Tuesday, August 30, 2011

Is it pick-up time yet??

My two oldest began school yesterday.  A brief timeline of the morning follows:

6:24 am: Charlotte wakes me with a plaintive knock on my door.  She waltzes in, dressed from hair bow to brown buckle shoes.  "Is it time to leave for school yet?!?"

6:45 am:  All my kids are up, dressed, and sitting around the table for breakfast.  "Hurry, we don't want to be late for school!"  Jack wears his backpack while he eats his waffles.

7:02 am:  Jack now insists it really is time to leave for school and carries his Spiderman lunch box everywhere he goes, including the bathroom when he brushes his teeth.

7:15 am:  I sit the kids down at the table to write their names.  Saw an adorable picture on pinterest where kids held up designer chalkboards with their names written on them.  I do not have designer chalkboards, so I gave the kids printer paper.

7:30 am:  Hustle kids out the door and take pictures in front of the house. See above.  In the market for a better camera and/or more cooperative children.

7:45 am:  Charlotte runs off into the Kindergarten yard to play while I drop Jack off at the first grade line.  He waves me off.

8:00 am:  I stand dutifully at the back of the Kindergarten classroom while Charlotte sits with docile obedience on the carpet.  Mrs. Borgos reads a sentimental good-bye story.  I feel a little smug as I watch the helpless parents of weepy children.  And then...

8:05 am:  Charlotte's eyes fill with silent tears, her lip quavers.  Then she starts emitting top of the audible spectrum shrieks and clutching to me wildly.

8:06 am: I flee the room as Mrs. Borgos pulls her away from my legs while singing "if you're happy and you know it, clap your hands!"  Charlotte does not clap.

8:06-10:15 am:  I spend the morning eating york peppermint patties and watching internet videos, trying to drown my panicked feeling that Charlotte just might still be screaming.  Straining my ears to listen for her, 3 blocks away.

10:30 am:  After being the very first mom to show up at Kindergarten pick up, I collect a daughter that is not crying nor frowning.  She seems fine. I'm the traumatized one.

**Update:  Now it's Tuesday.  After a snuggly pep-talk early this morning, I was able to drop Charlotte off with no tears.  (She even walked into the gate without me, but I hid behind the wall to watch her go in.)  And Jack?  Ran off into the first grade yard without a second glance.

I will probably get to the point eventually where I enjoy the quiet house and extra time with the little ones.  For now, I'm just taking it one day at a time and compulsively looking at the clock, waiting to get my houseful back!

Sunday, August 28, 2011

 Yesterday, I was speaking with some of the wonderful women I know that are one generation ahead of me, with kids grown and gone.  I was lamenting the age-old struggle of kids vs. clean house, and one of them quoted this:

Babies Don’t Keep (a.k.a "song for a fifth child")
by Ruth Hulburt Hamilton
Mother, O Mother, come shake out your cloth,
Empty the dustpan, poison the moth,
Hang out the washing, make up the bed,
Sew on a button and butter the bread.
Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?
She’s up in the nursery, blissfully rocking.
Oh, I’ve grown as shiftless as Little Boy Blue,
Lullabye, rockabye, lullabye loo.
Dishes are waiting and bills are past due
Pat-a-cake, darling, and peek, peekaboo
The shopping’s not done and there’s nothing for stew
And out in the yard there’s a hullabaloo
But I’m playing Kanga and this is my Roo
Look! Aren’t his eyes the most wonderful hue?
Lullabye, rockaby lullabye loo.
The cleaning and scrubbing can wait till tomorrow
But children grow up as I’ve learned to my sorrow.
So quiet down cobwebs; Dust go to sleep!
I’m rocking my baby and babies don’t keep. 
I'm sitting here getting all teary about this poem and Charlotte comes up to me and has this conversation:
"Mommy, why are you sad?"
"I'm not sad." 
"Well, then why are you dripping?"
"Because I'm reading something that reminds me that babies are more important than cleaning."
(with wild, hopeful joy) "Does this mean we don't have to clean up anymore?!?"
Be grateful for the messes in your life.  They mean you have people to make them and better things to do than clean them up.  
*note:  This poem was originally published in the Ladies Home Journal in 1958.  I reposted it from this blog: fatduckfarm.net*

Tuesday, August 23, 2011

Things I will NOT miss about summer

1.  Going to the grocery store with four children.
2.  Having lifeguards jumping into the water to save my son.  His style of swimming just happens to mimic a child in deep distress.  (this happened twice.)
3.  Getting burned thighs on carseats, burned toes on asphalt, and burned hands on door handles.
4.  Looking around in Sacrament meeting to discover 60% of the ward is on vacation.  And you are still there.

Monday, August 22, 2011

Things I will miss about summer

1.  Getting everyone piled into the car and heading for UT without school, ball games, or ballet lessons to miss.
2.  Letting the kids stay up late reading stories with Daddy.
3.  Waking up with a whole day to fill with adventures.  Or to stay in pajamas.
4.  The baking, broiling, blistering Vegas sun, drying us off seconds after we get wet.
5.  Doing everything together.  Everything.

Sunday, August 21, 2011

A summer snapshot

So, looking at my blog you've probably guessed that as bad as I am at keeping it up to date, I'm even worse at posting pictures.  Life just goes too fast, and if I stop to take a picture, I feel like I'm missing it.  

However, these are a few pictures that remind me of this summer.  Below, Matt with Jack and Charlotte out on the kayak at Big Bear Lake.  Anna is in the foreground, pulling the kayak to shore.  I am taking the picture, being the fabulous kind of parent that will stand there and watch a 2 year old try to lug 200+ lbs onto the shore.  

Matt and I went with some of his family on a bike ride to go visit the "Largest Lodgepole Pine in the world!!!"  Despite sounding a little like a cheesy roadside attraction, it was an awesome sight, and a good introduction into the world of mountain biking.

This is Charlotte being cute in her carseat.  Most likely, she spent 10 minutes posing and asking us to take her picture.  Then, when she was not appeased by my pretend camera "click", I must have pulled out the cell phone.

Oh, and this.  I took this picture so that I could text it to a friend of mine.  She was about to send her son over to our house for a play date, and I wanted to be perfectly clear about what she was sending him into.  No children have catapulted out of the pool and into the barrel cactus, stage right.  Yet.

This was a view I couldn't resist while I was trail running, again at Big Bear Lake.  I wish I could describe the freedom and peace I felt, running by myself through the woods, stopping to watch wildlife, take a picture, or decide which fork in the trail to follow.  Well, the freedom and peace I felt until about mile 7, when Matt started texting me..  Good ole cell phone GPS.  Husband built in. :)

Posted by Picasa

Saturday, August 20, 2011

I'm grateful for Dr. Matt

I really am coming around to the idea of blogging as a form of personal history.  I have a goal to become more active and want to start posting every day about small, meaningful things in my life.

Today, I'm grateful to be married to the man who kicks into high gear when I am panicked and disoriented.  namely, when there's blood involved.  Charlotte had an unfortunate run-in with a dog in front of Petsmart today that ended up with her face scratched, blood streaming down her cheeks and into her eyes.  I was paralyzed by the horrifying thought that something may have happened to her sight.  Matt was sweeping her up in his arms, cleaning her off with stacks of napkins, and convincing the store manager not to call 911.

I ended up at home with the other three kids, helplessly wringing my hands, eating stress foods and playing dr. mario.  Matt was, well, playing Dr. Matt, getting Charlotte admitted to the ER, supervising her care, and cashing in on extra attention from a host of nurses he has treated with respect for the last two years.  Charlotte came home in Matt's arms with neatly bandaged stitches (a measly 4 in total, despite the waterfalls of blood), a stuffed puppy, a popsicle stained tongue and grand stories about cupcakes and cartoons.

I don't know how I would have made it through today without him.