It Was a Bad Morning

                                 
Oh! The joys of waking up and getting ready for school in the morning! My nine year old has been especially demonic in the morning this week. I can't even deal with it. She got up at 5:30 today, took a shower, got dressed and then decided she wanted to download an app. It wasn't working and she was getting mad about it so she decided she was going to be grumpy. She is not a morning person.

She sat down at the breakfast table and took one look at her food and said. "I hate oatmeal and I hate you all." Then she crossed her arms and glared at us.
                      
I think that was a little unreasonable. We ignored her for a few minutes until it became clear that she didn't plan to eat. "Eat your breakfast."
"No."
"You need to eat."
"You don't care if I starve!" she hissed.
I should have just given up. I should have not cared. However, I could just imagine her sitting in class hungry with her stomach growling and I could not stand it. Punishing me by punishing herself by not eating? That is some sick, twisted, manipulative s**t right there.

I didn't have much time to deal with that because my eleven year old came downstairs in a rage. "Where is my purple mechanical pencil?" she demanded.
"I don't know. It's your pencil."
"I can't find it! It's my friend's pencil. I need to give it back to her!"
She turned to her sister, "You have it! I know you took it!"
The two of them bickered back and forth. Then she screamed that we had to stop what we were doing and help her find this mechanical pencil. You know, because the world revolves around her.

"I have to leave in 15 minutes. I am eating breakfast right now and having a cup of coffee. You are responsible for keeping track of your own things. I am not spending time looking for a pencil this morning."
She sat down at the table and cried.
                                         
My husband  and I sat there at the table, casually sipping our coffee while one child had a nervous break down and the other continued to scowl and give us the death stare. He turned to me and very calmly asked, "What is happening to our lives?" Good question. I'd been awake less than an hour and was already questioning my will to live.

After breakfast, my daughter found the purple pencil upstairs. I grabbed a granola bar for my youngest to eat in the car. Even though, according to her, I don't care if she starves. I was glad to drop her off at school.

This evening was a little better. The kids only argued with each other eight times. I ignored them like the horrible mother that I am. I was tired. I laid down in bed at 8:45.

My eleven year old came in and said, "Mom, can you do me a favor? Can you do downstairs and get my notebook paper. It's dark."
"No. I'm tired. I was just down there."
She didn't argue with me. "Well, have you seen my purple mechanical pencil?"
"I thought you gave it back to your friend."
"I forgot."

After all that, she forgot to give that damn pencil back. "Seriously, if that pencil comes back into this house after tomorrow I am going to throw it in the garbage. I can't deal with hearing about it anymore." She did not like that statement. "You're mean." Bad Mom Award.

Goodie Two Shoes

             
We survived the first week of school. It hasn't been too bad. I somehow convinced my daughter that waking up at 5:30 still gives her enough time to get ready. For some reason, 5:30 is infinitely better than 5:00 am.

It was a busy week. We had school, I went back to work. There was the usual soul crushing battle of trying to keep the house clean. This weekend was no break. I had to work in the morning, a birthday party in the afternoon and then another birthday party in the evening.

The birthday party at night was at a bar/restaurant and started at 8 pm. That's pretty close to my bed time. I was excited to see friends and go out with my husband, kid-free. My dad came over to watch the kids. By watch the kids, I mean watch a movie while the kids played Minecraft.

I put on a dress and tried to make myself presentable. We were ready to leave and I went downstairs to say goodbye. My father decided to give me a pep-talk. "Listen, you can stay out late. If your man wants to drink a little bit, that's okay. Don't get on his case. I know you don't smoke or drink and you're a goodie two shoes. I'm not saying that's a bad thing, just loosen up tonight."

I was like:
                      
Did my dad just call me a goodie two shoes? That is sad. I have a reputation in my family as being no-fun. I have been called "square" and "vanilla." I have once been compared to a Puritan. Which is ridiculous because I don't been own a bonnet. All of my siblings are going to Las Vegas in the fall and I pretty much was not invited.

Not on purpose, if I wanted to come they would let me but they know that I would ruin it. I could see us now, walking down the strip. They would be pumped, "We are getting turned up tonight. YOLO!" I'd chime in with, "Let's focus on making good decisions tonight, okay guys?" That's why I don't get invited places usually.

We went to the bar and it was good. I had a Diet Coke and mingled. Someone was trying to hand me shots. I declined. Then I was peer pressured. "C'mon. Just one. It's a fireball..." No. I just watched everyone else do shots. I don't know how people do it.

I could not imagine staying out all night drinking. Not that I judge people that do, to each their own. It does not appeal to me at all. The idea of having to function the next day and care for children seems impossible. I can't stay out and do shots. I had grocery shopping to do the next day, and crock pot meals to prep, and laundry to fold, and a gymnastics banquet to take kids to.

We left shortly after 10 because I was tired. Lame. Today I told my neighbor that I was taking his wife to the club and he laughed and joke that the only club I go to is Sam's Club. That's my reputation.

My perception of myself is not that I am a goodie-goodie. I say the f-word sometimes, I let my kids give me temporary tattoos, sometimes I even drive five miles over the speed limit. That's right - I'm really a badass. I just keep in on the down low.

In other news, there is only 123 days until Christmas. My kids are knowing about it. They already have put in their gift requests. My nine year old the other day said, "I want some Beats for Christmas."
                 
I hope she is looking forward to being disappointed on Christmas morning. I am not paying $150 for a pair of headphones. Whats so good about Beats anyway? For $150 they better do my dishes and balance my check book too. That is just ridiculous. I'm not doing it.

My oldest wants a penny board and a pair off all-white converse. They have to be "All White." The penny board she want is $120. No. You get a $50 skate board and you better like it.

These kids are expensive. Lord almighty. I usually get all my Christmas shopping done by Halloween but I decided that this year, I am putting it off. They always change their mind a week before Christmas about what they want and it creates a stressful mess. This year I am just going to get Amazon Prime and order everything December 15th.

But you know what I'm not going to order? $300 worth of Beats and penny boards. Worst Santa Ever. Bad Mom Award.

No More Sleeping In

                        
Well, we survived the first day back to school. The kids were excited about it. The night before they laid out their outfits and set their packed book bags by the front door. I tucked them in. My youngest didn't request me to lay with her which was a little suspicious.

My oldest did though. haha. I asked her if she was excited and she replied that she was. She just got glasses this week. Apparently she was going bind and no one realized it. Bad Mom Award. "Are you nervous that anyone will say something about your glasses?" I asked. She shook her head. "I don't care what other people think. I like them and that's all that matters." I freaking love her. She is so cool.

The next morning went off without a hitch. They got up early, got dressed and I made muffins. We had a family breakfast, all four of us around the table before dawn. Then we took pictures, picked up the neighbor and headed to school.

I dropped off my daughter at the elementary school first. Everyone was getting out to walk their kid inside. I felt like an a-hole because I wasn't planning on walking her in. "Are you sure you don't want me to walk you in?" I asked. She gave me a look like Does the pope shit in the woods? So, I didn't walk her in. She kissed my cheek and walked into school without looking back.

We had left early because I expected to sit in traffic for years but it was smooth as could be. There was almost an hour until middle school started. "Let's go to Starbucks," I announced. My sixth grader always begs to go to Starbucks and I always say no. This was a little treat.

We went to Starbucks and I ordered my daughter her favorite diva drink - mocha frappe with caramel drizzle and a decaf for the neighbor boy. I pulled to the front and the barista handed me the drinks. I handed him my debit card and he said, "That's not necessary." I was confused. "What do you mean?" He smiled, "Someone already took care of your order. They said have a great day!"

How amazingly awesome is that? I thought that was so sweet. Hooray for random acts of kindness! Thank you person in the universe who brought our Starbucks - you made 2 middle schoolers super happy on their first day of school.

I dropped them off and they walked in confidently. No more kids for the day. I almost didn't know what to do with myself.

That afternoon they came home and excitedly chatted about their day. Everything went well. They were happy. That night my fourth grader came into my bedroom and started setting up a pallet on the floor. "What are you doing? I thought you were going to sleep in your room all the time now because you are big."

She looked at me like I had three heads. "Oh no. That was just the for the first day of school." Oh, I see. We argued back and forth about it until she said, "But mom, I'm growing up and I just want to be with you." She's a manipulative little turd nugget. Of course I caved. I just can't argue with that. Plus it was almost 8:30 and I was out of energy. Bad Mom Award.

It's not my youngest I have to worry about interrupting my sleep anyway. It's my husband. Normally, I wake up before the alarm even goes off. I get up, let the dog out, fix lunch for my husband, and make breakfast. We usually can get in 15 minutes of breakfast alone before the little one gets up. That has been the routine all summer.

 Last week he had gone to bed early and I was up past midnight with an 11 year old with a stomach ache. I was glad this it was still the summer because I was going to sleep in. My husband is a big boy. He can make his own breakfast. That morning the alarm went off. I heard my husband stir and I felt a pat on my behind.

It was similar to how you might gently hit your heel on a horses' rear end to say, "Let's go." "Giddy up." That pat on my behind was like him saying, "Get up, woman, and make my breakfast." I lost my mind. I snarled.
                     
"No. You make your own breakfast. I was up late last night. This is the 21st century and I don't have to do what you say!!!!" Then I put my head under the covers and rolled over. I heard him mumble something under his breath before walking into the bathroom.

This morning I was deeply sleeping when he nudged me. "Honey, honey! Are you getting up at 5:30?" I sat up in bed, freaked out that I missed the alarm or something. It was 5:17 am. My husband, for whatever reason, felt the need to rouse me from my beautiful slumber at 5:17 am to ask me if I planned to wake up 13 minutes later. Why?!?!?!?! I was so upset.
                    

At breakfast he complained about being tired. I laughed. "Me too. I was rudely robbed of 13 minutes of sleep." He chucked and it all made sense. The kids get it from him. No one in this house likes me to sleep. It's just not acceptable.

Class Changes

                                 
Last week the school sent home post cards with homeroom assignments. My sixth grader got hers and was so excited that one of her good friends was in the class. We had to go up to the school to do a few things and she got to meet her new teachers. She was so excited. Then, a day before back to school night I received a voicemail from the vice principal stating that we needed to "discuss my daughter's schedule." I was nervous.

So long story short, they test my daughter for the gifted and talented program every year. There are two parts (english/math, ninjas/pirates, gamecocks/clemson? I don't freaking know) and you have to be at a certain level on both parts of this test to qualify as state identified gifted and she only meets one of the two parts. However, she was accidentally placed with the state identified GT kids.

That was an uncomfortable phone call. The lady was like, "Your daughter is very smart...." She gave me a little pep talk before letting me down easy. It's fine, she's super smart and talented. I'm not married to the idea that my kids need to be GT. My youngest is state identified and that's fine and my other is not and that is okay too. I know I've said it before but I don't buy in to the idea that there are certain kids who are predetermined to be high-potential and that all the others are not. Anyway, let me get off my soap box.

I got off the phone and I called my daughter down. "Sit down at the table, sweetie. I have to talk to you about something."
She looked nervous. "Am I in trouble?"
"No. Why? Did you do something?"
"No. Why do I have to sit down?"
I explained to her the situation and that she would not only have a new homeroom teacher but a whole different team of teachers. I could see the tears start to well up in her eyes. Then we had a little talk about how in life sometimes things don't always go as planned and sometimes we have to be flexible and make the best out of the situation we are presented with. We talked about how God has a plan and that there would be lots of friends in her new class.

She took it well. The tears never spilled over her eyes. She is strong and she accepted the reality of the situation. She hugged me and then went off to call her friend to tell her about the class change. A little while later she came back excitedly and gave me a list of all of her friends who are in her new class. The list included a boy, I'll call him Hunter.

Hunter is her "boyfriend." By "boyfriend" it means she's been texting him over the summer. People are like, you let your daughter have a boyfriend? Not really. We don't arrange play dates, they don't ever see each other. I don't encourage it but I don't forbid it either. She can call him the Sultan of South Carolina, it doesn't make it so. You know?

They text each other every 3 or 4 days. Every text conversation is this:

Hi
Hey
What are you doing?
Nothing.
I'm bored.
Me too.
Well, g2g. Bye
Bye.

That's it. Literally every conversation. It's a script. They are friends on Instagram. I have her account linked on my phone so I can see all her messages and who is doing what. He will tag her in videos of puppy dogs. hha. Although, recently he did put on his profile that he is taken by my daughter and he had hearts around her name and a little emoji face with heart eyes. WHOA! What does that mean?

I asked her about it. "Does that mean he like, loves you or something?" She laughed and rolled her eyes. "I don't know." If he did, I don't blame him. She is super pretty, smart, and funny. I know-my opinion is biased. I just don't know how I feel about it. The idea of boys liking my daughters enough to publicly frame their name with hearts on social media is a little nerve wracking for me.

 That night I said to my husband, "Boys are going to want to kiss our daughters. On the mouth. Like, they are going to think about it."
He rolled his eyes and said, "Yeah. They are only going to think about kissing them."

           

I like this Hunter boy though. He's a good kid. Comes from a nice family. I know his mama. He's as socially awkward as my daughter which is good.

We went to back to school night and he was standing there with his dad and when we walked by they didn't wave to each other or acknowledge each other at all. "Isn't that your friend?" I asked. "Yeah, but it's really awkward to see him in person." Okay.

We met the teachers. She hugged her friends and all was right with the world. We did wind up next to Hunter and his parents. I chatted with his mom. We're on the level together. It will be fine.

Now when we get to 7th grade, 8th grade, dare I say, high school -that's when I'll really be in panic mode.

My fourth grader excited to start school. She has most of her friends in her class. All of them are little divas. That classroom will be covered in glitter. She will do great and have a fun time.

I know the kids will give me plenty of material to keep it interesting this year. It will be a saga.

The Watching Mother

                          
We have been spending these last days of summer vacation being lazy. The kids go back to school in approximately 5 days. The summer has passed us by in a blink. We've made a lot of memories, we rested, we enjoyed each other.

I am not as excited for school to start as I've been in years past. It's not new anymore. I thought to myself, "It's back to school time AGAIN?" It's like being on a carousel that goes around and around and never stops to let you off. It's almost....passe.

My children are not small anymore. They don't carry Hello Kitty lunch boxes, they won't get name tags with their bus numbers on them, they aren't learning to read or taking naps, there were no safety scissors on the school supply list. My children are experienced. They know the routines and the expectations.

I am not excited about back to school because I have a daughter going into the sixth grade. When you have a child in the early years of their schooling it seems like you have so much time ahead of you. Thirteen full years. Now suddenly, I don't feel that way. My daughter has more first days of school behind her than she does in front of her. After this year it's only 6 more. After that, I'll be able to count down the years on one hand. Then she'll be grown.

My kids are getting so big now that it's hard for me to even imagine what it was like when they were tiny. It's surreal almost when they stand in front of me. I know that I grew them inside of me, that I spent countless years wiping tears and noses, kissing boo boos and holding hands but it seems almost like a dream.

When you have babies, toddlers and even very young children it's hard to imagine a life that isn't sticky, hectic, and full of endless whining and diaper changes. Then BAM! one day that part of your life is suddenly over. You have kids who can do for themselves and you'll wonder why you'd spent so much time wishing the days away.

My children are marching closer and closer to independence and I am powerless to stop it. Nor do I want to stop it. I have become a watching mother. I don't know when I became a watching mother, it's been gradual I guess.

I let them do most things for themselves. They can fold laundry, they can do their own homework and school projects, they can handle social situations that arise, they can walk the dog, and even cook simple meals! I stay close by, watching them and trying not interject unless need be. I'm here if they need me but I'm learning to give them more responsibility. Deep down, I know this is the way it's supposed me be.

When they were babies I carried them on my hip, when they were small I held their hand, now I walk behind them just far enough to catch them should they fall.

On the first day of school they will not ask me to walk them in, they won't cling to me or be anxious. They may not even kiss me good bye. They will smile, wave and walk confidently into school ready to brave a new year and they won't look back as I drive out of the parking lot.

I will cry like I do every year, a cry more bittersweet than sad. I will remark how quickly the time has passed and most of all, I will be proud.

The Struggle is Real

                       
Yesterday was a great day. I cleaned the house from top to bottom, watched a movie with the kids, had a nice dinner, went to the gym, and spent the evening playing Phase 10 with the family. We had a great time. The kids were happy, we were making jokes, we had ice cream. It was the ideal evening.

At 9:30 we sent the kids to bed and by 10:30 they were sleeping hard. It was like all the stars had aligned. Finally, we can have some alone time to play Monopoly. That almost never happens.

We weren't playing Monopoly but had pretty much picked out our pieces and distributed the cash when all of a sudden the door swung open and my nine year old was standing there.
              
Oh. my. God. My husband did a ninja roll and disappeared over the edge of the bed. My daughter was crying.
"What's wrong, baby?"
"My tummy hurts."
"Okay. Just go back to bed. I was about to take a shower so let me get dressed and I'll be right in."

She nodded and disappeared back to her bedroom. My husband peeked up. "Is she gone?"
I was getting dressed. "Yeah, but what the hell? You didn't lock the door."
"I THOUGHT I locked the door. Sorry."
"Next time instead of thinking of locking the door, maybe you should actually lock the door."
I was pissed.

I went into her room and she was clutching her stomach and whimpering. "My stomach hurts bad, mommy." I rubbed her back. "I'll run you a hot shower. Maybe that will help." I ran the shower and collected some fresh pajamas and a towel. She stayed in there for a half hour. In the meantime I built her a pallet on my bedroom floor and retrieved some medicine and a bottle of water.

She emerged close to midnight. She came out of the bathroom looking a fright. "Do you feel better?"
She shrugged, "A little."
I laid down on the floor next to her. "Will you rub my tummy?"
Whenever she has a stomach ache, I have to rub her tummy with a moderate amount of pressure in a circular motion.

I did this. For an hour. Every time I tried to stop she would wake up remind me to keep going. My arm had a cramp in it and I was exhausted but still I rubbed. At 1:30 I made her go to the bathroom. She was gone for about 15 minutes but still nothing. I resumed rubbing for another 45 minutes. At 2:30 she asked if she could take another hot shower.

I got up and ran the water. I laid back down on the floor and fell asleep. I woke up to her nudging me. It was close to 3 am. "Mom, I threw up."
"Where?"
"In the toilet."
"All of it?"
"Yes. I feel much better."
I was like:

I didn't have to clean up puke, my tummy rubbing marathon was over, my daughter felt better and now we could all fall asleep. I was so happy.

We all woke up late this morning. I went to use the bathroom and discovered that while my daughter had barfed in the toilet, she failed to flush the toilet and the entirety of my toilet bowl was covered in crusty vomit. At least the cleaning up didn't involve touching it or having it ooze between my toes so it was much easier than my usual regurgitation sanitation.

After I cleaned that up, I straightened the house because we were having an appraisal done. We've been renting this house for 4 years so it's time. The appraisers showed up in the late morning. They were two nice guys in their earlier 30s. I showed them around and they measured.

When we got to the kitchen they saw the pictures of my kids and were asking about them. I assumed they must have kids themselves. People that don't have kids don't give a shit about other people's children.
"How old are they?" he asked.
"Those pictures are old. My oldest is 11 and my youngest is 9. Do you have children?"
He nodded. "Yeah, my wife is due in December and I have a two year old. This guy over here has two girls, a one AND a two year old."
I turned to him and he gave me a look that said:
                        
Lord knows that I've been there. I mean with the newborn and two year old. Kids a year apart? Dear God, that sounds awful. It's not easy having a toddler and a baby or two toddlers. It's intense. I offered my condolences. "Stay strong. The struggle is real." None of us laughed. We just nodded. It's great. Kids are awesome and fun and the best thing that ever happened but it is not easy.

I was reminded of this later in the afternoon. I was getting ready to make dinner. I literally was pulling pots from the cabinet when my 11 year comes in and takes out a box of mac and cheese.
"What are you doing?" I ask.
"Making mac and cheese."
"No. I'm making dinner. It will be done in 25 minutes."
"Can I make bowties?"
"No."
"But I'm hungry."
"You can have a snack."

She opened the fridge. "Can I eat this sandwich?"
"No. That's for dad's lunch tomorrow."
"Can I eat this chicken Caesar salad?"
"NO. That's for dad's lunch on Thursday."
"Can I make a toaster strudel."
"Seriously?!?!?! Those are for the morning. Eat a SNACK. You want a meal. I am making dinner. It will be done in like 20 minutes."
I opened the cabinet and gave her a tour, "You can have a granola bar, goldfish, graham crackers, sunflower seeds, banana chips, popcorn, a pear, blueberries, strawberries, cantaloupe, a gogurt...."

She crossed her arms and said, "I don't want any of that and stomped out of the kitchen. She probably texted her friend to tell her that I'm starving her. The struggle is real. I've been knowing about it.