, Mom. I saw you eat one of those cookies you made this morning and you won't fit into the van if you keep doing that."

Tuesday, December 17, 2013

The Most Embarrassing Time of the Year

Do you ever feel like, when you set out to teach your children something important, your bad luck and their limited social skills conspire to embarrass the heck out of you?

Last week I was out with the boys running a few errands when we decided to duck into HyVee to grab a few grocery items. As we approached the entrance, Cael noticed the Salvation Army bell ringer and asked me what he was doing. I tried to explain that there are many families that don't have as much as we do, and that the money people give goes to help those families all year, and at Christmastime specifically.

Photo credit here.

And then I thought there was no better lesson than to let them put some money in the bucket themselves, knowing that they not only love to take my money whenever possible, but that they also love to throw it away, whether in a mall fountain or in a video game at Godfather's Pizza. So I fished around in my wallet, only to find that I had literally nothing in my coin purse, save for one earring and a plastic coin that goes with Graham's cash register toy.

"Oh, I guess I don't have anything now, guys. We'll have to do it another time."

"Okay, Mom. But what about the kids with no presents this year?"

The guilt trip wasn't needed. I felt guilty enough for having nothing to give and for missing a chance to teach my kids something valuable.

We headed inside to collect our groceries, and on the way out I swiped my debit card to pay for my green beans and french bread. And it was when we were walking by the bell ringer that it happened.

Photo credit here.

Why did Cael feel the need to sell me out? I don't know. Maybe it was because I chose not to let the boys ride together in one of those themed truck-carts. Possibly it was because I wouldn't buy any jicama simply because "it looks like a potato and a baseball had a baby". Or more likely, Cael just saw an opportunity to embarrass me, and seized the moment like the social vulture he is. So he turned to the bell ringer and literally shouted...

"MY MOM DOESN'T HAVE ANY MONEY FOR PEOPLE AT CHRISTMAS!"

What could I say to that? Not only was it true that I had no cash, but my face was as red as the ringer's bucket, so I grabbed their hands and tried to hustle to the car. But Cael wasn't finished until the job was done. Loudly.

"But Mom, how come you had money for groceries, but not for people who need it?"

Touché, Cael. Aren't my kids oh-so lucky to have a mother who will teach them the important things in life, like ranking pistachio ice cream above making a difference?

Monday, December 16, 2013

Knocking on Virtual Wood

Sometimes I think this blog has magical powers. But like most crazy (or maybe just exhausted and misunderstood) people that think they have that gift, I can't seem to harness my power for good.

In the past, I have made mentions of house floods and within days, the carpet is inexplicably soaked and I curse myself for not knocking on wood. When I comment that the boys are behaving well, they respond by trashing the basement and peeing in the laundry baskets. So with these sorts of experiences under my belt, I really should know better, right?

Remember how I posted the other day about how it can be a nice break when my kids are feeling under the weather? The fates (or maybe this sinister blog) thought that was a perfect segue to test my parenting skills in the face of stomach flu.

I got a phone call from the school before lunchtime on Thursday requesting that I retrieve Cael after he had gotten sick in a hallway trash can. After scrambling to get my day care kids picked up, I got him from the school and drove him home, listening to his proclamations that he wasn't going to get sick again. Instead, I spent the duration of the day emptying his bucket every 30 minutes and doing my best to keep the kids separated.

But just as I explained in that fateful post, when Cael gets sick he is not his usual, energetic self. He wants to snuggle. He wants to sleep near me. And, germs be damned, he wants to touch my face all the time.

So my Thursday and Friday were spent fending off gastroenteritis and systematically disinfecting my whole house. And I deserve some serious kudos, because no one else in my family got sick.

Knock, knock, knock.

All that is left for me is to learn from what has happened. This blog clearly doesn't work like a genie's lamp. I cannot simply ask for what I want and hope it happens. Instead, if I think something is beyond the realm of possibility (and say so), I might have a very tiny chance.

Except for winning that mega-millions jackpot. That $550 million could NEVER, EVER be mine. Not ever.

Right?

Wednesday, December 11, 2013

From Decongestant to Destruction

Okay, I'm just going to go ahead and say the thing we're not supposed to say as parents. You won't judge, right?

It's a nice break when my kids are sick.

Would I prevent it if I could? Absolutely. Would I prefer them to be healthy? Of course. But alas, I don't control the fates any better than I can control my own hair, so I figure that there is no harm in enjoying the few benefits that may come with a cold that leaves my boys a bit under the weather.

First, the snuggles. Oh, how they want to sit on my lap and have me rub their backs, or stroke their hair just like when they were very little. And as long as I am able to steer clear of the clammy head/runny nose region, I get as much contentment out of the experience as they do.

Secondly, my boys are never as agreeable as when they are under the weather.

"Cael, would you please eat your broccoli?"
"Sure, Mom."
"Graham, are you ready to take your nap?"
"Yeah, I'm sleepy."

But the best, most tolerable and, dare I say enjoyable parts of their suffering is that neither of my offspring are in any condition to continue their campaign for the systematic destruction of my home.

On any given morning, I dread descending the fourteen stairs to the boys' bedroom and family room, where they have likely been awake since dawn dumping out toilet water and throwing projectiles at the moving ceiling fan. When they first begin to feel ill, their antics are somewhat less physical, the boys opting instead to somehow access and poorly alter the system settings on our computer, but when their colds are in full force, they simply sleep.

I get to sneak quietly into their room and rouse them gently, kissing their faces and nuzzling their sleep-matted hair as they cross from asleep to awake. They reach for hugs again, and they ask about medicine.

In short, when they are sick, they need me again.

But as much as I savor those sniffling moments of closeness, I want them healthy. I want them to go to school and learn; to run and play. So instead of saying the things I'm not supposed to say, I do the things a mom is supposed to do. I wash their hands, take their temperatures and push the fluids. And before I know it, I have to smile (and sigh) when I see underpants hanging from the fan and feel water under my feet. Because, after all, a mischievous boy is a healthy boy.

"Mom, Graham was swinging on the towel rack and it ripped out of the wall!"

Anyone's kids feeling under the weather? The Foreman boys are available for playdates...

Tuesday, December 10, 2013

Ism of the Week

"Mom, why do you hide the candy?"

"Because if you know where it is, you and your brother get into it without permission."

"How come you don't need permission to eat peanut butter cups?"

"Because I'm a grown up. When you're a grown up you can make your own decisions. Plus, I know that I will eat lots of fruit and vegetables too, but I'm not so sure you will."

"Well then I guess you'd better find a better hiding spot."

"Why is that?"

"Graham just finished that bag of peanut butter cups. Should I take him some green beans now?"

Monday, December 9, 2013

Ugh, Christmas Tree

I still maintain that there is no time of year more beautiful than Christmas, and I love the soft glow inside my home as the tree lights up the room and our faces. But sometimes, in a house full of troublemakers, I do long for January.

I think they even wrote a song about this feeling...