May- Heather’s Brain Download
May is always crazy busy in the JaRuud household. Three birthdays and Mother’s Day, all with requisite multiple celebrations, meals, present purchasing and opening, card making, and general merriment. Add this year our life shift to me working again, and it’s a wonder I’ve made it through with a smile on my face.
We went camping this weekend near Blewett Pass. I went late and left early, leaving truly 90% of the camping work to Mark. I wouldn’t feel comfortable sticking him with that all the time, but it was really nice to arrive to camp with a tent set up and leave this morning (to go to work) with only my clothing bag and no kids.
People keep giving me sad looks when I tell them I have to work on Sundays. (So far anyway) I feel no such dissapointment. Case in point: on weekdays I get up at 5:45, spend over two hours getting myself and four kids ready to leave, and drive an hour to drop off kids at three different places. Today, I was able to rise a full hour later, 100 miles away from work, and still arrive at the exact same time. And then I just work four hours.
I tried to get Willa to sleep for a nap and bedtime yesterday in a tent. Her apparent reaction: “Mama, what the hell- what is this place? Where’s my bed? Why is it cold? Why is it light out? You think I’m going to sleep here? Uh unh, no way, no how.” I’d nurse her and nurse her but she’d startle awake when I tried to stop no matter how asleep she’d seemed. I wasn’t successful until I put her in her familiar carseat. My theory- with my others, especially the boys, I always nursed them to sleep and we traveled with them all over carnation. They never cared as long as they had me. Willa hasn’t nursed to sleep in quite some time. She hasn’t seemed to need it, and sadly, I’m just always needed elsewhere. She nurses and then I leave her awake, and if she’s sleepy, she’s asleep in minutes. But this means, she’s less attached to me and more attached to her own bed. It makes me a little sad. I’m going to tell myself it’s just who she is and try to lay off the mama guilt that I can’t do as much for my fourth child as my firsts.
I’m just happy to nurse her at all. Last weekend, from Friday through Tuesday, she went on a nursing strike. SOOOOO not fun. I felt like I was a first time mama with a newborn again, which no confidence we would ever get the breastfeeding down. No sleep from trying to nurse, getting bitten, and then pumping at all hours of the night. Without the help that often comes with having a new baby. No, instead, I was trying to juggle a family birthday party and full time work and houseguests and… and… and. Yes, I’m fully aware all of this may have actually caused said nursing strike. It turns out I had all the right instincts about what to try, and she finally came around just after I took her to the doctor and determined she was medically fine, no ear infection or other problem readily apparent. Same logic applies as that this weekend we put up tarps to (successfully) avoid it raining.
What I wanted, during the nursing strike, was somebody to understand my plight. Mark was helpful and fed Willa bottles when I was frustrated, but he didn’t seem to get how awful it was making me feel to keep offering such a sensitive (physically and emotionally) part of me and getting rejected. He kept saying “Poor Willa” and I wanted somebody to say “Poor Heather!” Actually my mom did and I’m grateful for that, but I was a wreck; I seemed to need it hourly. I have treasured the “extended” nursing the other three and I have shared, and I was NOT going to give up easily. My naturopath actually told me “at ten months, maybe she’s done with the boob.” Numerous books and google searches will tell you, a baby will almost never self-wean before 18 to 24 months. I honestly wonder if I should be thinking about switching doctors… is that crazy of me? It was just such a blatantly false piece of information, and I’m glad I didn’t trust it.
Friday before camping was the boys’ “friend” party. For the first time, we forked over the cash to have it outside our house. It was a fun, but I’m not sure if it was truly worth the money. It doesn’t feel like we created the memories that we have past years at home. Though the boys came home happy, neither has mentioned a word about it since. Yes, we had more kids than we would’ve at home, but other than that… I think maybe next time if I want to spend money on a party I’ll use it for a house cleaner beforehand. Or afterward! But check out the giant squid cake we made! (I have many more birthday pictures but I can’t find the cord to download them. Grrrr.)
Yes, our cake “plate” is a Rubbermaid bin lid. And yes, I’m well aware it is a major phallic symbol.
For their birthday, their class made them “birthday books”, with well wishes and what-I-like-about-you’s from each classmate. Two of Auden’s gave me pause- ”What I like about you is that your brother is Parker.” “You are lucky to have Parker as your twin.” While I agree with the latter, it makes me worry a little about their twinship and being in the same class. (In their current program they have to be in the same class.) It’s wonderful to have somebody to do the things you don’t know how to do, but it can’t last forever. Right now Auden reads for Parker and Parker makes friends for Auden. It’s been fascinating to watch… my own personal twin study. (I know it’s not really a study with an n of one- just anecdotal.)
How glad am I that I have another day to savor before we all go back to school and work? Very!
Six year old fun
No time to blog so I will just share a quick thought. I’ve used up my computer time creating our Happy New Year’s card in time to redeem my coupon code, complete with some really bad poetry. I don’t know about you, but those sites’ endless coupons keep getting me. Even though I know another coupon will come along, I end up getting the idea that I must order something, that I might not even want, NOW, on a deadline. Their marketing is working. And I’m mad at myself because I’ve just ordered something that does exactly what another preschool mom brought up the other day- point out how cute girls are (something they can’t change and haven’t worked for), and when talking to boys, talk about what they can do. She’s totally right that society and lots of parents do this. Of course I want my daughters to know they have value for what they’re doing and not how cute they are. And now I’ll be propagating it. Ugh. I’m going to have to sleep on it.
But the one quick thing I actually wanted to write about was what a wonderful age first grade is. If you’re not there yet, I think it’s a safe bet you can look forward to it. As opposed to some of the teen years. How many other years with your kids will you have in want to 1) do a research project about an animal, and then 2) imagine they are that animal the rest of the weekend? Auden and Parker came home Friday with an animal project, Auden a Harris’s hawk and Parker a badger. It’s not due until after Thanksgiving but they were so excited that I was convinced to hold up dinner for over an hour to help them read the literature and write out sentences. After that, they went straight into character and practiced living in the desert. Otherwise known as the living room. I’m realizing that the age Parker and Auden will want to pretend no longer is fast approaching. For now, though, it’s going strong. I love it. Even if it does mean I’ve been attacked by a raptor more than once this weekend.
Ten Things Thankful Tuesday
(except on Wednesday)
We shall see if I can keep up this NaBloPoMo thing, considering I’m starting this entry well into the 11 o’clock hour.
How can I not do a thankful post every Tuesday in November, the month of Thanksgiving?
Ten things I am grateful about, that make me happy today:
1. Sesame Street. And not because I enjoy the free time I have when my kids watch it. None of them have ever been interested in it. Watching it now, it seems a little chaotic to me, too. Not to mention commercialized. No, because I was recalling what a part of my childhood and learning experience it was. I recall eating lunch and watching it, just before riding the bus, every day of kindergarten. Sesame Street, still going strong on this 41st anniversary of its premiere.
2. Scientific curiosity- Auden requested we have “special time” to do an experiment with pennies and acid (vinegar and lemon juice) last night. He wrote about it in his journal (aka scientific notebook). Warms a chemist mama’s heart. Never mind the experiment was a bust.
3. Geese. Thank you, kind sirs and madams, for making my goose down comforter. I sincerely appreciate it.
4. Sheep. For the fibers here beside me that may make it into Christmas gifts.
5. My knitting group. We meet once a month, since 2005. Only two of us remain from the founding group. The make-up of the group has changed, but it remains an interesting mix of women. Conversation is always lively. Tonight I only got to stay for an hour, though, because of…
6. Parker. My brave funny boy. Weathers an injury like none other. Hit his head on the coffee table tonight, gashing his forehead pretty good. Not a text you want to receive while away: ”Parker hit his head. Decent blood. He’s acting funny and says he’s going to be sick.” Thinking of concussions, I rushed home…
7. The cop that did not give me a ticket, though I was speeding quite a bit. Oopsie.
8. The ER staff. Saw us straight away, and were great with my boy. They asked him if he cried right away (they were trying to assess if he’d lost consciousness), and Parker responded, “I didn’t cry. I think I whined a little.” Tough stuff, that kid. (Well, as far as injuries go. Hurt his feelings, that’s another matter.)
9. The Discovery Channel. You would not believe how jazzed Parker was to discover his ER room came equipped with a TV. Or maybe you would, if you have a six-year-old boy. Storm Chasers anyone? Personally it made me yawn but he loved it.
10. Whoever the person is that invented glue for securing skin together instead of stitches.
Chips off the ol’ LEGO block
I’ve been spending time going through old photographs. A little Christmas project I’m doing. It’s half fun and half a pain-in-the-butt.
Today I found this picture of me, proud of my LEGO creation.
See the resemblance?
I have so many more I could include here.
Push and Pull
One might have predicted this.
Back in my partying days, I had a friend who smoked (and drank) way too much. His girlfriend, also my friend, took the tactic of forbidding it. It’s the Camels or me, an ultimatum. My approach was different. Forbidding them just seemed so… well, harsh. (Or perhaps I knew that since I wasn’t having sex with him, threatening to withhold it wasn’t going to get me anywhere.) I would try to coddle him along with less smoking, hiding his cigarettes so that his next one would be delayed. But if he really looked pissed, like he needed one, I’d give in. Trying to explain it one day, I told my friend, “I don’t do Tough Love.” That oft-repeated quote, it explains a lot about my parenting style.
I don’t mean I’m permissive. Though my husband might disagree. I make them clean their room and do their chores and homework. I get my fair share of “you’re so mean”s. (Recently I found a piece of paper that Auden wrote on: “I hat my mom”. Good writing for him, but I won’t pretend it didn’t make me sad. When I asked him about it, he didn’t even remember writing it and claimed it was Parker. I know it wasn’t, as Parker still only writes lower-case a’s if forced.)
I mean that I don’t see the point in being forceful and demanding when trying to get the children to do something. Recently it’s come up with reading. The boys are just on the cusp of reading. They can sound out words if they’re short and use short vowels. I find it incredibly exciting, because I remember the way the world opened when I learned to read. Mark tries to get the boys to sound out parts of their bedtime reading. My feeling is bedtime reading is for relaxation, and learning to love reading at bedtime. Not for frustration. I don’t want to push them so hard they start to hate books. I’d rather “pull” them along by encouraging sounding out at other times, and by reading books at bedtime that demonstrate how great books are. Books that capture their interests, and that I enjoy also: If You Find a Rock, Henry and Ribsy, Y is for Yowl. Thursday night the boys and their dad had a giant blow-up over bedtime reading. He made them read “baby books”, with short words, and practice reading. They’ve all gotten over it, but I still think it was a set back in reading and parental relations. His way might get them reading faster, or it might not. Not if they learn that reading is a hateful chore.
Reading came up again last night. I found Junior Pictionary for $2.99 at Goodwill (score!) and we played it, the boys and Mark and I, after Greta went to bed. Loads of fun, it was. I enjoyed both seeing how they guess and watching what they’d draw. It was the most fun I’ve had in quite a while. No, really, it was.
It took them a while to get the concept of drawing objects around the object you are having somebody guess. Auden’s “tooth” looked like a plain ol’ rectangle, for instance, until I suggested he draw a few more and the mouth around it. It didn’t take long though- Auden drew our specific fridge complete with crap cartoons from the Economist and magnets from places my MIL has visited and artwork from 2008 and notices for museums events last summer stuck on the doors (OK, not quite that detailed) and an arrow to the ice machine for “ice”.
The pushing them to read came up again, though. I’d have them look at the word to draw and see if they knew it. But if they couldn’t sound it out pretty quickly, I read it to them. I didn’t want to hear any whining about not wanting to try, spoiling the fun. Mark, however, did his thing, spending a while each time working with either kid on “banana” or “vacuum” or whatever it was. They did balk a little bit and I was starting to get a little annoyed (without saying so). But after a few turns they just expected it. This night the pushing was effective, looking back on it, because they were so excited to play the game. It worked because of the fun, not spoiling it.
[Sidenote story: Auden misheard/read "sand" as "send" and tried to draw that. How would you draw "send"? I think a lot of people born before, say 1990, would draw somebody sending a letter. Auden made a valiant attempt to depict sending an email, but I never got to send.]
Are you a pusher or a puller with your children (if you have them)? We probably have to accept that we can change some, but our natural tendencies are going to come out in this aspect of parenting. Our kids are lucky enough to have both.
Halloween Anecdotes
Halloween magically went off without a hitch this year. No fights about eating too much candy, no costume disasters. The worst thing that happened was Greta tripping while trick-or-treating, trying to keep up with her brothers and friends, who were running from house to house. Hopefully the magic of Halloween will spill over into the magic of Thanksgiving and the magic of Christmas, rather than meaning we’ve used up our one good holiday of the year and Christmas will suck.
I almost thought I ruined it. Meaning to fill them up on nutritious food prior to the candy, we prepared noodles, chicken, and sweet potato fries for dinner. The noodles and chicken, at least, are one of the very few sure-fire eats for Greta and Auden. Halloween night, though, Greta refused all of it. Plain noodles, are you kidding me? What’s objectionable about that? I generally don’t believe in food ultimatums, but I made one. “If you don’t eat a bite of sweet potato, you can’t eat any candy tonight.”
It was time to leave, and she wasn’t going to budge.
I couldn’t figure out how in the hell I was going to stay true to my word and not have a tantruming 3-year-old on my hands. Before I could think of an exit strategy, we were on our way. Keeping her from eating candy while hurrying from house to house was easy. Time passed quickly; two hours later we arrived at home. I reminded her that she could have candy tomorrow after she’d had better nutrition. And her reply? OK Mom. What? Seriously? Hallelujah! She went easily to bed, with me in disbelief putting her down.
How cute is this girl?
The Friday before I brought the girls to the Halloween party at Auden and Parker’s school. They didn’t even load them up with cookies and candy.
That night, the high school cross country team held a Pumpkin Run. Nothing like candy to motivate kids to run. Parker was just sure he was going to win a trophy. I was doubtful. Thankfully he was happy with a ribbon and three pieces of candy.
I have recently become aware that I have failed in teaching my children how to pose for photographs.
This morning, November 1st, Parker says to me, “Let’s light the jack-o-lanterns again tonight. Then, tomorrow, let’s put up the Christmas tree. I just love celebrating the Holidays!”
What I said
8pm on a Saturday:
What I said: I’m so sorry, honey. Puking up [as they call it] is sooo yucky. You’ll be OK. I know, it sucks.
What I thought: Not aaaa-gain.
What I said: Let’s get you into the shower. We’ll get you cleaned up and into bed.
What I thought: Sure, steam-cleaning the entire family room carpet that you just sprayed with SEAFOOD CHOWDER, NO LESS, that’s exactly what I want to do with my Saturday night. Kill me now.
What I said: Next time you start to feel sick, start heading to the bathroom, OK? Even if you don’t get sick, it’s better to be safe.
What I thought: C’mon, isn’t that obvious?
What I said: Goodnight bud. I love you.
What I thought: I love you, my sweet sweet baby who’s getting soooo big. Look at the way your sick feet stretch almost all the way to the end of your twin bed. Wasn’t it just yesterday that you took up only the top third?
A Camping Alphabet Post
I’m the volunteer ”librarian” in Auden and Parker’s class. Last week’s theme was alphabet books, which inspired this post on this weekend’s camping trip with Auden and Parker’s school.
A is for Auden, my favorite babysitter for Willa. He’ll willingly sit next to her while I do things like go to the restroom or fetch water.
B is for Bailey’s, what I’m drinking in my coffee this morning to recover.
C is for coffee. Which I needed Saturday morning and did not ever get.
D is for downpour, of the long-lasting kind.
E is for eagle, an animal our family is constantly on the lookout for. It’s actually pretty amazing how often we can spy a bald eagle around here. Me, I forget to look up, but the generally boys have less to pull their eyes downward. Exactly the way it’s supposed to be.
F is for fort, that the boys and friends had ever so much fun making. Bonus for mom is the exhaustion that carrying huge driftwood logs all day entails.
G is for Greta, a girl of her own mind. You know how you see moms walking away from their children, saying, “OK, I’m going now,” and the kid eventually runs to catch up? This does not work with Miss G. I can get out-of-sight a hundred feet away, peek to look back, and Greta is still squatting to look at rocks, completely unconcerned for her safety.
H is for Heather has a Headache. When the sun appeared at noon, we were beachcombing with no sunglasses or hats. Within an hour, I had a headache from squinting. Within another hour, I had a really bad headache and was dragging four children back to the campsite so I could puke in the bushes in peace. I certainly have experience with the combo of camping and throwing up, but it’s supposed to also involve whiskey and a rocking good night beforehand.
I is for insane, my mental state when I agreed Mark should go down to the Husky-Nebraska game from the camping spot. Had I calculated between tail-gating, driving, traffic, and the game itself I’d be left alone for EIGHT hours with four kids of widely varying interests and walking speeds, I would not have said “Oh sure, honey, you’ve wanted to go to a game forever.” Or more realistically, as he really has wanted to go forever, we would not have gone camping.
J is for just barely, the way I held it together.
K is for Krispy Treats, our contribution to Saturday night’s potluck. (Parker’s contribution- I couldn’t think of K.)
L is for living room, where we had our cosy fire on Saturday night.
M is for Mark, who was a sight for sore eyes when he returned from the game. How grateful I was at that moment that I am not a single mom. Sometimes I love my husband because he’s my Man, sometimes I love him because he’s Help. Picture “Oh, Help” as asked for by Julie Andrews in The Sound of Music.
N is for new friends. All the craziness was worth watching my boys develop friendships with kids they will know for years to come. And I met some very nice parents, also, although I had to get past my anxiety that they were all wondering what in the world I was doing there with four children by myself and beholden to their help.
O is for Oreo. What is a mother to do to contain her four children while she vomits? Give them Oreos in the tent! Crumbs be damned!
P is for Parker. Parker, who loves life to its fullest, then crumples and still needs his Mama’s fullest attention.
Q is for quit, which is what we did Saturday evening. I have never made the decision to come home a day early from camping, but in this case- best decision EVER.
R is for Ranger Dave. A very nice guy invited to give an instructional beach walk. What happened instead, however, was a sit-quietly-at-a-picnic-table-listen-to-me-ramble. My children were not amused. School on a Saturday? Too much to ask.
S is for Survivor Games, which Parker played with fifty other kids from his school.
T is for tent. Thank goodness for rain flies.
U is for Urine. Middle-of-the-night urine in sleeping bags, daytime urine puddling in shoes. Urine, urine, urine. Greta did not once use the actual campground bathrooms the entire time we were there, if that’s any indication of the clothing changes we had. Though I’ve considered her potty trained since last January, I finally put her in a pull-up around the time I started throwing up.
V is for van. A mini van is to be celebrated when packing up camp in the dark rain can be done by throwing it all in the back without rolling a camp pad or stuffing a bag.
W is for Willa, my sweet sweet easy baby. Oh my goodness how I love this little (big!) bundle of fleece in my lap!
X is for the pedestrian X-Ray, which we did not need to examine the fish spines we found on the beach.
Y is for yurt, which we were not staying in, unlike many of the families. But now we know how to spell it!
Z is for the zealous love that I feel for this camping family of mine.
Making friends
Grade school marks a big change in making friends. In preschool, my kids were friends with my friends’ kids. In grade school, they make friends who have parents I don’t know. Who may or may not have similar parenting philosophies. I may not even know the child himself. I don’t know how I feel about that.
On the one hand I generally think diversity is good- if my kids are exposed to different ways of dealing with conflict or serving a snack at a friend’s house, they can learn new ways to do things. And see what doesn’t work if they end up watching a friend get yelled at. But, does it really work that way? At six, are they discriminating enough to take the good and throw out the bad? I’m not so sure about that.
In any given room of kids, Parker will find the silliest and most exuberant kids (besides himself, that is) and go talk to them. It doesn’t really matter to Parker if that child was planning on gaining a new friend that day. He has absolutely no social awkwardness. According to him, if he wants you to be your friend you will be. Never mind that this is the complete opposite of the way I think. I’ve known people I really would’ve liked to be friends with but have no idea how to approach. I could take a lesson from Parker- the approach doesn’t always matter- you just do it. At any rate, Parker’s chosen friends in kindergarten were not, shall we say, the teacher’s pet type. More like they were the kids that the teacher goes home saying, “I’d have such a great class this year if I didn’t have to deal with ____.”
I was surprised last year in kindergarten that some of those frustrating kids actually do have great parents. See how judgmental parents can be- including myself?
Auden seems to have fallen a little closer to his mother’s tree in the making friends department. As best I can gather, the friends he made last year chose him. One was a domineering young lady who told him one day she was his girlfriend. This was in February. He spent more time making her Valentine than the rest of the class combined. A week after Febrary 14th I found all the Valentines he’d made, hidden in his room. Upon delicate questioning, I extricated the story- he’d been embarrassed to give his “girlfriend” the Valentine, so he left them all in his backpack. A few weeks later when told him she was no longer his girlfriend, he faked sick because he no longer had anybody to play with at recess. Broke his mama’s heart, the whole situation.
I didn’t actually start out this post to talk about my children’s possible friend hiccups, though. Or the lack of control I have over the choosing of said friends. All I can do there is trust they’re smart and they’ll learn from their experiences. I meant to discuss my potential hiccups with their friends and parents of their friends. I have to say, dealing with calling one of their friend’s parents for a playdate fills me with dread. Will they think it’s weird for me to invite their child to my house without knowing me first? Should I invite them to meet us at the park first? Will they want to spend their time standing at a park making small talk with me? I’m not even at school to know the relationship between the kids. Does their kid even like my kid? Do I want this kid to like my kid?
I can’t be the only one that doesn’t know “the rules” here. At what age do you switch to letting the kids talk on the phone to arrange a get-together? I have to say my kids are still blissfully ignorant of the ins and outs of phone conversation, and that’s mostly fine with me. I don’t need them begging for a cell phone yet. I know they know our phone number, but I don’t know that they would actually know how to dial and call us if they needed to. They also don’t have a full grasp of calendaring and what days they might be free. For now I know I need to take care of the details.
At some age that I don’t want to even think about, I suppose one lets their children visit homes of friends they haven’t met, let alone the parents. But what age is this? Ten, twelve, twenty-three? No idea. Obviously it can be whatever we’re comfortable with, at least until our kids are legal adults. But I also worry if I’m too comfortable with letting my kids go, I’ll be judged not protective enough. Am I overthinking this?
A good part of my anxiety goes back to my own troubles with making friends. Parker begs me, over and over, until we call people who I’m pretty sure don’t want to get together with us. I HATE feeling like I’m trying too hard to make friends- my uncool middle school self. So I waffle and deflect his requests and explain I’m waiting for them to reciprocate the last playdate months ago and generally make excuses. Like my former neighbors, for example. Parker idolized their kid, who’s eighteen months older than him. This kid thought Parker was okay when he used to live across the street and was convenient, but now that they live miles away, I don’t think he cares. When they’ve come back to check on the house (they rented it out), the kid hasn’t barely responded to Parker’s excited greetings yelled across the street. Parker has yet to notice that fact, though, and keeps asking when he’s going to come over. Parker came home from the second day of school and wanted me to call the friend he’d made that day. Um, no honey, I’m not psyched up to do that yet. And just how would we find the phone number of one of the thousand Jacob’s at XYZ Elementary?
If you’re into labels, it’s probably obvious here. Parker is an extrovert, his mama and dad, and his twin are introverts. He gets misunderstood sometimes here at the JaRuud household. One definition is that an extrovert get “recharged” in life by spending time with people, and an introvert recharges by spending time alone. He’ll have to put up with us, and drag us kicking and screaming into having a social life. It’s good for us.
Part I: Games, rambling negativity
I’m going to try a new thing- writing posts in the half an hour I’ve carved out between when Mark goes to work and the rest of the family wakes up. Oh, but it’s hard to find time to myself these days. Between getting up for school and a baby who sleeps great except for that one all-important “ahhh-the-kids-are-asleep-now-I-can-say-hi-to-you” hour, my self (and my marriage, but that’s another story) is getting neglected. It’s okay, it’s temporary. But wow am I enjoying my coffee in the dark and QUIET this morning.
Do you want to know what you should NOT do on the first day of the second week of school? Here’s one for you. A classic Heather example of parenting gone wrong. I happened upon a couple of hours yesterday with Parker alone at home. Oh, yes, and a baby who wanted to be asleep, I was sure of it, but she kept waking up every twenty minutes and screaming. So one child who communicates with words. A rarity. Parker asks if I will play a game with him. A good idea, I tell him, except first I have to get dinner in the oven… fast forward twenty minutes.
[Forgive me, this whole post would be MUCH better with pictures. But I'm not going to warrant it with the time that would take.] Then, we go to the game… well, it’s not a cupboard. It’s the weirdest architectural feature of our house. The entryway is two stories high, but they added a closet at the door that’s ONE story high. As you go up the stairs, to your right is a carpeted square about 3 feet wide that is the top of the closet. All alone. I can never figure out what to do with it. Leave it vacant? No, any square inch of horizontal space in our house gets utilized by somebody I will not name for piles of magazines, unopened bills, articles torn from newspapers, well-intentioned lists on the backs of envelopes, usually an overdue library book we can’t find, etc., etc. Uncovering the strata of a neglected pile that’s been dumped into a box and shoved on his desk is like an archaeological dig. [I will not try to say I never create paper piles, but they are not quite so haphazard and usually of one type of paper.] So, anyway, no.
Perhaps combine the weird with another object I can’t find a place for- the kitty litter box? I’ve thought seriously about it. But, since this is the spot your eye goes while sitting in the living room, no. One year I placed the Christmas tree there. Not so easy to get it there, but kept it away from children. Everybody thought it looked odd though. And it did. [If I had a picture, I'd love to put it here.] My last idea for The Square has been a game cupboard. The older kids can manage to reach part of it, but it keeps younger kids from getting into the little piece games. And we have so many games and puzzles, I could never find a place for them. Place I Don’t Know What To Do With, meet Things That Never Fit Anywhere. They’d been there a couple of years. Problem was, they were just stacked there. When you wanted the game that was ten games down, you either 1) methodically took each game down and set it on the steps until you reached the desired box, or 2) you pulled on the desired box, hoping it would magically come sliding out while the boxes above remained stacked. Kind of like that trick of pulling out the tablecloth with all the dishes staying on the table. I generally picked option 2, and then at least a box would inevitably fall on my head. And often open, spilling game pieces down the stairs.
So, back to Parker, who wants to play a game. We’ve gone to the stairs to pick one out. Instead of seizing the alone time, I pick *this moment* to decide- this storage method for games is not working. In fact, it’s suddenly driving me batty now that I look at it. Never mind I’ve been ignoring this fact every time I go up and down the stairs for years. How about let’s first move ALL the boxes to the top of the bookshelves in the family room? I am met with less than enthusiasm but I press on.
Now, are the top of the bookshelves empty? Of course not! Are they dusted? No way Jose. Is this coffee table free to stack boxes on? No, it’s covered with folded clothes. [Which, let me just complain here since this is becoming a whiny sort of post anyway- I never fold clothes and then just leave them in piles. My husband will fold and leave piles covering the entire family room. I should be grateful he folds at all? Perhaps. But honestly I'd rather he not fold at all. Somehow he can sit and watch TV between two piles, but I can't relax until the couch, at least, is cleared. And maybe I didn't want to do that chore before I relax. But I know where he gets it from. This particular time the coffee table was covered with clothes because my mother-in-law had been over the day before, and she folded our clothes and left them in piles.]
So I press on. I begin to take game boxes and find room. Move wine bottles and boxes of Photos From Before Photos Lived On My Hard Drive from the top of the bookshelves to the floor. Implore Parker to help. Parker, instead, did what I imagine any kid would do. He started doing a puzzle. Did this irk me? Of course! “Help me, Parker. Can you hand me that box? Pleeeease? If you help me, we can play a game faster. No, no, no. Don’t take out more than ONE game. NOOOO, don’t open Monopoly!” Remember the girl baby we all love, who wasn’t sleeping well? She is crying. I ignore it just long enough to make me decide I’m a Horrible Mom (about three minutes). Change her, feed her. Leave her sleeping, kind of, hopefully. Continue moving boxes and asking (actually whining at) Parker to help. I repeat these three things- moving boxes, feeding or bouncing Willa, and cajoling Parker without success… for the full time we have alone. Somewhere there in the middle we eat dinner alone together, which was a bright spot. He told me all about which people, including some new ones from school I’m happy to know about, will be coming to his birthday party in May. Eventually Mark returns and I am in full sweaty annoyance. Pretend you can hear a nagging mom here: “This house is a disaster! It’s so cluttered everywhere! No one will help me. All the kids want to help Mark, not me, unload from his errands. Why will they help him and not me?!?”
Token photo, in which you can see very little of what I’m talking about
Aaack, I just realized I was supposed to be in the shower eighteen minutes ago! Half hour blogging is impossible! So, in the end, we never played a game, Mark put the kids to bed, and I finished moving the games. Grumbling. With a night’s sleep I have a lot more clarity about the numerous ways yesterday could’ve gone better. We WILL play a game today, Parker, I promise!!
