Visitation Rights

Well, we all survived my parent's visit this weekend, or I should say, they survived us. Maybe just barely. They arrived late Thursday night. Big K wasn't able to wait, which is fine, since he had school the next morning. Little Man looked out the window every 2 minutes and asked, "Are they here yet?" So everything started out well...and then went downhill from there.

I'm always excited about them coming up and we try to plan, over the phone, the different things we can do. But, by the end of the visit, I'm experiencing a mixture of anger, stress and disappointment. Not at my parents, at my children.

I don't know what happens. Is it the excitement of having more people in the house?  Maybe because we do things that are out of the ordinary, like shopping, going out to eat, getting the boys' haircut? Suddenly, the boys that I think are not perfect, but at least manageable, have become the mini monsters that are normally the children of those other parents which upon seeing, make me feel better about my parenting skills.

But within minutes, I have become THAT parent.

You may know what I'm talking about. THAT parent that dares to take their children to a semi-nice restaurant, like Olive Garden, and after spending a mere 15 minutes in the same waiting area with them, you pray to God that they are seated on the other side of the restaurant from you. Those children that insist on holding the little light-up thing that lets you know when you're table's ready and then proceed to drop it so many times, you're guessing that they'll never get a table because the thing is busted. You also feel sorry for the next person who handles the gadget, because you've witnessed the devise being licked...more than once. And what's with that kid's oral sensation anyway? He's got his fingers in his mouth and even licked the wall behind the bench that they're sitting on. And why does that parent even allow the kid take up precious space on the coveted seating bench when he spends more time under it than on it? At least the staff won't have to work so hard sweeping. By the time they're seated, the fight begins. THAT parent who spends more time fetching complimentary crayons from underneath the table, the one who plasters a fake smile on her face for the benefit of anyone looking their way (which they all are, because the children are screeching about who stole the crayon from the other.) THAT parent who's voice has become more and more strained between clenched teeth when one child complains that this is, "not what he ordered," and he's "not going to eat it," even though it looks just liked the picture he pointed to. The child is now seated with his back to the table and arms crossed in front of chest as he refuses to eat the best dinner he's had in a month and that his grandparents have graciously paid for. It's THAT parent who also orders the largest drink at the table.

I've become THAT parent, whose kids suddenly have this innate knowledge that they are able to do things they don't usually do...namely play video games, without their mother going ballistic on them. (It doesn't help that dad has found his own hiding place in the bedroom, where the video games are.) So now my mother is under the impression that this is ALL THEY DO. I do admit that they play more than they should, but why did they decide that this was marathon weekend? I've listened to my mother's subtle (and not so subtle) hints about the dangers of too much TV/video game time, including seizures, ADD and child obesity. She tries to be light about it...yeah, not really. I know all these things are true and try to assure her that yes, they do play with blocks, cars, action figures and occasionally draw.

I'm THAT parent that is actually excited about driving the grandparents to any store they would like to go to because A) You finally get a chance to be away from the kids and B) my mother pays for an update in my ten year old wardrobe that wouldn't be feasibly possible in the next 6 months, because you lost your job, and although I feel completely guilty about it..I SO needed some clothes. I'm THAT parent who will make two separate trips to Great Clips, because they have also offered to pay for haircuts for one boy who has pictures next week and another who needs the stylist to "fix" dad's last attempt at a home haircut for the same aforementioned reason. Humbling to say the least.

I'm THAT parent who, even AFTER the events at Olive Garden, agree to take the kids out to breakfast, because I apparently think things will be different. They aren't. Now, they just involve maple syrup. At least the waiting time was much shorter. But now I have become THAT parent who must now deprive themselves of any dignity whatsoever, and open the door to the men's room, check for any occupants, and grab their kid off of the sink to whisk him back to the table, to force him to eat more than three bites of the ginormous pancake with a banana smile and strawberry eyes that he insisted on ordering. Pancakes in a to-go box just don't work.

I'm THAT parent who must continually assure my dad that it is not the connection from the DVD player to the TV that isn't working, but the actual DVD player itself. He's just trying to be helpful, but we know our quirky outlets and the dang thing was working just two days ago. THAT parent who must constantly shush they kids or send them into another room (to play video games, I'm sure) so that we can actually hear what's happening in the movie. THAT parent who may fill their wine glass more than is sociably acceptable.

I'm THAT parent who mentally smacks herself in the head when her husband is the first one to compliment grammie on her weight loss, because I was so busy dealing with the kids, I noticed and forgot to say something.

I'm also THAT parent, who, on the morning of their departure, must drag both kids from the bedroom (still playing video games) to say goodbye to their all-too-generous grandparents. The one who feels guilt and shame, because I want to believe that they understand that games are games and grandparents don't last forever. THAT parent who stands alone, waving goodbye in the driveway, feeling like schmuck, because I am alone, waving goodbye.

But as I am waving goodbye, I also realize that I am THAT parent that cherishes every moment that I am able to have another adult to talk to, no matter how briefly, about my kids' problems and know that the answers come from someone who knows my children almost as well as I do. I'm THAT parent who looked over and saw her mother hiding the same laugh when Little Man yelled, "Leave me alone Kaiden, you little...TWIT!" THAT parent who is amazed when her husband contributes to conversation over coffee, because it reminds me that he can be insightful and humorous at the same time. He told the kids if they were good, maybe, just maybe, they could have TWO weeks at grammie's instead of ONE this summer.

I'm THAT parent who knows, that even though they may not show it at the time, my kids love their grammie and papa, look forward to their visits and talk about the things they did with them after they leave. I'm THAT parent who knows life is short and I must memorize every moment, no matter how difficult it may be at times. I'm THAT parent who is exhausted at the end of the visit, but still wishes it could be just a few days longer...

Gone To The Dogs

It never fails. After the whirlwind, we call breakfast, and the Tasmanian Devils have been dropped off at daycare and school respectively, the hubby and I plop ourselves down at the kitchen table. After prying syrup laden plates off its surface, cringing while scooping soggy rogue Mini Wheats into the palm of my hand and then into the garbage, and after half-heartedly swiping a damp rag across the table, we have a moment of peace. This is when we both wrap our hands around our lukewarm second cup of coffee and figure out what each of our schedules will be for the day, make comments about what the latest headlines and the weatherman has to say. In one of those comfortable pauses that married couples have, I notice two chocolate eyes staring at me from just over the edge of the table. They stare at me and then quickly dart to the right and back at me. I return the stare. The eyes dart again. I slooowwly turn my head and yes, there is a minuscule piece of waffle, quite nearly teetering on the edge of the table. The eyes belong to our dog. He's trying to let me know, that if I'm not in the mood to wipe up that piece of food, he'd be more than happy to help me out with it.

I elbow Shawn and nod towards the dog. The head doesn't move and the eyes continue to hold my gaze, but suddenly his tail swish, swish, swishes. Shawn will do it first, "Hey, I don't mean to interrupt, but, ummm, there's a piece of waffle right there. I mean, RIGHT THERE. And umm, I'd be happy just to slide my tongue across that little area, and it'll all be good." Thing is, he says it in a voice that's somewhat of a cross between Patrick Star on Spongebob and Hugo, the abominable snowman. (I will love him, and pet him and squeeze him and call him George.)

This is old school. Loved him!

We all create voices in our heads for our dogs (oh yes you do, don't lie!), and that one is Bo's. I don't know why we make him sound stupid. Wait, I take that back, yes I do.

Shawn had Bo when I first met him. Found him on an adoption site with floppy ears and a big pink nose.

Blurry, but still cute. And his nose is pink, just doesn't look it here.

He's part Lab and part we-don't-know-what-the-heck-he-is. Some say it looks like Collie, or maybe even greyhound, or maybe a wild combo of several canine breeds. He's a puppy trapped in a small horse's body. He's as lovable as they come. He tolerated the kids pulling his ears, tugging on his lips and catching a crack the whip ride on his tail. But he's dumber than a box of rocks. Oh we love him, trust me. He's just not that blessed with doggy sense. Some examples:

He uses his nose to push through his doggy door, but will sit and whine if "trapped" downstairs because the door is only open three inches.

He'll suddenly bark at thin air, bowl you over on the way to bark at the thin air through the window, yet remained mysteriously quiet when our car was stolen out of the driveway.

He sits thisclose to you while you're in the bathroom doing your business, not for affection, but because he's waiting for you to remove your butt from his watering hole, even though there is a fresh bowl of water in the kitchen.

He once spent the whole day on a throw rug, because he didn't want to walk across tile.

The minute the garage door is open, he'll shoot out to go exploring, but he won't jump the 4 inches of fence that is still protruding from the snowbank he is standing on in the backyard. (Yes, the snowbanks were that high.)

One time, Shawn had to get up in the middle of the night to the sound of whimpering. He followed the sound out into the kitchen, flipped on the light, and found Bo had managed to climb completely on top of the kitchen table (for a scrap of waffle, I'm sure) and stood frozen on four shaky legs because he couldn't get down.

I was trying to get a cute video of my son in his plastic swimming pool, and upon playback, see Bo wander in the background to lift his leg...for a solid 3 minutes!

You get the idea. When we met, I also had my dog. His name is Ripley, because he is a Shar Pei. He seriously looked like a manatee when I first got him.

Ripley

Manatee

I fell in love. (I find that the uglier the dog, the more I love it...bulldogs, pugs...that kind of cute, not the cute only a mother could love like Chinese Hairless with no teeth and bulging eyes.) He's totally opposite of Bo. He's dark, Bo's light. Bo has a beak and Ripley's snout nearly touches his eyes. Ripley has a deep baritone bark, and Bo's bark causes a streak of light to blur my vision. Bo is tall and big, Ripley is short and stout.

Getting them together wasn't easy at first, but they've learned to tolerate each other...somewhat. Ripley's "voice" is a bit higher, but probably just as dumb sounding. Bo is kind of a bully. He gets let out and then waits for Ripley at the foot of the two stairs, just so he can pounce on him before heading outside. He feels a need to 're-mark' his territory. Where ever Ripley pees, Bo must pee in the EXACT same place, sometimes he doesn't wait for Ripley to move before he does. We have the bowl of food in two separate bowls, because, like my children, they can't share. But once both bowls are filled, Bo will hover between the two. If Ripley picks one, Bo will run over to it. Ripley will move to the other one, and suddenly THAT'S the bowl Bo wanted. Sometimes he won't even eat, he'll just make sure Ripley doesn't eat either, until I have to step in and break it up. Even when they do play, Bo's long beak-like nose can reach places that Ripley's flat face can't. I've had to treat some pretty serious wounds.

Bo craves attention, all the time. "If I sit right here and stretch my neck, I might get petted. Almost there, almost!" (Voice again.) The problem is when you pet him, he gets so excited he'll feel a need to stand on his hind legs to give you a big hug, one giant paw on each shoulder. I would pet him more if he just sat there, but the minute I start, he leans in to it, rolls across my feet and leaves a small pillow of hair on my pants.

Since I've had time at home, I realize all they do is sleep. Bo moans like an old man when he switches position and Ripley snores louder than a freight train. I do notice one thing though. Before each of them find their spot for the night, they will each take their turn, walk into each child's room and walk up to their bed as if they are checking on them to make sure they are okay. They good dogs. Even if once in awhile they'll eat a box of crayola crayons. Makes the yard look like the Easter Bunny ate some bad Mexican.

They are loved.

Let's Review

It's been an interesting week with highs and lows, summits and valleys, clouds and sun.

Kaiden was talking to a girl from his class on my cell phone. He had it on speaker. He had mentioned that this was the first year that Santa Claus hadn't heard him right and didn't get him what he wanted for Christmas. (I'm sure Santa is feeling the budget crunch that we all are and had to make cuts in his elf workforce as well.) Anyway...she replied with, "You know Santa isn't real, right?"

Me: "Time for supper, hang up the phone."

Nice save. After we had eaten and the kids had gone to become TV zombies, Shawn asked me, "So how are we going to tell him?" What? NO! I do not want to be the one to pop that magical bubble. Shawn had brought up that he didn't want Kaiden to be teased because he is the only one left among his peers who still believes. I, of course, try to approach with logic. If Kaiden knows, well then there goes the Easter Bunny, leprechauns and the tooth fairy. Plus, he has a younger brother. Ever try to get a 6-year-old keep a secret? Good luck. I give it 42 seconds, a minute at the most. Feeling I needed allies on this one, I posted the question on Facebook...should we tell him or not? The overwhelming response was in some form or another, "No." Some had already been down this road. The suggestions ranged from belief in the 'Spirit of Christmas', helpers, and just redirecting the question back at them. And then there was this from my friend Stacey in CA:

My 9 year old (4th grader) asks me "Mom, I need you to tell me the truth, is there a Santa Claus?". Me: "No, Thomas, there isn't, it's Mom and Dad". Thomas begins to sob uncontrollably. Me: "Thomas, I'm so sorry but you asked me to be honest and I thought that's what you truly wanted." Thomas: "I did but I used to have a little tiny hope, and now I have absolutely no hope. None". Yeah, good parenting moment.

We're choosing to let him believe.

I've decided to combat my newly-at-home boredom with a new Wii workout regimen. I was getting bored with Wii Fit and ordered, EA Active, Personal Trainer. It's awesome. I actually was sweating, and I don't mean just damp hair, I'm talking running down my back, off my forehead, needing a shower afterwards kind of workout. It's been 2 workouts on the 30 day challenge so far. Today, it took me 30 minutes to carry a load of laundry up from the basement. Hello thighs and glutes.

I also know why prisoners are so buff. They're BORED! 

I had to turn in 1/4" worth of paperwork to get my kids discounted health insurance. After collecting proof of the children's actual existence, finances, daycare costs, a paycheck stub and a blood test to testify that I AM actually from Earth (okay that's pushing it), I must pass through a metal detector to even enter the office. I awaited my chance to approach the receptionist who reminded me of the human version of the undercover secretary, Roz, on Monsters, Inc. 

"Mmmm, can I help yoouuu?" I told her I needed to hand in my paperwork. "Staple it together and put it in box #1." I merely took a step to get a clearer look at the box, when the deadpan, nasal voice addressed the person behind me with as much enthusiasm as a wet dishcloth. She didn't let me tell her that I had a letter in my hand which said I needed to fill out an affidavit of identity and she had to copy my birth certificate. I took one look at that people behind me in line, one holding a squirming screeching toddler with snot running down his face, and trudged back to the end of the line. Now I know the need for the metal detector. The box, by the way, was some random brown box with a rugged hole cut in the top and #1 written on it with a Sharpie®.

Wow. Professional.

There is ABSOLUTELY NOTHING WORTH WATCHING ON DAYTIME TV. Maybe it's a blessing, maybe not. I can't do my step aerobics to drivel. I need something to keep my attention away from my burning calves. Although, apparently, people in Texas are totally clueless to the fact that you can't abandon your dogs/cats/lizards or whatnot when you move and you cannot keep a herd of horses in the backyard of your trailer home. Or at least that's what Animal Cops Houston would have you believe. (No offense intended, I have several relatives in Texas.)


My youngest son, having finished his business in the bathroom, yelled for someone to help him. My oldest, in a rare moment of trying to get on my good side, said, "I got this." I looked questioningly at my husband. He shrugs. Kaiden makes a big show of coming back into the room, shaking his head with a big sigh, he squirts hand sanitizer into his palm, (he needs to make sure that everyone is aware of his good deeds.) "I had to help him wipe his butt," he sighs. "And why did you do that?" I inquire. "Because someday I'll have a baby and I need practice doing these things." Which actually translates to, "You grounded me from video games, and every brown-nosing opportunity I have, I'm going to take in order to get me back into good graces." I see right through you buddy, but you go ahead and believe because I need the garbage emptied too.

I have re-established that I am a good cook, but horrible baker. Let's just say that mint can be overpowering in the minuscule of doses.


I was overjoyed to see 40 degrees in the 10-day forecast, but I've lost all faith in my local weatherman, so I'll believe it when I feel it. That's the last time I will put any sort of hope in a rodent, groundhogs in particular.


But all in all, my ups and downs were reduced to their actual scale when I woke up to the tragedy in Japan. Just further proof that no matter where you are, what you're going through, happy or sad, the world keeps turning and we must revel in the small joys in life.