So, there’s a new parenting blog called “5 Minutes for Parenting.” I’ve contributed a post (August 17) that originally appeared here. I’m just one of a bunch of bloggers contributing to the blog edited by Stephanie. While you’re waiting for me to write a real post (I know, I’m trying), why not pop on over and leave a comment or two?
I have mostly packed the van, had a screaming match with my teenager and sweated my way through preparing for vacation. But before I go, I want to tell you about some cool new products from Carolina Pad.
The two lines of products, Eye Candy and Simply Chic, are designed especially for teens and women. They have notepads, mousepads, pens, journals, pins, sticky notes . . . and more. Check out their website here, and enter a contest to win an office makeover The Dark Lurking download .
I do admit to having a slight addiction to office supplies and school supplies . . . and now I can get really pretty ones like these at Wal-Mart (love it or hate it, you have to admit the prices are right there).
And that is my commercial before I go.
This blog will be on vacation, too, as I am pretty sure I will have no Internet access. But if you’re here, you could always read the archives–check the ones under the Categories for fun.
It’s so dumb that I am awake, randomly cruising blogs when it’s almost 1 a.m. But this is just about the first quiet moment I’ve had today. On Friday we’re leaving for a week at the ocean which means that I have lists scrolling in my head: spaghetti sauce, tacos, sloppy joes, grapes, strawberries–don’t forget stuff for s’mores . . . beach chairs, towels–is that striped one still at my mom’s house, let me call her . . . what book shall I take to read? Maybe A Prayer for Owen Meany, I’ve been meaning to reread that, or maybe that other Mark Helprin book . . .
And laundry . . . if I wash everything, packing will be easy . . . wonder where that other duffle bag is? I need to find a flashlight to look under the bed . . . don’t forget laundry detergent . . . I wonder if the oven will get fixed before dinner tomorrow and if those pizzas from Papa Murphy’s will make it another day . . . I need to vacuum and scrub toilets before we go. Is there enough kitty litter to change the boxes? Oh, which reminds me, I need to give Swimmy the Beta fish clean water and some food . . . sure hope I don’t catch Grace’s cold.
Why does it take so much preparation to go away?
And then when you get back, you need another week to recover. . . .what’s that about?
I hate mornings. I love the dark quiet hours when the only noise in my house is the dishwasher, the clothes dryer and the distant rumble of my husband’s snores. You can’t love dawn and midnight in equal measures, and so midnight wins. Dawn? I like you, when I see you, but we are incompatible. It’s not you. It’s me.
So, Tuesday, I worked until nearly 1 a.m. My daughter woke me up at 3 a.m.: “Mommy, I had a nightmare.” She woke me up a couple more times . . . then I heard my husband stir. He kissed me good-bye at 6 a.m. I fell into a solid, restful sleep. At 8:30 a.m., my daughter appeared at my bedside. I turned to check out the time and it was . . . . 8:30!!!
My shift started at 8 a.m. I leaped out of bed, grabbed my glasses, socks and my bathrobe and flew downstairs. I’d been working for an hour–teeth still unbrushed, hair disheveled, face unwashed–when the doorbell rang. My daughter answered it and then, “Mom, it’s a lady.”
And so it was. It was a lady from church stopping by to see how we are doing since my husband’s resignation a month earlier.
My fondness for this woman overrode my impulse to slam the door in her face, so I welcomed her, hugged her. I was acutely aware that my morning breath wafted out with every word I spoke. And my hair looked as if it had barely withstood hurricane force winds. My purple bathrobe, while the color of royalty, is not figure-flattering.
I mentioned how I was working–at that very moment–and that we were fine–but really busy, like now, while I’m working–which must have seemed ludicrous as I stood in my bathrobe. But we chatted for quite some time.
Now, if she had stopped by at midnight, I would have been alert, dressed and in my right mind. Let that be a lesson to anyone who is thinking of visiting. Oh, and call first, so I can panic about the condition of my kitchen floors before you appear. Adrenaline is good for the heart.
I took my kids shoe-shopping. The 10-year old needed football cleats, so first we went to a sporting goods store. We had two choices and each box in his size had only one shoe. So, I sent one of my kids to find an employee.
Meanwhile, my 5-year old is running laps. I directed a 15-year old to keep an eye on her and before I know it, they are chasing each other around the store, whooping and hollering and being a nuisance. They were the kind of kids that would provoke a raised eyebrow, an eyeroll and cause me to wonder, “WHERE IS THEIR MOTHER?!” in that special judgmental way I have.
When my twins were younger, they could not be still while shopping. They’d climb under racks of clothes, they’d poke each other, they would disappear. They would tackle each other, shriek and annoy me until I broke out in a sweaty rage. And, lo and behold, great tidings of anything but joy, they still do it. They still joke around and put each other in headlocks and block the aisle.
After an epic struggle, we bought a pair of cleats and headed to Famous Footwear, my favorite shoe-store. I love that store because they have excellent clearance racks and they send me coupons based on how many shoes I’ve purchased. Also, they have a buy one, get on half-off sale. (Once, I bought a $5-on-clearance pair of shoes with a $5 coupon.) Since I must shod eight feet, that’s where we go.
This time, Grace veered immediately toward the girl shoes, so I gave the teenage boys instructions: “First, check the clearance rack for your size. If they don’t have what you like, check the regular shelves. But watch the price.” They were to each get two pairs: one for gym class and one for every day.
To my surprise, they each picked out reasonable shoes at reasonable prices without my assistance. This was a first. Meanwhile, Grace found two pairs she liked, so all in all, I purchased six pairs of school shoes, plus a pair of cleats. And I will not have endure that again for another year.
* * *
Last night, Grace and I were watching “Unwrapped,” a show about how snack foods are made. The segment was about beef jerky. “Beef turkey,” she said and I corrected her. “No, it’s beef jerky.”
She paused and said, “Beef jerky? What is that? Beef that is a jerk?” And then she laughed and laughed a contagious laughter that had me giggling along, wiping my eyes at her hilarity. When she simmered down I said, “And there’s also turkey jerky.” She found that equally amusing and we laughed some more.
She’s been having nightmares lately and has been waking me up two or three times in the pre-dawn darkest hours. I am not Ma Ingalls of Little House on the Prairie fame and I do not respond with any sort of grace in the wee hours of the night. I’m not sure what incentive she even has to wake me up repeatedly because I am not happy at all to see her before 8 a.m., and at 3 a.m., I am downright annoyed. Last night, I stepped on the pointy end of a plastic doll pacifier and screamed in pain. I fell asleep to the rhythm of my throbbing arch.
I wonder what Ma Ingalls would have done? She wouldn’t have left scattered toys on the floor, I bet.
If you could be a mom of literary, television of movie fame, who would you be? And why?
