Don’t Fight the Justice

I don’t understand how it happened, but I guess Lady Jane has officially become a tween. How do I know this has happened you ask? Because she has a new obsession with a little store called Justice. Apparently, if you are cool, you shop there.

One fine evening, hubby was away at work, and Buster Brown was on his very first sleepover. Lady Jane and I (and baby no pants) found ourselves alone. “A girls night!” Lady Jane declares with fist high in the air. “Lets go to the mall!” She announces with the conviction of judge. Finding myself with no reason not to go to the mall (despite the potty training tyrant) we load ourselves into the car and head over to the mall.

“CanwegotoJusticefirst?” The words explode out of her mouth as she hops out of the car. Fortunately for her, I do speak tween and I agree to her barely comprehendible request.

As we stroll the mall trying to determine where said store is located, Lady Jane declares, “I smell Justice!” as the store comes into sight. Unable to fight the pull of the neon colored clothes and teenybopper music she breaks into a run and nearly knocks over the poor elderly person who happens to be in her path to coolness.

I enter the store and my senses are assaulted with Justin Beiber playing so loud I quickly check my ears for blood. The shockingly neon clothing that makes me want to grab my shades. Then I realize when they were planning the layout, they really did not care if a stroller would fit through their maze of day glow.

I did, however, have to take a moment to recognize that the clothes were strikingly similar to what I wore when I was growing up in the ‘80’s. The neon, the peace signs, the three ruffled skirts all look like what I wore when I was, gasp, her age. While none of these fashion statements appeal to me now, I am nostalgic and reminded that at one point I wore clothes like this and sprayed my hair for height, so I must be patient.

I push mini tween through the store who now has her arms out intending on knocking as much as possible off the racks as we pass. Needless to say, it took me a good ten minutes to make it all the way into the store because I had to keep picking things up and hanging them back on the rack.

Finally! I find Lady Jane browsing the crap table. You know the one, filled with light up journals, nail polish, and glitter lip-gloss. Girlfriend NEEDS clothes! “Lady Jane!” I bark as I park mini tween and walk over to help redirect her to the clothing. We discuss outfit options for a moment, which goes a little something like this:
How about this one? No.
Do you like this shirt? No.
I begin to wonder if she really doesn’t like them or if it is the mere fact that I liked them that makes her decide that they are not cool enough. I surrender and walk back to mini tween in defeat. I notice that I did not pay attention to the fact that I had parked her in front of a bracelet display and she is now up to her elbows in glittery bangles.

Lady Jane finally finds an outfit that she deems acceptable that, of course, has the words Justice splashed all over it. We head to the counter to pay for our purchases, only to discover that there are no salespeople. We wait, and wait. Finally, a girl walks up. She looks as though she is even less thrilled than me to be in that store. She actually acts like she is doing me a huge favor by allowing me to buy the clothes. I am tempted to walk behind the counter and remove the stick from her ass, but refrain as the last thing I would want to do is embarrass Lady tween.

As we are about to walk out of the store, Lady Jane is so excited about her new outfit she asks if she can change into it right now. I reluctantly agree, not knowing how much more of this store my body can take.

Lady Jane walks out of the dressing room so proud of the way she looks. I can’t help but smile 1.) Because she actually cares how she looks, perhaps this will even lead to more teeth and hair brushing, gasp! 2.) Because I can’t believe how big she is getting.

It was all worth it to see her so happy. Even if this store doesn’t hold a candle to my beloved Target. I think I am beginning to understand where she is coming from.

Who are you and where are my children?

Last night the kids were very well behaved, I mean very well behaved. In fact, they were being so good it was making me uneasy. As I was making dinner and they were all in the family room playing with the Legos.

For a moment it was so quiet I had to peak my head in the room and make sure George was not smothering Sammy in a pillow and that was the reason for the silence. The art of peaking your head in a room has to be done very delicately. If they spot you the moment is ruined and the chances that they will go back to what they are doing is slim to none. My swift glimpse into the room confirmed that they were indeed playing nicely together.

They actually built a Lego village and let Sammy be a part of it and build her own little contribution. Things were going too smoothly. I thought to myself, if they eat my dinner I am really going to wonder if they are my children.

To my relief they turned up their noses at what I had spent the last hour making for them. Homemade mac and cheese. WHY WILL THEY ONLY EAT IT IF IT COST $.5O AND COMES OUT OF A BOX? But I digress. They redeemed themselves for being too good and all is right again in the world.

Sometimes...

Sometimes I find myself wishing and counting down the years until all my kids are in school and I will have all the free time to pursue whatever avenue I choose.

Sometimes I just get tired of my spending my entire day making sure that everyone else's day runs smoothly.

Sometimes I wonder if cleaning my house is a HUGE waste because it will be trashed as soon as I turn my back.

Sometimes I wonder if it is worth it to spend so much time planning and making dinners that my children rarely eat.

Although, lately I have noticed how fast time is flying by. I recognize that I do not want to wish away these precious years with my kids. In the grand scheme of things 10 years is not a long time to set aside my goals in an effort to make their lives better.

I am thankful that I am allowed the opportunity to stay home for them and be sure that their day goes well. I am thankful that they can always count on me to be there to pack their lunch and pick them up from school if they are sick. I am there for them when they leave for school and I am there to pick them up. It is worth it to me to know that if everything else in their world is crashing down they will always know I will be there.

That is more valuable to me than any doubt that may cross my mind about my career. My time will come to follow my dreams and when it does I will be thankful for the chance I was given to stay home with them.

Reasoning with a Two-Year-Old

Recently, while driving with Sammy Rose, she declared, "I want a cheese stick!" I look to my left and right for the refrigerator. Oh, that's right, we are in THE CAR there is no refrigerator here.

I calmly begin to explain to my sweet toddler that I don't have a cheese stick and since we are in the car I can not get one. She seems to be satisfied by this response...for a second. "I want a cheese stick!"

I begin to feel a little desperate. How exactly do you reason with a two-year-old as to why you can not just pull a cheese stick out of thin air? Then I realize that you can't. There is no explaining to her. Two-year-olds are tricky. They have the ability to articulate what they want, but not the ability to understand explanations such as time, or that you are in the car and it is simply impossible.

I decide to just submit to the screams and continue on my way, defeated.

A Banking We Will Go

On Easter, my daughter hit the mother load. She won the money egg at the Easter egg hunt with $20 in it. In an effort to have her not turn around and spend the money at Justice the next day, I foolishly suggested that she start a bank account.

Ever since that day she has been hounding me mercilessly to take her to the bank to start her account. This is why I banking is not my favorite thing, we always have to go as a party of four. There is a bank teller that our family LOVES. She is a grandmother and she treats my children as if they were her own grandchildren. Meaning, she gives them each three suckers, cookies, and any other candy contriband she may have behind her desk. This means that the visit will begin well, but if we need to be there for more than five minutes the kids will begin running and will not stop just because they hit a wall, they will simply change direction.

So one afternoon, I was feeling like I needed to be punished, so I dug up their social security numbers and took the whole gang to the bank. They ran up to their favorite tellers window and she loaded them up with goodies. Then I found out I had to wait to see the woman that could help me open the account. This gave them plenty of time to not only finish their suckers, but for the teller to notice and give them more. I could feel the tension building inside my body.

Finally! It was our turn. The kids instantly take a seat and begin to crawl and scoot all over the poor unsuspecting woman's desk. I plead my case to her as I take her stapler from my son and replace it on her desk. I pray for her to be speedy like I have never prayed before.

"Has this bank ever been robbed?" George blurts out.

"Unfortunately, yes." The woman replies sheepishly.

"How many times?" George is a persistant little thing.

"Two." The woman answers in almost a whisper. In my mind I am yelling HOW LONG DOES IT TAKE TO OPEN UP A BANK ACCOUNT!? And when I thought things couldn't get any worse, someone from my party farted. I though I am just going to pretend that didn't happen and hope she does to.

When suddenly in a high pitched voice that only has one volume comes, "Sammy toot! Mom, mom! Sammy toot." Yes, yes I heard you Sammy. I am busy right now looking for a hole to crawl into.

In the end, we got the accounts opened and all it cost me was my pride.

Me and My Shadow

My daughter and I are very similar. Perhaps too similar. I read somewhere once, in one of my parenting books, that any traits you have will be shown in your kids only magnified. Unfortunately, I have some nasty traits. Yelling is one, the occasional freak out is another. Sure as the sun comes up, I have seen these traits thrown back in my face like a vengant boomerang.

Needless to say, this can create some trying moments with my daughter and I. When she went to bed the other night, I was exhausted. Perhaps she didn't get enough sleep the night before (I let them stay up to watch Jamie Oliver's Food Revolution. Crazy Friday night, I know) or, perhaps it was the two doughnuts she had had that day but she was a bear. I cried. I cried because I found that I did not even enjoy her company that day. I did not even want her in the same room as me because I knew there would be a request or emotional breakdown that would drain me of my last ounce of energy.

I just kept thinking that tomorrow would be a new day. So I put her to bed on time that night and finished the doughnuts myself (it was a sacrifice I had to make). The next day began only marginally better. I was really working to get the house looking like if a social worker walked in she wouldn't have to think twice about weather the children could stay. Just as I was making some headway, I headed upstairs to tackle that situation.

One glance at the floor revealed that my two-year-old had gotten into my scrap paper and scattered hundreds of little pieces of papaer all over the floor. This was my breaking point. I just sat down in my chair and began to cry. I just needed a moment to let it all out before I tackled this latest disaster. I was a little irked when my daughter walked in before I could compose myself. I mean crying over a mess, how old am I, really? I didn't want her to see that. But she did. She leaned over and gave me a big, genuine hug. It felt nice. It was really the first time in a while we weren't at odds. I explained to her my problem and she quickly began to resolve it. "I'll clean this room, George will clean the kitchen and you'll clean the family room. We'll have this place clean in no time!" It made my heart melt.

So we each went to our posts and she cleaned the upstairs room and she really did a good job. George, on the other hand, decided while cleaning the kitchen that he wanted a snack of oatmeal so that was really counterproductive. But her ability to see I was having a tough time and help me out touched me deeply.

My daughter has challenged me in ways I have never been challenged in my whole life. I will be a better person because of it. Tomorrow was a new day, and it was great. I love you Riley.

An Easter mass I will never forget....and it wasn't because of the homily

Riley is in the children's choir at our church. Consequently, we had to arrive at church an hour before Easter mass so they could get a quick rehearsal in before show time. Anyone who knows Riley knows that this was her time to shine and she did not mind in the slightest getting to church early to fine tune her solo. The other two little ones, however, not so siked about the extra hour. By the time church finally began George starting whining, "is church ever going to be over!?"

To which I reply,"No son, church is never going to be over and we are going to sit here forever." Mature, I know. Sammy on the other hand did not know what to do with the explosion of energy that had built up in her tiny body. She wanted me to hold her, but she did not want to be still. It took all my energy to keep her in my arms. I put her down every chance I got. So I was relieved when she was content playing in the aisle next to me. The priest began to go nuts with the incense. I mean there was so much of that stuff in the air that everything was hazy and I began to wonder if he was trying to hot box the church. Which may be what triggered what happened next.

There was kind of a fuss in the pew across from us as a mom and her son (who looked to be about four) were leaving the pew. I glanced down at Sam to find her still content playing in the aisle then back up at the kid. Suddenly, without warning, vomit spilled from his mouth. Horrified, I'm sure, the Mom knelt down in front of him and began to wipe it up. Then, this image is one I'll never forget. It turns out the first vomit was just a warm up for the mother load. He puked again. Something about children that never ceases to amaze me is the way they never seem to know when they are about to throw up. I thought, really? You didn't feel that coming at ALL? You couldn't give your Mom a little warning as she was bent down in front of you? I mean was it too much work to tilt your little head to the side. I did not see the rest of the scene as I turned away in horror, grabbing Sammy Rose from the aisle. There is no doubt in my mind that that mother got some puke on her.

Then I did feel kind of bad because for some reason I could not stop laughing. There is something about being in church, when you try to stop laughing and it just gets worse. Like your laugh explodes out of your nose when you are trying to keep it in. I don't remember what Ben did, but his witty comment did not make it easier to stifle the laugh. I thought that in retaliation I should say, "step aside, this man is a paramedic!"

To which Ben replied, "yes, a paramedic can keep people from throwing up." to shae. I consoled myself by thinking, if I were in that situation despite the vomit on my Easter outfit I would have been laughing.

That is how I deal with situations like that. When I am thinking in my head, this can't possibly be actually happening, I laugh. So if you ever meet me and some sort of kid crisis is insuing and I am sitting there laughing, don't worry, I haven't lost my marbles that is just how I deal.