Summer!

Today was the first glimpse of summer. I am not going to lie. For the past couple weeks I have been dreading summer. Summer camp sign ups, can we afford it? Should we sign up for swimming? To t-ball or not to t-ball? Above all these questions is what am I going to do with them ALL DAY!?

Then today I remembered what we do during the summer. We play. This beautiful day made me remember all the things I love about summer. The skinned knees, afternoons at the pool, corn on the cob, chicken on the grill, playing outside 'till your face is red and you are exhausted, fireflies, and sparklers. I do love summer and I am glad I had this day to remind me.

Now I am remebering the summer days when you spend the entire day outside and eat dinner then collapse as a family into a pile of freshly bathed exhaustion. I am looking forward to the hot nights and wine on the front porch with my husband.

Summer, we missed you.

Say Yes to the dress

I had this very romantic image in my mind of going shopping with my daughter for her first communion dress. When I was growing up I was what you might consider a "social butterfly" I attended lots of dances, particularly in high school and each dance required it's own special dress.

My Mother and I had been dress shopping many times for many different types of occasions and it was always so much fun. She was there and I could count on her for her honest opinion on what she thought looked best on me. She never made me feel guilty about the price, even though I know it was a consideration for her. Dress shopping with my Mom is one of my most treasured memories growing up.

I was excited to recreate this memory with my daughter when shopping for her first communion dress. In fact, I thought it would be an even better experience if we included my mom in the outing. We waited until our trip to Cleveland before we would even step foot into a store looking for the perfect dress.

I carefully chose the store we would go to, Burlington Coat Factory. I had heard from other Mom's in the class that this store had the best selection with the best prices. As we got closer to the dresses Riley broke into a run. Instantly she knew what she liked and didn't like. She proceeded to take some of the dresses off the racks. Some of the dresses she chose actually made me visibly wince. As though I had been punched in the gut. I made a few suggestions that were all quickly dismissed with a wave and a turn of the head.

We made our way to the dressing room. I proceeded to help her pull the layers of polyester blends over head. A beautiful Cinderella dress was quickly disregarded, while the dress containing the most polyester and the most sequin was just as quickly agreed to. "I love it!" Riley proclaimed.

Before I could even think of anything to say the words slipped from between my lips, "Oh my goodness" I was left with a mothers dilemma. I want to let her express her personality without being too controlling. On the other hand I found it physically impossible to shell out $75 for something so tacky.

I ushered my Mom into the dressing room for backup. "I think she is related to Pamela Anderson." was my Mom's only comment to me. We managed to talk her into taking off the dress and left the store. If our group was a cartoon we would each have a cloud over our heads. The mood was NOT good. Fortunately there was a pet store in the same shopping center that turned things around.

The next day, home in Indiana I was talking to two other Mom's in Riley's class and learned that both of them had had the same experiences with their daughters. A wave of relief washed over me. I was not a horrible control freak! Their daughters had awful taste too! One Mom even described the dress her daughter picked out with spaghetti straps and rhinestones. I felt her pain.

On Sunday Riley suggested a trip to the mall. I knew what she had on her mind, the infamous Justice. I agreed because it was somewhere to go on a dreary rainy day when Ben was working.

As we made our way through the mall we walked past JCPenny's. I convinced Riley just to take a look, I mean what could it hurt? We headed to the girls section and a sign above the dresses caught my eye, 50% off. It was a omen. I began to grow hopeful. "How about this one?" I suggested.
"Yeah sure, that one is pretty." Riley agreed. I felt my knees buckle in shock. I tried to hide my elation.
"Let's go try it on." I half shouted.
"OK and this one too." Riley said as she grabbed another dress. I agreed to pacify her.
She tried on the one she suggested and as luck would have it, it was too big. Yes, I could have gone and tried to find it in a different size, but I didn't. Then she tried on my dress. A ray of sunshine from the heavens broke through the bad lighting of the JCPenny dressing room and washed over Riley. She looked beautiful and she liked it too! I wiped a tiny tear from my cheek and checked the price tag, $35!
Fate had stepped in. I may have even done a little dance as we paid.

The Enforcer

This is the rule enforcer. Her name is Gabrielle and she is a Cane Corso. Gabrielle is my parent's dog and when we visit her house she makes sure that everyone is following the rules. We first discovered this when George and Sammy were having an argument about a toy. George was waving the toy wildly above his head and out of reach of his sister when Gabe walked up and calmly grabbed his elbow in her mouth. Instantly he released his grip and the toy fell to the floor. "Fine she can have it!"

This was the most quickly and quietly a dispute between my children had ever been resolved. This is when I decided that not only did I need an enforcer at my house but that every home with small children should have one. She is much like Nana from Peter Pan or Carl the Rottweiler from the Carl books.

These are the rules that Gabe enforces:

1. No running (she will come after you and knock you down.)
2. No yelling (you really don't want to get her upset)
3. No fighting (this will get her upset)
4. No individual singing (this is one my son insists she enforces but it may just be his singing. Just to be safe we are sure to always sing in a group. You do not want to be on Gabes bad side.)

I find Gabes method of discipline far more effective than any yelling or time outs I may distribute. As a result my children are sure to watch their behavior while they are visiting at my parents house. She is a great dog, thank you for your parenting help Gabrielle.

Today was a fairytale

I just wanted to take a moment to celebrate the ordinary. I used to wish and day dream about extravagant vacations or fame and fortune. Now I just cherish the plain old everyday.

When I was in high school I used to wish away my days, three more hours, two more hours...now the days just seem to fly by. Not that there are not moments that I could do without.

I treasure my ordinary days with laundry and nap time and after school pick up. There is no part of that I do not like. (OK I could do without the bickering) I am enjoying life more now than I ever have before.

My wish for you is that you find comfort and celebration in the ordinary, it is a wonderful thing.

Tales of a missplaced poo

This morning I stepped in it, literally. First, let's backtrack six months. Sammy Rose decided she wanted to use the potty. After a tough first go at it she was off and running. I thought this is it! God is rewarding me for working so hard with the other two to get them potty trained that Sammy is going to be a breeze to potty train. Until recently she really was a breeze.

Houston, we have a problem. Sammy has gone on potty strike. She insists on still wearing underwear but will not use the toilet. At first I calmly rationalized in my head, 'this is a regression, it always happens when they are about to have a breakthrought.' This thought will only keep you going for a week, and then you get pretty sick of washing tiny underpants.

This morning I was getting ready in my bathroom and Sammy runs in buck naked, "I pooped!"
"Yay! Did you poop on the potty?" silly question I know, but had to ask.
"yes, come look" I follow her tiny buns to the bathroom.
"oh gross!" Sammy declares. I look in to see the horrific scene. I will not leave you in suspense, the poop did not make it into the potty. Instead I see a dirty pair of tiny undies on the floor and the dog is licking his lips. Yes, the dog ate the poop. I guess if I am going to stay positive about things, that is one less thing I have to clean up. I do however make a mental note, no snuggling with the dog for a couple days.

I pick up the underwear and take them to the laundry room where I grab some socks for the day. I lift up my foot to put on my sock, and there it is, a tiny turd on the bottom of my foot. My dry heaving starts to scare Sammy. I am left paralized trying to think of the best way to sterilize myself.

Eventually I make it to the bathroom and as I am cleaning myself up, I declare Sammy is going back to diapers.

The Red Dragon

Recently my husband bought a truck. It is a 1986 Chevy. He likes to refer to it as the Red Dragon. I love my husband, but the truck is quite ugly sitting outside the front of our house. It has a very Sanford and Son look about it.

My husband was aware that it had a finicky starter and was going to replace it. However, that did not stop him from announcing proudly, "I am going to take the Red Dragon to work tomorrow."

"OK, you go show it off at work." I commented. I would later find out this would involve a lot more work on my part than I could have ever imagined.

The next morning at 6:30, I check the outside temp. while hugging my coffee. Sixteen degrees! Brrrrr. Ben comes in, "could you help me start my truck?" I agree reluctantly.

"Alright Em, push down the clutch all the way."

"which is the clutch?" Have I mentioned I am not very familiar with a stick shift?

"That one. While your holding down the clutch turn the key again and again and I am going to climb underneath." He nonchalantly informs me.

"Your going to be where!?!" He ignores my comment and climbs under the truck. At this moment I am beginning to feel VERY uncomfortable. It is 16 degrees and I could potentially run over my husband. Although I must admit the idea is becoming more and more attractive by the minute. He begins the loud banging underneath the truck and I dutifully begin to turn the key over and over. As I am doing this I look around at the neighbors houses, looking so serene and dark. I am imagining them warm in their beds turning over, what is that banging! Ah yes, it is our hillbilly neighbors.

Now, one would imagine there is only one way to turn a key. You would be wrong, as I also learned. Apparently, I was turning it 1,2,3 when the correct way to turn it is 123. So now that I am properly turning the key, Ben climbs back under and resumes his banging with gusto. Despite the cold temperature I am beginning to sweat, turning the key like a maniac, please let this truck start! Ben comes out from underneath the truck.

Yes! He has given up, he is going to take the practical boring old beige 4-Runner to work.

"Em, go get the 4-Runner and pull the truck."

My smile quickly fades, this is not what I was hoping he would say. However, I comply. As he straps his truck to the 4-Runner, my throat becomes dry. Images of ripping the axle right off the truck flash through my mind.

We lurch to a start. We begin down our cul-de-sac. We are going! This is working! Then as quickly as it began I am literally jerked back to reality. I look in the rear view mirror to see if there are any car parts scattered in the road. This continues for the length of the street.

Now, we end up back at our house and he is detaching the Red Dragon from the 4-runner. My daughter runs outside barefoot to see what all the commotion is about, further cementing our position as the neighborhood hillbillies. I shew her back in as if she has walked in on something she should have never seen.

Ben stands up and announces, "Let's put those jazzercise classes to some good use! We got 'er goin' pretty good with that last run, so you push and I think that will get it started."

I agree. I wish I had a video not only of my 120lb body pushing this monstrosity down the street at 6:45, but a video of my neighbors faces that were surely pressed to the glass of their front windows unable to turn away from the spectacle.

I channeled every last inch of energy in my body to pushing that truck. I can not see anything except the giant corrugated metal sides of the truck bed. I even threw up a prayer that God please help this truck start because apparently my husband is NEVER giving up.

I hear my husband climb out of the truck. I try to hide my panting. "Let's push it with the 4-Runner now."

My entire body slumps in disappointment. Although I dutifully run back and get the reliable car. I am also very uncomfortable with this scenario as I ease the front bumper onto the back of his truck. I slowly press down on the accelerator. We head down the street and just as we get to the end of the cul-de-sac the Red Dragon roars.

My husband waves and heads off to work. I am left stunned in the 4-Runner. I begin my drive back home. I give the neighbor staring at our freak show on his driveway a friendly wave as if this is our normal morning routine.

Now many of you may not understand why I would go to so much work or even allow this truck to be parked in front of my house. This silly truck makes my husband ridiculously happy. As long as the Red Dragon is his only mistress, I can deal with what comes with it.

The difference between boys and girls

Recently, on a trip to Walmart, Riley came running up with a bag of Popsicle sticks. "Mom, can we get these pleaseeee?" I thought the $2.50 for these Popsicle sticks will probably buy me 10-15 minutes of blissful alone time. I begin to imagine being curled up on the couch, fire blazing and a cup of steaming hot cocoa warming my hand as I get lost in my latest book.

"Yes! Get the Popsicle sticks!" I reply enthusiastically. We change course and head to the arts and crafts section to get the glue. $.39! When was the last time you were able to buy anything for $.39? "Kids! What else can we make with glue?" I ask with new found excitment. All I get are blank stares.

When we get home I proceed to dump the Popsicle sticks on the table and run for my book. Miraculously, it works! I am given 15 minutes alone (have any of you read Edgar Sawtell? One of the best books ever!) "Mom! Come see what we have done!" I walk in refreshed from my 15 minutes to find Riley has made a wonderful jewelery box. The memories from summer camps long ago come flooding back to me.

"Mom look at mine." I am snapped back from my trip down memory lane.

"Those are really nice George, what are they?"

"They are weapons." He goes on to explain the use of each of them. I can not hear what he is saying and can only imagine children getting their eyes poked out.

As I pay the price of turning three kids loose with colored Popsicle sticks and glue,(it took me three days to get the glue completely off the table.) I am reminded of the undeniable difference between boys and girls. Left to their own imaginations, the girl creates a jewelery box, and the boy weapons.

*notice in the second picture how George had to take his sweater off. He was really getting into it.

Sammy didn't want to be left out, so she insisted I take her picture as well.