spring training

The last few weeks have not been very indicative of our typical sunny California weather.  Rather it’s been torrential downpours that last all day long and seem to have no end in sight. We’ve been cooped inside.  The natives started to get restless.  Many hours were logged on the wii fit.  Outside activities became inside activities.  There was scooter riding throughout the house.  Running inside suddenly became acceptable.  I was pretty much allowing anything that would wear them out.

Finally, the rain seems to have momentarily stopped and the skies are more blue than gray.   And suddenly my back yard has been transformed into spring training.  The anticipation of baseball season has inspired Marshall to spend every available moment working on his skills.

This weekend Marshall had try outs for Little League.  This will be his first year in Minor baseball.  He is excited for the competition.  He’s excited to play on a team named after a major league team rather than a minor team.  He’s excited to be a better player.

I’m just excited that today his energy can be burned outside.

Talking so much it hurts

Frequently, I’ll have a sore throat by about two o’clock.  For awhile I thought that maybe I had some kind of chronic sore throat disease, like morning sickness but more like afternoon throat.  It turns out, I talk non-stop for most of the day.  I contribute most of the talking to reading aloud to the kids.  I read to my kids alot. I chose a heavily literature based curriculum, and I have five kids, which means that a majority of my day consists of reading and talking.

Today, I was reading to Mike from Understood Betsy.  It’s a little bit boring and a tad bit over his head.  We’re plugging along though.  Today as I read..

…full of excitement, looking over their shoulders at nothing and pressing their hands over their mouths to keep back the giggles.  There was, of course, no reason on earth why they should giggle, which is, of couse, the reason why they did.  If you’ve ever been a little girl you know about that.

Mike:  Well I’ve never been a girl, so I don’t know about that.  Why do girls giggle so much?

Me:      I’m not sure.  It’s just something girls do.

Mike:   Keep reading, maybe we’ll find out.

We never did find out.  And soon after he lost interest with the reasoning why girls giggle, but I was glad for his question.

I’m not always sure they are listening.  Despite my amazing read aloud skills (they are quite impressive),  I get sick of the sound of my voice, so I can only imagine how the kids feel.

I try to intrest them with different voices and dramatic flair.   I am rather sneaky at trying to catch them day dreaming.  I have been known to throw in some nonsense  “and Alexander the Great Conquered Egypt and was abducted by aliens.  It was the first confirmed alien abduction.  He was returned with an extra arm” and wait for someone to catch it.  Sometimes I’ll stop midsentence and ask for a recap.  Surprisingly, more often than not, they are listening.

Hopefully, the daily sore throat will pay off when they remember that Alexander the Great was abducted by aliens conquered Persia.

I’ve spent the last month contemplating writing.  I’ve been trying to decide what I want this blog to be.  Is it purely the anecdotal blog, a random collection of all of the funny things my kids say.  Or maybe just a chronological collection of all the random events of our lives, something to prove that we didn’t waste our days.  Or is this the place that I come to be brutally honest.  It seems superficial to talk about all of the happy toddler moments without interspersing some of the terrible moments associated with being the parent of an almost teen daughter.  After a month of wrestling with this, I’m not quite sure.  I’m not quite sure where the line is drawn between private thought and public sharing.  How much am I willing to let you into my life?

Right now, I’m struggling.  I am confident in saying that I’m an completely adequate mother to an under five kid.  I’m fairly certain that I’m doing a good job with the under ten crowd.  I am fairly certain that I am unprepared for teenagedom.  I’m not sure if we’ll both survive.

We live in a world that it’s hard to parent.  The line between right and wrong, moral and immoral, keep getting pushed and blurred.  I look around and it’s hard to find the line.  Things that weren’t morally acceptable a generation ago, are completely the norm.  47% of high schoolers have been sexually active*.  I just saw an article that teen pregnancy is on the upswing again.  Our divorce rate hovers around 50%.  People live together, babies are born out of wedlock, it just goes on and on.  It’s hard to draw the line.  We are continually shoved to put ourselves, our wants, our needs, before anything else.  We live in a compulsive nation that just wants everything our way, all the time, right now.  It’s a scary world to navigate as an adult, let alone an impressionable kid.

More often than not, I feel like a lone ship navigating treacherous waters. I really wonder what the heck is wrong with some people.

Why does every one seem to think it’s okay to let young adolescents date?  Why do we let them play with some very adult emotions, activities, and complications?  All the while they are hindered by raging hormones and emotional immaturity.  Thanks for taking that line and blurring it so much that it practically erases all the other lines.

Call me prude, but I’m not going to give my 12-year-old permission to kiss a boy because I want to “keep open the line of communication”.  I actually had this conversation with a mom.  I’d like to thank her for blurring the line.

I hate having to censor reading material.  But when did everyone seem to think it’s okay to write about teen sex and call it teen fiction.  I’m not talking crushes and innocent feelings interspersed with morality.  I’m talking lust and explicit material all with little to no repercussions, and a happy ending to boot.  When did that become okay?  How the heck does my kid keeping finding this crap?  Thank you for blurring the line.

For now, I’m drawing my own lines.  Of course, my kid thinks that my line is so far away from the real line, she may actually die because of my irrational over-protectiveness.  It’s a good thing I’m the parent and get to draw the line wherever I want to draw it.

Little snippets

Overheard:

Jacob:  I’m not the brother!  You’re the brother!  I’m the Jakey!

Nathaniel:  No, You am the brother!  I’m the Natey.

This went on back and forth for quite awhile.  I wonder, what would it be like to define yourself as purely you.  Not as a brother, or a son, or a father, but purely as you.

************

Screaming comes from the boys room.  Loud screaming.  The kind of scream that any mother is sure that the cause is bodily harm. I rush in.

Nathaniel:  There is a MONSTER under my bed.  A LOUD monster!  He is shaking my bed and SCARING me!!!

It was the dog, our apneatic dog.  He fell asleep under Nathaniel’s bed, sometime after we put Nathaniel to bed.  He was snoring so loudly that it was shaking Nathaniel’s bed.  Poor kid.

***********

McKayla:  I strongly dislike you.

Me:  What’s new.

***********

Mike:  Do you think Santa comes down the chimney of bad people’s houses with a bazooka.   (this is followed by bazooka sound effects and pantomiming.)

I’ve decided

I think that being 12 might be better than being a man.

• when you’re 12, you know everything. Not somethings, but everything.  It doesn’t really matter what scientific, experiment proven, 1,000 participant studies, real life experience your parents may have, you know more than them.  I really wish I was that smart.
• when you’re 12, pestering is an acceptable route to trying to get your way.
• when you’re 12, it is socially acceptable to be rude.
• when you’re 12,  you don’t need logic to argue.  “It’s not fair” is a common used rebuttal.
• when you’re 12,  you don’t have to have a job.
• There are no bills.
• You have no responsibilities (other than a turtle, who can thankfully live without eating every day).
• when you’re 12, the hardest thing you do all day is empty the dishwasher.
• when you’re 12 you can sleep until 12.  I wish I could sleep past the crack of dawn.

Yep, I think I may decide to give up this whole parenting gig and decide to be 12.  Of the two, 12 is definitely the easier one.

I’ve been a little busy

I was content making a gingerbread house.  Dave wanted a village.  Complete with people.  It’s rather a long process making a whole village.

My sewing machine and I have been busy getting re-acquainted.  It’s been a while,  Singer.  It’s been awhile.  If you are a lucky recipient of something with a zigzag stitch, please, be very very thankful.  Don’t laugh if it looks like Mike could do a better job.  I assure you he could not.  The zigzag and I are not particularly fond of one another.  I zig and Singer zags, but the front and back never zigzag in  unison.

Toys R Us, Sears, Michaels Arts and Crafts on the last weekend before Christmas, makes me wish we lived on a desert island.

Why did Mattel decide to wait until 2 months after Christmas to release the Jacob doll?  Not the best marketing plan.  Also, makes me wish I would have saved my old Barbie house and turned it into a vampire den to house the Twilight dolls…

I don’t know why I wait until the week before Christmas to get started on all of my gifts.

It’s up!

One thing about having five kids is that everything takes five times as long.  Instead of one silly photo.  I get five, well four, because one of my five is on the cusp of being a teenager.  Teenagers don’t go out of their way to embarrass themselves like a seven-year-old would.

Things that should take a relatively short amount of time, seem to take forever.  Reading a bed time story, not one but five.  Using the restroom out and about, if there’s only one stall, it takes five times as long. Actually, it takes about ten times as long because the water in the sink suddenly becomes enthralling.   Or by the time they’ve finally finished, someone needs to go again.  Checking out books at the library takes forever, everyone needs to use their own card.  Ordering ice cream, forever. Have you been to the ice cream shop with one indecisive child?  Try five.

Yet for all of the normal things that take five times as long, there are just as many that happen five times as quick.  A package of oreos, they are gone almost as soon as I set them on the table.  Cleaning the house happens pentafaster (I just made that word up).  Of course, the house seems to become messier exponentially quicker with each child.  And the tree goes up lickety split.

Having a daughter taller than me comes in handy during the holiday season.   I can sit and observe the lightening of the tree, all the while being thankful that I don’t have to put the lights on the tree.  Once the lights go on, it’s really only a matter of minutes before all of the ornaments are on.

We always try to make it orderly.  I am the keeper of the ornaments.  I hand out special ornaments to each child.  The babies get non-breakable ornaments.  I make sure they have hangers on them.  There are rules.  One at a time. Every one takes turns.  Ornaments must be hung securely.  You must help people smaller than you.  With five, it’s hard to follow rules and enforce them.  More often than not, there’s a bottleneck involved in this process.  I can’t seem to hand them out fast enough.  Just about the time when my patience is running thin, it’s over.  The last ornament is hung.  We’re done and it’s up.

Seven, it’s the new Two

Dear Internet,

I’m not quite sure when seven became the new two.  I’d like you to please take it back.  I’ve had enough of it.  I’ve googled terrible sevens, but there just isn’t the information out there like the terrible twos.  All I’m getting is “7 terrible ideas for breakfast”.  Why would someone write terrible ideas for breakfast.  Wouldn’t “7 great ideas for breakfast” be a better article.

Seven is harder than two.  Seven is bigger.  Seven isn’t as easily distracted.  Seven is much louder and defiant.  Seven tantrums take much longer to blow over than two’s.  Seven has logic, no matter how flawed.  Seven is much more persistent.  Seven has a longer memory.  Seven should really know better.

So internet, please forgive me for sending my seven-year-old to bed at 6pm.

Also, since I have you here.  What kind of wine goes best with cheesy tuna noodle casserole.  It’s been one of those days…

Love,

Chanel

Homemade presents

Normally, I set the kids loose in the dollar store with a list and a dollar for everyone on that list.  It’s funny the things they buy.  Cheesy figurines.  Terrible smelling candles.  Biographies of unknown people.  One year they each bought their dad dishes.  He was able to have a whole place setting: cup, bowl and plate.

This year to combat all of the junk, consumerism and ungratefulness; we are making all of our presents.  I figure by working hard to come up with an idea, develop the concept, and then create it, the kids will be more appreciative of the things they receive.

We’ve made gifts for all of the aunts, uncles, cousins, grandmas and grandpas, and now we’re working on the siblings.  When you have four siblings, that’s a lot of presents to make.

It’s fun to see how excited the kids are getting about making each other presents.  Mike made Marshall a tied fleece blanket and then promptly ran upstairs to tell Marshall how much he would love it.

Marshall made these puppets for the twins.  He sacrificed his own socks.  He designed them.  Cut the pieces and sewed them all by himself.  He first imagined a whole gaggle of puppets.  After finishing the last stitch on the second puppet, he decided one puppet for each toddler was enough.

From my pessimist Marshall, “We don’t want to get carried away.  They may not even like them.”

I’m pretty sure they’ll love them.

An adventure

I want you to imagine this:

It’s 5:30 pm.  I’m still in my pajamas.  Judge me if you want, but I didn’t have anywhere to go today and with two toddlers, a few hour visit with a three-year-old nephew, three kids to home school, bread to bake, meals to make, and a house to clean; there are just some days there isn’t time to change.

The phone rings.  It’s dave.  He’s stuck and traffic and won’t make it home for cubscouts.  He asks if I can please go to the meeting in his stead.  And oh, by the way, could I plan it too?

Of course, I can:

5:32 defrost some hamburger meat.

5:35 plan a cubscout meeting

5:37 search the internet for secret codes for the meeting

5:39 print secret codes

5:40 clear the kitchen counter, wash a couple dishes, make a meatloaf

5:55 I remember that I was supposed to type a skit for the Webelos.

5:56 sanitize my hands

5:59 quickly type up a two page skit and proofread for errors.  (Of course, the group of 9-year-olds found three errors in less than two minutes.  I should hire one of them to edit my blog.)

6:05 quickly change and brush my teeth

6:15 give McKayla dinner and babysitting instructions

6:17 Where the heck are my keys?

6:18 Suddenly dawns on me that Dave took my car to work because his in in the shop.

6:19 it’s too late to walk

6:20 yell “We’re riding our bikes!”

6:22 the garage door closes and the boys take off down the street.

I try to get on my bike.  I can’t quite get my leg over the seat.  Think, “Wow, it’s been a long time since I rode my bike”  Is this even my bike?  Indeed it is.

I think to myself, maybe it’s the steep driveway.  I walk my bike down to the street.  Huh, I still can’t get my leg over the seat. Maybe it’s my jeans.  Maybe I’ve never ridden a bike with jeans on.  Briefly contemplate changing. I try again.  I still can’t get my leg over the seat.  Huh, maybe I’ve shrunk?  I tilt the bike over, at this point it’s almost laying on the ground.  Now I’m straddling the bike but my butt isn’t on the seat yet. I try heaving my ass up.  Dude, I can’t remember getting on my bike being this hard.  I scoot the bike over to the curb.  It wasn’t pretty, because there isn’t much clearance between the bike and me.  It was more like inching the bike along with me.  I get to the curb.   I  steady the bike and am FINALLY on the seat.  My feet don’t touch the pedals.

WTF?  Maybe I really did shrink?

I’m near the curb, because somehow getting on my bike moved the bike away from the curb.  I’m sitting on my bike seat (small victory) but can’t touch the pedals, and suddenly the ground seems rather far away and my balance seems a little shaky.   I contemplate jumping for the curb, stunt devil style.  I figure that will end badly for me.

Miraculously, I made it off of my bike.

6:25 Have a small panic attack.  It’s dark and my 9 and 7-year-old children are riding their bikes alone.  And I don’t have any idea how to adjust my seat’s height.

6:26 contemplate throwing the damn bike in the street and letting someone run over it. Then they can give me a ride to scouts out of guilt.

6:26.5 decide to look at the seat.  Notice it has a very easy latch to make the seat go up and down.  Lower the seat.  Wonder who played with my seat in the first place?

6:27 finally get on my bicycle and ride around the corner, to see my boys waiting for me. I notice my tires are a little flat and wish I would have rethought bringing a large purse on a bike ride.  I’m definitely not a seasoned enough rider to try to balance, pedal and carry a purse.

We made it to the meeting, ten minutes late.  Safe but winded.