Did You Hear? There is This New Place Called a Public Library.

I haven’t been to a library in about 15 or more years.  I am not much of a reader and with children I haven’t really fought for reading time.  TV time, yes, reading, eh, not so much.  I decided it was time to take the kids to the library, because it is hot, I am huge and might explode in the heat and we are that much closer to the good sno-ball stand.  When I informed the kids that we would be going to the library, Amber quickly announced that she didn’t want to go because she can’t be quiet for that long and wanted to clarify if I really meant the Barnes and Noble.  You know because it is so much more fun to buy books and play with a train table that is not ours.  I was impressed with her honesty and ability to see where she may fall short, then I told her to suck it up and have fun.  Sam just looked at me and said, “Lieberry?” 

First, I had to find out where the library was.  Sure there is one down the road from us, but much like the playground with the penis decorating the slide, I am not impressed with it.  So, I was headed for anything that was a little cleaner and didn’t have a surly librarian with a big ruler with which to smack us.  SoHubby pointed us in the right direction and we were off.  I ran down the rules with the kids: BE QUIET! and NO FOOD OR DRINK ALLOWED!  Seeing as I am expected to carry the pantry in my diaper bag, at all times.  We were set and ready for some reading fun.  I envisioned us sitting in between the aisles marveling at the thousands of different books we would find and reading for hours.  What I got was a very different scene and it made my head exploded.

We got our library card and set off to the children’s section.  What I didn’t expect was that I had no clue how to find books that we might like.  I didn’t make any notes of authors that the kids already had in their rooms, or remember how the hell the Dewey Decimal system works, did they still use the DDS and how was I going to get my huge ass to the floor to explore books.  Okay, all minor details and there were librarians to help, if only I could admit how long it has been since I have entered a library.  None of that would matter, because the world I entered was not like the one I had remembered all those years ago.  There was a toy section.  What the hell?  There were shelves and shelves of DVDs and CDs.  The last time I was in a library they had just gotten computers and had a very small selection of VHS tapes, mostly movies from my grandmother’s era.  Then there was the banks of computers that had brightly colored characters dancing on them begging my children to forget those stupid books and glide their fingers across the keyboards.  Just when I thought I could look over all this and accept the changes, I saw something that I never thought I would see in my entire life.  People had food and drink OUT IN THE OPEN in the LIBRARY!  That is when I had a mental break and needed to sit down. 

It is not just because I haven’t been to the library in a long time, it is because I am a rule follower to the point that I am sure there is someone keeping track on my permanent record of any small infraction that I may perform.  Oh, I have lightened up a bit,  one would have to being married to a man who believes that rules are put in place for other people, but there are still places, like the library, where rules are still sacred.  I don’t care how many people leave their McDonald’s cups on the tables or sip their coffee like it is a freakin Barnes and Nobles, I and neither will my children, ever drink or eat in the library.  It is just NOT DONE and I am sure will earn us many points in heaven.  You can just forget all those times I might have sneaked a little sumptin, sumptin into the university library while doing research. 

Our first experience was mostly me sitting in a chair doing what I do at home, watching the kids play.  When I reminded them that they had toys at home, even dared to mention a better kitchen playset, I was told that we didn’t have puppets and a board with a curtain.  Okay, whatever.  So we spent an hour playing with random children, loudly, and me gripping the sides of the chair so I didn’t smack someone.  This wasn’t due to the new library atmosphere I had stumbled into, but more like I am 9 months pregnant and officially annoyed at anyone and everyone.  I am sure the little girl that grabbed Amber’s book and read it for an agonizing long time is the sweetest thing since diabetic candy.  I did wander off a bit to find our first 3 books to check out, without any help from the children, before we left for the day.  Not the experience I wanted, but I still had hope. 

Since we had books that needed to be returned and I don’t want to rack up the library fees, you know permanent record and all, I decided that today would be a perfect day to go to the library again.  This time I had a plan.  I was going to have the library hold some books for me to pick up.  And with all this new technology, I could just plug them into my home computer and have them waiting for me.  First, I was a little late with this plan, since I just thought of it yesterday, and second I drew a blank.  I have had a list building in my head, but forgot about my pregnancy brain and how soon it quickly sweeps the non-important things out, like books I wanted to read, what I came into the kitchen for, and where I left any one of my children at any given time.  I am more likely to remember what I want to eat, that I have to go pee and my scheduled putting my feet up time.  So, no books for me this time.  (Thanks to the kind people of Twitter, I do have some good ideas to look up for next time.)  Next up actually have the kids involved in finding THEIR books.  Sam declared that he wanted dinosaurs and Amber waved her hands at me to find Fancy Nancy while she played puppets.  Fine, whatever.  I got Sam to ask one of the librarians, himself, for dinosaurs and we walked away with 4 books.  Amber passed by some book, grabbed it and was happy with her selection.  Once the kids were pushed out of the play area by a very pushy and whiney little girl we decided that since I don’t let them touch my babylaptop at home they can let loose on the computers.  Sam and I played a variety of games with a very cheerful mouse and Amber spent her allotted time drawing on the computer.  All in all it was a much better experience the second time around.

I think the library will become our new place to kill some time and maybe, just maybe, I will actually walk out with a few books for myself.  I did realize that the library computer might be the perfect tool for helping Sam to be prepared for Pre-4.  Sure I have been working with him with ABC’s, counting and colors, but when you add a happy mouse, talking train, and animals popping out of boxes things start to click.  I have been fighting with the notion of having some kids’ program put on my computer, but seeing as this is my link to the outside world and I won’t be getting a new one for awhile, I would like to keep it running as is for as long as possible.  I am not much of a trusting soul with letting the kids on my computer for fear of them doing something that I won’t be able to undo.  Best to leave little fingers to computers that don’t hold my escape in the balance.  I like that the library and I have become reaquinted, even with that whole new rule regarding food and drink.  I guess I can overlook it, if it gets my kids reading more than the books on the shelves in their room, my wallet untouched, help get me reading again, and didn’t you read earlier so much closer to the GOOD  sno-ball stand.

First Born

It is hard to say that Amber is a difficult child, because 1. I don’t believe that she is and 2. Sam is only 3 years old and hasn’t really proven whether he is difficult or just being a toddler/preschooler.  I can say without a doubt that she is the first born and I think, in general, first borns get the shaft.  I know I have felt that many times and I am a first born on both sides of the family.  First borns are expected to know better, behave because they know better, are pushed aside when the next cute little baby enters the family, must stand by and watch as their once uptight parents become more and more laid back with each additional kid and trully know what it was like to have all the attention only to have it taken away.  It is a hard life, but someone has to be first.

SoHubby made a comment that he felt sorry for Amber because she was the first born.  He is the baby of his family and knows the greener side of the pasture.  I don’t have the same feeling, but I do feel sorry that certain things we expect of her that maybe are not reasonable.  We both knew that we were not going to have just one child and, while we weren’t sure we would be having 3, we definitely knew that there was going to be a second.  I think this comment stemmed from the trouble that Amber has been getting into, lately.  I can’t decide if she is being a normal 7 year old girl or we are not giving her enough attention or she is knows what is coming with the new baby and acting accordingly.   

I will admit it, there has been stress at the Old Homestead.  I am 9 months pregnant in hellfire heat, which means we have been stuck inside.  My attempts at “summer fun” have been weak at best and doesn’t exactly burn the energy of a fruitfly much less a 7 and 3 year old.  SoHubby is busy as ever with all that he does and sometimes has a short fuse when dealing with Amber, in particular.  However, I would like to offer up another reason why we might be having trouble with Amber.  She and her father are 2 peas in a pod, only her father has somewhat perfected the act of subtle manipulation (I can still see it and only call him on it when he trys to use it on me.) while Amber is still in the learning process of using her genetic “gifts”.   SoHubby might disagree, but I have had more therapy then him, so I win.  

Many things that Amber does, SoHubby does, like having to always be right and then never admitting when you are wrong.  You think it is annoying coming from a 45 year old; try it on a 7 year old.  Mainly, because most times you take a step back and think “Holy hell, I am arguing with a 7 year old.”  For instance, yesterday we went to the library, while there Sam saw a huge lizard on the wall and pointed it out to me.  Later during dinner, he tells SoHubby about it.  Amber pipes up that it wasn’t a lizard after all.  Huh?  Wha?  She wasn’t even there when we saw the lizard, but she just had to not only be involved in the conversation, but she had to be right.  Of course, she got what she wanted, maybe just not in the way she wanted it.  SoHubby and I both turn to her and explode.  I should mention that she was just in trouble for another argument where she just wouldn’t back off about how right she was.  Later, we explain that always being right is not something people will enjoy and, maybe, she should think about how important the argument is before she gets involved.  Now, there is the flaw in our process.  What is important to a 7 year old is not necessarily what is important to a 36 and 45 year old.  Besides, I am sure all she saw was that her brother was getting some Daddy time and how dare he!   So it boils down to attention, but how much?  Since Amber and her father are cut from the same cloth, they both like to be the center of attention, so the answer is: it is never enough.  This is not always a bad thing, because Amber has not one ounce of fear about getting up on stage and performing.  Hell, given the chance she will perform anywhere.  And she will talk any stranger’s ear off, until they will wound themself just to get out of the conversation.  She is definitely outgoing, but doesn’t know when to pull back.

I have done my best in trying to give the kids attention.  Listen to their stories, no matter how long and repetitive they are, and discuss.  With Sam it is easy.  He will tell a story, I make a comment, and he is off to something else.  With Amber, I get eye rolls because how could I possibly be so dumb as to ask that question or better yet how dare I add anything to the conversation at all.  Then there are the conversations where I can’t seem to explain anything right.  Again at the library, Amber saw a prize box set up for kids who have read a certain number of books.  I told her that if she wanted to participate she had to go to the counter and ask about the program.  Now here is where we butt heads.  I see no value  in getting a plastic flute for reading 5 books over a 100 pages long, but then again I am not who the prizes are geared toward.  Amber never did ask and was under the impression that she could just sit down in the library find any old 100 page book, read 5 of them and then get a prize.  No amount of explanation or logic was going to deter her from her goal.  Finally, we left, because I could feel my blood boiling from 1. being 9 months pregnant, 2. the kids playing with toys at the LIBRARY and 3. trying to explain a concept to a 7 year old who is always right.  It is tiring and best to leave to get sno-balls, which would cool everyone down. 

I feel as if Amber and my relationship is much like SoHubby’s and my relationship.  In the beginning I shook my head and did my best to convince him that logically he was wrong.  I tried and tried to tell him that if he would just allow others to think they had the power he would be better equipped to lord power over them.  Then I gave up and let him make his own mistakes and come to the conclusion that I was right all along.  I feel I am in the butting my head up against a wall stage with Amber and I am thinking how long do I go on before I just step back and let her fall face first on the hard concrete to figure this whole thing out.  The problem is Amber is my daughter and I would like to be able to tell her that if she just acted this way the world would be a much easier place for her.  Well, any seasoned parent will tell you that you can talk until you are blue in the face, but until that child experiences the great teacher, LIFE, nothing you say will do much.  I have been just trying to will myself to accept Amber as she is, like I did with SoHubby, and move on.  It is so hard to just stand by and do nothing, especially when I have a 45 year old arguing with a 7 year old in the other room and I just want it to stop, already.

So no matter how much she struggles and complains, I will still hug her, talk with her and do my best to guide her through her journey and hope with all my might that sooner than later she will realize that maybe her mother knows a little something, besides how to clean floors and make a meal, about the world and it is okay to listen to her every once in awhile.  Or she will take her Daddy’s route, go through some rough times to only come out better in the end.  Either way I think I better look into getting my heart check on a regular basis and a good pharmacist.

Life Lessons: The Balance Between Bitch and Sweetness

I am a stay at home mom, which means that whenever I have to go somewhere my kids are often with me.  I don’t mind too much.  It does get to be too much when I have both of them and they can’t stop wrestling in public, but most of the time it is not a hassle.  Maybe it is my imagination, but I get the feeling that many people, especially other mothers, look at me and think why can’t she leave those kids at home.  I, also, have guilt because I am constantly saying: Please stop that!, Don’t hit!, Be quiet, there are other people here!, etc.  I feel as if I am constantly reprimanding my kids and that, itself, annoys people.  On the flip side, if I did nothing and let Sam dance on the office coffee table or allow Amber to scream while Sam jumps on her in the corner, I get the MY GOD looks.  Really it is a no win situation, so I do my best to go with the flow.  Get in and out with minimal causalities.  All this is internalized, so I can recognize it as my own neuroses, but then someone will say something out loud and all the internalization becomes a reality that is better left in my head than out in public.

To alleviate a lot of these problems I make a lot of early morning appointments, when SoHubby can be with the kids.  You would be amazed at how much you can get done in the early morning.  Sure waking up before the sun is a bit brutal, but you can’t have everything.  This not always convenient and I am back to dragging the kids all over the hot city hoping and praying that we can get through every appointment without me completely coming undone.  I think I have done pretty well these last few months, considering I am very pregnant, very uncomfortable, and the minute the heat hits me I feel as if I am in a coffin six feet under. 

Monday I had an afternoon appointment with my ultrasound doctor (I feel these layman terms are better for everyone, but yes, I finally did find out her title), first mistake.  This office is always backed up and the wait is always, at least, an hour after the scheduled appointment.  I knew going in we would be in for a rough ride, but like always hoped and prayed that TODAY would be different.  Second mistake, being early.  I have a habit of being too early.  You would think that wasn’t such a big deal or maybe even a good thing, but when the wait is already guaranteed to be long, being early doesn’t help things.  We settled into the waiting room and things started off okay.  The kids had toys to play with and hadn’t resorted to violence to keep themselves entertained.  Things went downhill when SoHubby showed up.  I could tell he was annoyed and didn’t want to be there.  Not because he didn’t want to experience the magic of seeing his unborn child, but he had work to do and knew, like the rest of us, that the wait was going to be long and tortuous.  After a trip to the hospital cafeteria for snacks and my legs going numb, I decided we had to leave.  It was 2 hours after my appointment time and I knew none of us were going to make it until we got seen.  Sure it was an afternoon wasted, but at least no one died and we were able to free ourselves from the grips of the waiting room.  Besides, I knew I had a NST the next day and the baby had been moving so I knew there were no problems that couldn’t wait.

At my NST appointment the nurse offered me the option of seeing the ultrasound doctor at another hospital in town.  Okay, sure why not.  After experiencing such long waits at the uptown hospital I was ready for the same at the Metairie hospital, so color me shocked when I called to schedule an appointment and they gave me one the same day.  WAIT!!  You mean I don’t have to wait a week, or two, or 4?  I was even more shocked when I was seen 30 minutes after my scheduled appointment.  This was like a dream.  It couldn’t be true.  The doctor would later apologize to me about the long wait at the other hospital and explained that they overbooked her appointments often.  I just wish someone had informed me of this in the beginning, because I would have gone to the Metairie hospital with it’s short waits without a second thought. 

Asking children, especially ages 3 and 7, to sit still and behave is always asking too much.  Sure they can do it for a small amount of time, but really they are just bidding their time before they can let loose.  And usually that time is when mom is unable to snatch an arm and whisper stern warnings in their ears or might be too embarrassed to threaten to sell them to the gypsies that live in the shadows of the French Quarter.  Or basically when mom is half naked on an exam table getting her stomach smashed by an ultrasound tech. 

The kids were fine for a few minutes, but the lure of all the blinking lights, weird noises and huge machines was too much for them.  They just couldn’t resist sneaking over to take a peek.  I was the stupid one for thinking that just them being able to see their unborn sister on a flat screen TV would hold their attention.  Hey, we all have our delusions.  I am sure their ambivalence will subsided once their sister is reality.  See there goes those delusions, again.  So while I was trying to watch the blob on the screen and determine for myself what they could be looking for and wincing from the pain of an contraction while a strong headed tech pushed on my bloated belly, I, also, had to discipline my kids.  Sam was the first one shocked when I told him to stop hitting his sister and sit down.  He would ask how did I know what he was doing, I would continue the tradition of instilling the fear of mom knowing everything he does whether I can see him or not.  Then Amber would try to get over on me by claiming that the magazine her brother was screaming about was hers first.  The tech came in handy at that moment and spoke up to say that she saw that Amber snatched it away from her brother.  That scared her little butt into a 30 second submission, because mom had reinforcements. 

Later when it was determine that I needed an internal ultrasound to make sure everything was still in lockdown mode, I would become torn between agreement and utter shock at what someone else would have to say about my kids.  The nurse and doctor ushered the kids into another room so they could watch TV and not be frightened by the sight of their mother being probed.  Then they both chimed in that Amber is quite bossy.  What 7 year old girl isn’t?  Lately, Amber has taken the position that she is Sam’s second mother and sometimes tries to over ride my decisions.  Don’t worry she soon learns who is the Alpha in this relationship and settles down, however, it doesn’t stop her from testing the waters on occasion.  But to hear all that from total strangers sent me into mother bear mode, but I have learned to talk myself down from these not so tragic situations.  And really I had to agree, because Amber is bossy,  but they continued, she is manipulative, too.  Really this talk had to stop, because as much as I agree there is just some things I don’t need confirmed by other people.  I simply said I agree, but she is sweet and learning to be better.  Finally, we were all done and we were all able to walk freely fully clothed without medical equipment attached.

I do feel guilty that someone else saw this in my child, because you want to believe your child is the most sweetest person in the world.  And let’s face it, every negative remark is a negative remark on your parenting, at least in the mind of the parent.  However, spend anytime with Amber and you will learn that sweetness can turn to ugliness in a nanosecond then back again.  I think of it as her learning to maneauvar through this world and it is my job to steer her, no matter how firmly sometimes, in the right direction.  There have been many lessons for Amber with this new attitude she has adopted.  There was her snotty response to her Godparents at her birthday dinner and her Godfather rebutting that maybe he shouldn’t have gotten her a present.  There are the times when she tries to on the attitude of the big girls, who have taken a liking to her, in school only to find that the other girls may not want to be her friend that day.  I am there to explain to her that niceness will always win over being snotty and mean.  Lord knows it took me forever to learn that lesson.  She will get it and there will be many more life lessons along the way to smack her upside her head.  We are both trying to make it through this new stage of her life and there have been stumbles, but so far the scraps are not that bad.  I am just hoping that soon she will learn that she needs to find a nice way to manipulative her way through this world, but who knows. After 36 years, I am still trying to find the balance between nasty bitch and using honey to get what I want.  Maybe I need to just look into getting one of those babysitters, everyone is talking about and make it easier on all of us.

Going Out with a Bang

It seems with each pregnancy it gets more and more interesting.  Amber was smooth sailing, except for the scoldings I would get from my doctor for my weight gain.  Sam had doctors in other cities worried that I was going to drop at any moment, because you know that women in severe stress just stop dropping babies without any warning.  My stress was caused by a little hurricane called Katrina that decided it was time to wipe New Orleans off the face of the earth.  She didn’t succeed.  With both pregnancies I went on to have rather uneventful births.  Matter of fact, I think Sam’s was downright boring and too clinical.  Amber had a hint of excitement, but nothing that would make one of those delivery shows on Discovery Health.  This one seems to know it will be my final journey down the making babies trail and has decided to give me enough tame curve balls to keep me on my toes. 

Not only do I have more than enough doctors to ensure that I reach my deductible before any baby comes forth, it is like Christmas each time I go in for an ultrasound.  There is always something new and interesting going on in there that makes you go hmmmm…and something for the special doctor to “keep on eye on”.  We started seeing the ultraspecial doctor to talk about testing, because you know I am old and have to be monitor.  You know tests and more tests are ordered to make sure that my womb hasn’t crapped out on me and can still do it’s job like a young, vital womb.  Talk about ageism.  Apparently, when you turn down those special tests, that are suppose to tell you exactly what you want to know but are notoriously wrong, they want to “keep an eye on you”.  That will be the running theme for this pregnancy and everytime the Dr. says it I envision her with a huge eye following me where ever I go. 

So you go in for once a month ultrasounds and get more pictures than your other 2 kids combined, forever throwing out that old theory that once the third one comes along there are less pictures.  Each month brings with it a new little problem that is tied in a bow and ready for you and your doctor to unwrap.  There was the kidney backed up, then both kidneys backed up, then there was the placenta, that little rascal playing peek a boo with my cervix and then, the latest, my placenta has formed a little tent over the baby.  I believe my heavily Asian accent doctor informed me that my placenta has 2 lobes.  I asked and I think she clarified, yes 2 lobes.  Well, ain’t my placenta creative and special.  I guess there is room for creativity as long as you are getting the job done.  So why did I need to know this about my placenta, well I have to tell my OB/GYN so she can make sure to get it all out. 

Oh yeah, I have to tell her.  So not only is this last pregnancy giving me every possible little medical mystery to run with, but I have work to do.  I am paying the big bucks to meet my deductible, but I have to make sure my OB/GYN gets everything all cleaned out.  I kid, I kid.  I am sure my doctors will communicate through their notes, but I will be the good little patient and make sure to tell my OB to make sure she sweeps my entire uterus clean and lock up when she is done.  Actually, I think this has all taught me to be grateful that I am relativity healthy and my baby making, while a little on the odd side, is in okay condition. 

It was suggested to me that maybe these doctors are trying to squeeze me for every last penny and I admit I have thought it myself.  I think it is more them trying to cover their ass.  Let me tell you, I have more than once used my patient rights to decline testing.  I mean I do have a brain and while I didn’t go to medical school, and doctors might shake their heads behind my backs, ultimately I am responsible for my medical care and take full responsibility for my decisions.  I mean all that matters is that the high deductible gets met for the year and we are in the clear for the hospital bill.  (/sarcasm)

Daddy/Daughter Dance

Yesterday, the event that I had been dreadingall summer finally came and went with much chaos and joy.  We survived another dance revue.  This was particularly filled with a lot of dread, because we were at a new theater, we missed rehearsal due to our trip to Tennessee, there is a lot of running and bending at 8.5 months pregnant (then some embarrassment at having the luck of a maternity nurse catch you when you almost fall after trying to get up from said bent position trying to tack a tutu to a leotard) and it was SoHubby’s turn at appearing on stage.

Amber is an old hat at this stage stuff, by now.  Not only is this her 4th year of dance, but it is also her 5th year at appearing on stage at her school.  We kind of fell into all this performing stuff.  When she was 3 years old I signed her up for dance class, because isn’t that what every little girl wants?  To twirl in tutus and sparkle, I didn’t realize that over the top dance revues were the reward for a year of hard work.  Then unbeknown to us we had picked a school that holds the theater in very high regard and requires everyone to participate.  The theory is that it will build confidence instead of great actors.  Amber made her first appearance on her school stage at the ripe old age of 2 years old in Mother Goose’s Land.  She was a Queen.  There have been bumps along the way, but I would say we have enjoyed mostly success throughout her 5 years of performing.  I am glad we have found this outlet, because quite frankly I have a giant ham on my hands.

Conversation from the dance revue:

Me:  Look at that little girl. (pointing to the stage) She is scared and doesn’t want to do the dance.

Amber: Why?

Me: Well, some kids get nervous.  They can’t all be hams like you.

Amber:  What do you mean ham?

Me:  I mean wanting to perform all the time.

Amber:  Hey, mom. 

Me:  Yes.

Amber:  If I am a ham, would you eat me? (fall into laughter)

Like the other dance revues I shouldn’t have worried so much.  We found the old New Orleans theater just find, even after SoHubby, the man who knows this city better than he knows where things are in our house of 8 years, claimed he had no idea where to find the place.  His funny little joke that wasn’t so funny for this hugely pregnant woman, who really needed the less grief as possible.  Of course, I shouldn’t have to point out that the little golden hair apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.  Once again, SoHubby’s superior directional ability and uncontrollable urge to wander paid off with finding our way through the maze of stairs, elevators and sparkled covered dancers of backstage.  You would think that after 4 years of doing these shows I would  have learned a thing of two.  I have, but there are still lessons to be learned, like don’t worry about your little prima ballerina sitting around in her tutu before her number. You never have as much time as you think you have, so your little preciouses should be completely ready when they appear backstage.  Something I realized after I rushed to get Amber’s tutu from the second floor before her first number and completely forgot her gloves.  Taking heed of that moment, I informed SoHubby to get changed into his costume at dance number 17, instead of 29, which is when they needed to be backstage for their dance.  Good thing, because for a bald guy who has been dressing himself for about 40 years it took him a very long time to get into a pair of pants, white shirt, vest and bow tie. 

For a 33 numbered dance it flew by like so many things in life that require much preparation, but when put into action are gone in a flash.  And like always it was a great show.  How can you not have a good time watching Mardi Gras colored dancers spinning around to the best of Mardi Gras music.  You can’t help but dance in your seat and resist every urge in your body to jump up and scream, “Throw me sumptin’, Mister!”  Well, I controlled myself, others could not.  Hey, it is one those things that get embedded in you when you grow up in New Orleans. 

Now for the pictures:

First, like all the years before, there was the great make-up debate.
While not required, it is “suggested” that the girls wear make-up to make their faces more visible from the stage.
In past years I have been opposed, mainly because it is very hard to keep a little girl from rubbing her face resulting
in me having to redo the whole thing.   One very important lesson I have learned is that when dealing with the little girls
they should be completely dressed before arriving to the theater.  The only thing you should be worried about is touch ups
and costume changes.
However, this year, Amber had some bug bites on her face (not sure where they came from), so I obliged her with a  little make-up.
Trust me we were on the very subdued side of things.

Trust me the maitre’d jokes were not lost on anyone.

During most of the practices, SoHubby was very worried about Amber’s performance.
I would hear complaints about how she didn’t pay attention, wasn’t getting the routine, etc.
I would constantly tell him to relax it is just how she does things and no one expects the girls to be perfect.
Both did great during the performance.
See, I really do know everything.

Then the girls leave…

so the Daddies have their time to shine.

Girls are back and things speed up.

Their version of Pulp Fiction for the freestyle portion of the show. 

Of course, Sam didn’t want to be left out and had to have a picture with Daddy in his costume.
I call this one, Batman and Alfred. 

After all the excitement had died down, Amber informed me how happy she is that dance classes are over.  She was tired of staying up late that one night a week.  Yeah, I know she has a hard life.  This in no way means that she is quitting dance school.  We will probably be back here, again, next year and, God help us, sometime in the near future maybe even with me wrangling 2 little girls through the joy and chaos of dance life.  For right now, I think I will join Amber in her joy of having the summer off from dance class.

Second Hand Kid

Preparing for number 3, after you have had number one, girl, and number two, boy, is easy.  I am not a first time mom chasing my tail wondering what I need, how much I need and do I really need.  I am not having a baby in the middle of the end of the world with barely a stocked Walmart in sight.  Add ontop of that producing a male and wondering what the heck boys like or need.  I am proud to say I think I have this preparing for the baby thing down.  Notice I didn’t say parenting, because that is a whole nother ball of wax, in which I don’t think we ever stop learning. 

However, one question has popped up, lately, how do I handle all these hand me downs?  Sure the baby doesn’t care that the crib she sleeps in once belonged to her sister, or the mountain of clothes she has were once worn by her sister or the toys that she plays with were once played by both her sister and brother.  But what happens when it comes to those gift giving occasions and I can’t stand to bring one more child oriented thing into my overflowing home, so I wrap a toy, that has been hidden in the attic since it was tossed aside by one of the older kids?  Sure the newest member of our family won’t know, until her older sister opens her big mouth and dances around singing how that toy use to be hers.  Will there be a tug a war over said toy, even though the older sister will probably have something new and appropriate for her age, because technically it was hers to begin with?  Oh, you can think with your logical mind that Amber would be the more grown up of the two and not worry about some baby toy that she long tossed aside, but I will remind you, again, kids are not logical.  And trying to deal with them in such a way will only bring you grief and a migraine. 

Sure there will be new things for number 3, but with time she will notice the hand me downs more and one (or just a mother) will wonder if this assures her more time on the therapist couch than the other two?  Nah!!  You see Amber is the first born and will carry much more emotional baggage than her two other siblings, because let’s face it first borns are  the training child.  Sam is the middle child and will have his lack of being center of attention to make sure that he will do all that is in his power to get that attention, which is a bit scary.  Not to mention he will be sandwiched between girls, which I can’t even bring myself to think of the horrors that will bring.  And the last child, oh well, she will be the one that goes in a completely different direction, while her father and I shake our heads and wonder who switched the babies at the hospital.  So I guess this hand me down stuff is just one minor distraction for me, because soon I will have three kids demanding my time, my love and attention.  Hey, maybe I should worry less about their therapist couch time and wonder when I might get a little curled up in the ball time to collect my sanity?

I will say that it has been nice to walk down memory lane, opening bags of clothes I thought I would never seen again or watching Amber help her dad put together her old crib (Side note:  Being horizontally challenged, I am not  happy about this new trend of non-moving crib sides.  So I am more than happy to use Amber’s crib with it’s 1/4 hinged top.  If I could have found one for Sam I would, but at the time the crib people had moved on to something completely different and I was lucky to find an old school one side moves up and down but in a newer model.  Less you think I got some 70’s death trap where a head would get stuck or baby’s first snack was the peeling lead paint.), or dusting off the perfect swing and vibrating chair that Sam used.  A bigger plus, not shelling out tons of money for newer models that are just not the same as the tried and true ones, even if they have probably been deemed death traps by the powers that be, that currently sit in my attic.  Besides, it saves more money for all the asprin I am going to need in the coming years.

Our Rainy Day Summer

Every mother has guilt.  It is one of the first things we get when we see those pink little lines.  I have done my best to push guilt aside, because it gets you no where, except maybe on a therapist couch or down at the toy store handing over your paycheck.  No where productive, anyway.  I have huge guilt hanging over me this summer.  It is hot, I am huge and the kids have much unleashed energy. 

I have high expectations after the kids are in bed, which is usually the easiest time to have high expectations.  I promise myself we will make cookies, play games, go to the park, etc.  Then morning comes, usually at 230am, and all those promises fly out the window along with any hope of getting a decent night’s sleep.  I can’t really blame Amber for getting up so early in the morning, because why not start your day of nothing as early as possible?  And it is totally lost on her that if she just let her parents sleep until 8 am that maybe we wouldn’t be so annoyed with her most of the day.  I know that is not really an excuse and we should act like adults, but do you know how hard all that is, especially with a golden head jumping bean rattling off questions and demands at you at 5am?  Pretty damn hard. 

So I try my best to, at the very least, be patient and accommodating within the confines of our home. Then I read posts like this and this and start to think that maybe I should send these bloggers a little FedEx care packages.  My kids!!  Because, obviously these people have found summer nirvana and we are stuck in some hot suck hole that produces nothing but heat and suckage.  Everytime I read these blogs, I sit in wonderment and ask where did they find these neighborhoods with their overflowing friendly adults, matching age kids and fun, fun, fun.  Truth be told, I get the sinking feeling that even if we lived in this type of hood I would probably still keep to myself out of fear of being overbearing.  I do have a boy my son’s age, but rarely call on his mother, because I don’t want her to think I am taking advantage.  I don’t need to be That Woman in the neighborhood.  I do have to wonder how will this affect my kids, only being around each other and me.  There is no one to ship them off to, like when I was young and went to my grandparents.  I find summer camps ridiculously overpriced babysitting operations.  And setting them loose in the backyard only releashes their inner door operation specialists. 

It is just unwise to leave the job of social director up to a socially inept 8 month pregnant woman.  In regular times, meaning those when I am not knocked up, I make the best effort I can.  There are swimming lessons, outings and playing in the Easy Set pool in the backyard.  This time I can hardly make the effort to make them lunch everyday.  It does help a bit that Amber seems so gung ho to make lunch for her and her brother.  Although, I think there is a FDA limit on the consumption of hotdogs by growing humans. 

I tell myself that this is just one summer and next summer we will back into the swing of things, but then I flash back to when I was pregnant with Sam and said the same thing.  Guilt is a hard mistress to get rid of.  She seems to always being lurking around the corner ready to ruin a perfectly good day.  I wonder why logic never seems to be as good a mistress as guilt.  Maybe because logic is too busy just being instead of worrying about the affects she will have on everyone around her.  I guess logic is more of a giver whereas guilt is more of a self-centered whore.

In Louisiana…

 

This is how we keep the kids entertained:

Also, known as playing with your food.

No Reality Show for Us

Not that anyone was beating down our door, but as you can see Sam has his opinion on being surrounded by cameras.  And when I say surround, I mean me with my little misunderstood Sony. 

And it is true, I do sneak in when the kids are away and play with their toys.
I just can’t help myself; Batman and his Batmobile just call to me sometimes.
Let’s just keep that to ourselves, shall we.

Did Someone Say Vacation?

A mere 32 weeks ago I made reservations for a nice little cabin in the mountains of Tennessee.  Funny, when I made the reservations and calculated that I would be over 7 months pregnant I thought, “Pshaw!”,  I am no wimp I can do it.  Even when George said that he wouldn’t be able to stay with us for the time at the cabin, I brushed it off, again, thinking I am only pregnant not dying.  Oh how a huge belly and many doctors’ orders later change things.  Luckily, George decided to stay with us, because the no lifting heavy things, as much as I said I could handle it, is really cramping my style. 

Like most vacations where children are involved it doesn’t feel like much of a vacation, but more like we have taken my act on the road:

There was grocery shopping.
Of course, this was vacation grocery shopping where we throw good health out the window
for convenience and the avoidance of arguments with small picky humans.

There was laundry to be done.
Of course it was at midnight and continued on into this morning, when I was awoken
by 2 small bouncing heads screaming how much fun it was to sleep in BUNK BEDS!
AW!  to be young and enjoy the small adventures life has to offer.

I fulfilled breakfast requests that went uneaten after only a few bites.
NOTE: The bread to the right of the bowl of cereal was a third in a series for
Sam. And he is still asking for more.

 

Then there was the ever so essential Command Central.  SoHubby has one, too, but
I must be connected to the wall.  Because we are on vacation.  In the mountains.
Where technology isn’t always reliable. 

Along with all this, there has been whining, because there are so many injustices on the road, time outs, because even on vacation once must maintain some kind of civility, crankiness, because when on vacation you are expected to stay up late which doesn’t always agree with everyone in the party (this includes a certain adult, but I ain’t naming any names), and early risers, who didn’t get the message that: WE ARE ON VACATION, and that means, for the love of all that is holy, letting mom sleep in.