kara

We Were That Family

It’s summer. Not technically, but the pool at the Y is now open so really, it’s summer.

We’ve been twice. The first time I took all three kids by myself, to meet my friend Angel and her daughters, Zoey and Mya.

It was so much easier than last year. The kids played in the children’s pool for more than an hour. I sat for much of the time. And talked to Angel. James went down the water slide over and over and over. Sophie dipped her naked Barbie in and out of the pool. Owen, well Owen spent much of the time on my lap but still, when he did get in the water, he had fun.

I envisioned a glorious summer made up of afternoons at the pool, in the sun, happy.

So naturally our next visit to the Y was a disaster.

Andy and I took all three kids Sunday. Everything was great—until we had to leave.

All three lost it. We immediately stopped, got down on our knees at their level and sternly told them how inappropriate their behavior was and how there were going to be consequences as soon as we got home.

James listened to us and stopped.

Sophie (Sophie! Who is 5!) and Owen drew stares.

It was if their bodies had been taken over by demons. They screamed and kicked and carried on in a way we have never seen before. I took Owen. Andy took Sophie. There was no talking to them at this point. We carried them, our heads down and lips tight.

The walk to gather our towels and then exit the Y was so long. So very long. It’s not an exaggeration to say that everyone took notice. Some people had half-smiles on their faces, with I’ve-been-there looks. Some had frowns, with why-can’t-you-control-your-children looks. Some were bewildered, with dear-God-is-that-what-it’s-like-to-have-kids looks.

I wanted to disappear. I still get red-faced thinking about.

Once home, once calm, we had a long discussion about leaving, kicking, hitting, screaming and appropriate behavior. Owen and Sophie lost all dessert and treats for three days (which, for them, is a very. big. deal.). And we’ve told them that from now on we’re not going to put up with even a hint of whining when it’s time to leave—and that if something even close to that happens again, stricter consequences will occur.

So far, everyone has been incredibly well-behaved today. Sweet, even. So much so that I’m half-tempted to drag them all to the pool just to say, “See! They’re not always possessed by demons! Most of the time they’re actually wonderful, kind, incredibly-pleasant-to-be-with children!”

Tell me: Worst public tantrum (if only to make me feel better).

“Temper tantrums, however fun they may be to throw, rarely solve whatever problem is causing them.” —Lemony Snicket

Where I’ve Been

I haven’t blogged about Easter. One of my best friends is Greek, so I thought I could hold out until Greek Easter and, even though we aren’t Greek, somehow make that work via a nice transition about Easter, friendship and spring but Greek Easter was May 5 and it’s May 30 so, well, whatever.

Some excuses:

• I’m doing a lot of freelance work. So much so, that I’ve even allowed myself to hire a babysitter so that I can work some during the day. This is so.hard. for me to do. Because, if I do all my work at night, I make more money (by not spending some of it on a sitter). But lately Andy’s had to force me out of bed in the morning due to me working late most nights. I miss my evenings.

• We lost our camera. It might be in the van. Or my friend’s house. Or under a pile of clothes in my bedroom. But because of this, Andy hasn’t been able to upload any photos for me. So Owen and James, if you’re reading this years from now and wondering why I haven’t written about your birthday yet, this is why.

• I didn’t watch “Arrested Development” when it first aired. Therefore, Andy has convinced me that I need to watch all 60+ episodes so we can watch the new episodes together. So far I’ve watched four. (It’s really funny.) I have a long ways to go.

• Potty training.

I hate potty training.

I’m good at looking at the bright side. Today, for example, I mowed the grass. I bribed the kids (popsicles) to stay on the porch while I mowed and much of the mowing was done with me looking over at them seeing them screaming at me (likely because God forbid popsicle juice was dripping onto their fingers) while I mouthed “I can’t hear you!” and frantically tried to finish before they completely melted down. But. I got exercise. I worked on my tan (lines). Our yard looks (sort of) better. See? Bright side.

There’s no bright side to potty training.

The end result, you say? That’s potty trained. There’s no bright side to potty training.

Some highlights of today:

• I used the carpet cleaner four times.

• I cleaned the hardwood floor three times.

• James peed on my cell phone.

• The boys spent a considerable portion of the day outside, in their underwear and T-shirts.

• Owen, after I chased him down, picked him up and put him on the potty said, “I WANT TO GO TO A NEW HOUSE! I DON’T LIKE THIS HOUSE ANYMORE!”

• James earned one—ONE—sticker on his chart.

• Owen earned none.

Also, they hide.

Whenever the timer rings and it’s time for them to sit on the potty, they run and hide.

So there you go. My May.

I’ve been so eager to turn the calendar page to June.

“It’s been said that adults spend the first two years of their children’s lives trying to make them walk and talk, and the next sixteen years trying to get them to sit down and shut up. It’s the same way with potty training: Most adults spend the first few years of a child’s life cheerfully discussing pee and poopies, and how important it is to learn to put your pee-pee and poo-poo in the potty like big people do. But once children have mastered the art of toilet training, they are immediately forbidden to ever talk about poop, pee, toilets and other bathroom-related subjects again. Such things are now considered rude and vulgar, and are no longer rewarded with praise and cookies and juice boxes. One day you’re a superstar because you pooped in the toilet like a big boy, and the next day you’re sitting in the principal’s office because you said the word “poopy” in American History class (which, if you ask me, is the perfect place to say that word).” —Dav Pilkey, Captain Underpants and the Preposterous Plight of the Purple Potty People

How Is It Not Even Noon Yet?

This morning Andy woke up to find James staring at him, little chocolate fingerprints staining the sheets. Turns out we forgot to close the gate at the top of the stairs. Again. And instead of waking us up, James went downstairs, got into the candy basket and ate half a chocolate Easter bunny. Not only did he eat the bunny, though, he tried to hide the fact that he did. In the bathroom we found bits of chocolate stained toilet paper on the wooden stool and chocolate fingerprints covering the toilet paper roll. He did a fairly good job of cleaning himself up, honestly—except for his chocolate-covered nose.

And then.

Today is Sophie’s last day of preschool. She attends Fort Thomas’s Country Hills Montessori school and loves it. This morning she was a mix of emotions—giddy with the idea of starting kindergarten and upset knowing today was her last day at this place, with these people, who have meant so very much to her (and to all of us). But she was also excited because the boys, who will be attending CHM next year, were invited to spend the morning at her school.

All three were excited.

The boys insisted on wearing their backpacks. They skipped to the car and ran into the school, smiling.

Sophie showed them where to put their backpacks and then led them to the small sink to wash their hands. Then they spotted the gerbil. They were supposed to be sitting on the blue line, criss-cross applesauce. I let them check the gerbil out, thinking a quick peek would quiet them. It did not quiet them.

“I want to see the gerbil!”

whining, wriggling and running off the line

“I want to do the puzzles!”

whining, wriggling and running off the line

“I want water from the water fountain!”

whining, wriggling and running off the line

“I WANT A COOKIE!” (Note, it’s 9:20am.)

whining, wriggling and running off the line

I was so embarrassed.

At this point, Owen was doing better than James. So I pulled James aside (and by pulling aside I mean I had to, literally, chase him down) and explained the importance of the line, of criss-cross applesauce, of being quiet and listening to the teachers.

Once group work started I apologized to the teachers. I promised I would work with them. The teachers were so kind and assuring, promising me this was normal. I’m sure it’s normal, the first week or so. But for everyone else, it was their last week. Everyone else was sitting on the line, criss-cross applesauce—including Sophie, who kept hissing “Boys! Sit down!”

And now we’re home. And they’re fighting over oven mitts.

A confession: I’m already dreaming of fall, when, for 2-1/2 hours three days a week, I’ll have three kids in school.

That is, if they’re allowed to stay …

“Children are a great comfort in your old age—and they help you reach it faster, too.” —Lionel Kauffman

Go. To. Sleep.

Sophie (at 9:37pm, after asking for a glass of water, while both boys are screaming for me): “Why are you a little stompy right now?”

I guess the hardwood floor in her room did a poor job of hiding tonight’s frustration.

“There was never a child so lovely but his mother was glad to get him to sleep.” —Ralph Waldo Emerson

The Office

The final episode of “The Office” is on right now. Andy and I used to watch it religiously, every Thursday night. We stopped three years ago (Owen and James turn 3 Sunday). The show started soon after Andy and I were married. I was working at Popular Woodworking magazine at the time. One of my editors suggested we check out the British version—I gave it to Andy for Valentine’s Day (he gave me a book by David Sedaris).

I remember exactly where we sat on the couch in our house on Grant street, while watching it. The blanket I curled up under. Where Tucker slept. Thursday nights were our TV night. (We loved “ER,” too.) Visit https://my-drama.com/ if you’re also looking for good romantic dramas to watch online. IPTV services also offer video content from Hollywood and other regions.

Andy had this silly little dance that he used to do during the theme song—I loved it.

Before kids we routinely met friends at Arthur’s in Hyde Park on Thursday nights, for happy hour/dinner immediately after work. I always had a veggie burger, fries and a Blue Moon. I rarely drink beer and yet tonight I’m drinking a Blue Moon—I suppose my subconscious is being sentimental.

Much of the show I could relate to. Maybe it’s because my first job was writing for a business-to-business publication about, of all things, paper. Maybe it’s because cubicle work is cubicle work anywhere—so much of it resonates. Companies are companies, too. I remember watching an episode in which Michael hands out ice cream sandwiches to soften the blow of a new, expensive health care plan. If I remember correctly, the very next day the company I worked for handed out ice cream sandwiches to all the employees in an attempt to soften a different blow.

I watched episodes while pregnant. While sleep-deprived. Episodes interrupted 10 times while trying to persuade a little one to sleep. Episodes in full while thankful for routine and (mostly) guaranteed bedtimes. If you’re looking for streaming sites that offer various tv shows and films, you may explore topiptvservices.com.

And although there was the three-year-break, I’m watching now.

It’s not so much about the show. (When the last episode of Seinfeld aired I spent it sitting on top of a hill outside Ohio University, watching the sun set with a friend. And I love Seinfeld.) I think the sentimentality comes from the time that has passed. Eight years is a long time. All endings remind me of beginnings, and this is just another (small) one.

Sure, TV can be problematic. But it also allows these fictional stories to weave in and out of our lives for much longer than the length of a book or a play or a movie. I like that. Yes, there’s a lot of bad TV. But I’m also thankful to be able to disappear into these other lives and laugh, just laugh, for 20-some minutes once a week.

“When television is good, nothing is better. When it’s bad, nothing is worse.” —Newton N. Minow

Links I Love

• It was spring, and raining—hard, and I was driving back from Ohio University with all my college furniture and belongings stuffed in the back of my parents’ pickup truck, covered in a tarp. With the rain came wind and the ropes holding my tarp down came undone. I pulled into a grocery parking lot. I kept trying to pull the tarp back over my belongings but the strong wind prohibited me from doing so. From out of nowhere a man in a nice suit pulled up next to me, got out and started yelling directions. He helped me get the tarp back in place and tied back down—he was soaking wet (as was I). I screamed “thank you” through the noise of the storm as he drove away. He was a kind stranger. He’s not alone. Here are five minutes worth of kind strangers doing kind things. The world can be terrible, but also so good.

• 3D paper hearts even I could make

• Have you ever wondered how historical figures would look today? (Whenever I’m in fine art museums, I do.) Here, some interpretations.

• I wear contacts mostly and, as such, my glasses were more than five years old (I remember being pregnant with Sophie when I picked them out). My prescription has changed yearly, and I was long overdue for a pair—but I couldn’t afford one from my eye doctor. Then I discovered Warby Parker. For $95 (mine were an extra $30 because my eyesight is so bad) you can get a complete pair of beautiful glasses—plus, for every pair you buy they give a pair to someone in need. Win-win.

• lovely floral fabric from Japan (scroll down)

• what 30 families from around the world eat in one week (a pictorial essay)

• cute watermelon ‘cake’

• One of the reasons I love—and live in—old houses is the possibility of finding part of someone’s past up in the attic rafters or secreted in a wall. In our current house there are two bottles, filled with alcohol (we presume) and sealed. One has a piece of masking tape on it with “from prohibition era” written on it. There are more in our cistern. But that is small compared to what this family found.

• These photographs, by Michael Wolf, are incredible (and the blog entry is pretty great, too).

“We plan, we toil, we suffer – in the hope of what? A camel-load of idol’s eyes? The title deeds of Radio City? The empire of Asia? A trip to the moon? No, no, no, no. Simply to wake just in time to smell coffee and bacon and eggs.” —J.B. Priestly

Some Days …

I accomplish big things. Like finishing up a several-week-long freelance project. Planting a garden. Vacuuming the entire house (which may not seem like a big accomplishment until you understand that I have to pick up everything in every room before vacuuming).

And then other days, like today, I accomplish this: Finding Owen’s shoes, which have been missing for almost two weeks, in his closet.

(What is wrong with me?)

“Do not let your grand ambitions stand in the way of small but meaningful accomplishments.” —Bryant H. McGill

The View From Up High

Sophie and I went for long overdue haircuts tonight. I love our haircut nights. It’s a night out, just the two of us. I get to see my friend Nicholena. Sophie gets to inform Nicholena how I have no idea how to do her hair (picture Sophie piling all her hair onto the back of head, as in a messy bun) in the mornings before preschool, so Nicholena teaches me. Sophie is happy. I’m happy. My hair feels good again.

The best hair salon in Fort Myers combines expert styling with a warm, inviting atmosphere. Whether you’re in Cypress Lake, downtown, or along McGregor Boulevard, talented stylists create looks that suit your personality and lifestyle, so you always leave with healthy, beautiful hair you love.

On the way home, we passed a carnival. On a Thursday night. On Colerain Ave.

Sophie was wide-eyed, looking at the ferris wheel while we sat at a stop light.

It was 9pm. On a school night.

I looked at her. I looked at the ferris wheel. I looked at the clock. I looked at the red light.

I could give her a bit of magic, I thought. Or we could go home.

I turned in. We parked directly behind a large trailer. The entire rather large carnival seemed open—the rides were running, the people in charge of games were yelling—but there were only a couple people milling about. I found the ticket booth.

“Is she old enough to ride the ferris wheel?” I asked. There were two older women in the booth, hair piled on top of their head, all thick makeup and bright red lipstick—I swear it was if we had walked onto a movie set. They peered over the glass. And mumbled something. After several attempts I heard “38.” Sophie had to be more than 38″ tall. I pushed Sophie up against a stick with heights marked on it. She passed. And she was thrilled.

$7.50 and six tickets later, we walked over to the ferris wheel. There was no one on it. We passed no one while walking to it. I looked at Sophie, expecting her to be nervous. She was clutching my hand, giddy with excitement. She kept looking up at it, the pure lighted beauty of it.

We got on.

A man strapped us in, put down a metal bar and took all six of our tickets. And off we went.

It was higher than I expected.

And faster than I expected.

Sophie and I held hands tight. As we neared the top and started to go down, my stomach did a flip-flop. I closed my eyes.

What had I been thinking?

While I clutched Sophie’s hand tighter, she opened her eyes and mouth wider. And squealed with delight.

We went around.

And around.

And around.

And around.

I suppose, because there was no one at this strange Thursday-night-on-the-side-of-a-road carnival the man in charge of operating the ferris wheel was giving us an extra long ride.

For 10 minutes we went around. And then he stopped us.

At the very top.

We just sat there, slowly swinging.

Back and forth. Back and forth.

Sophie was thrilled with this development. While she was reaching her free hand up above her head (I was still tightly clinging to the other one) screaming “I’m touching the skkkyyy!!!” I began to question my parenting. Who has a carnival in a deserted store parking lot on the side of the road on a Thursday night? Do carnivals like this have licenses to operate? Permits? Does someone do a safety check? How often? How is it possible that I can spend hours researching car seats and plugging electrical outlets and cutting up blueberries but then put my daughter on this?

We started moving again. “I want to let go, Mama!” Sophie said. And she let go of my hand. I turned and looked at her.

Every once in awhile I know that a moment I’m seeing, hearing, feeling, smelling, will be with me always—in every tiny little detail. I felt that, knew that, when I saw her face, the ferris wheel lights backdropped against it. It was the look in her eyes, in particular. It was pure joy.

And that’s just it. As parents we worry and plan and prepare and analyze, agonize, all so we can get on the ferris wheel, hold tight and then just let go.

And so I did. I let go of her hand, and I let go of my worry, and for a small moment I let life be.

And then the operator stopped us at the top, again.

I grabbed Sophie’s hand. She looked at me. “Just because,” I said, trying to smile. “Just because.”

Because that’s just it, too. As much as we have to let go, sometimes, even when they may not want us to, we also have to hold on tight.

The next time we passed the operator I said, “Sir? Sir? Thank you sir but I think we’re done!”

Sophie looked at me. “I don’t think he heard you,” she said, as we went around again. (I’m pretty sure he did hear me by the way he was laughing as we passed him.)

The next time around he stopped the ride. We thanked him. Sophie was high on excitement, high on the thrill of her first ferris wheel ride, high on the idea that sometimes an ordinary Thursday night can become extraordinary.

I was simply thankful to be back on solid ground, on the way to our Subaru that held the well-researched car seat, on the way to the house where I cut blueberries for much longer than needed.

I was thankful for the feel of Sophie’s hand in my hand, and thankful for the moment she, we both, let go.

I was thankful for tonight’s view from up high.

“I see nothing in space as promising as the view from a Ferris wheel.” —E.B. White

A Lesson In Parenting Found in a Bottle of Glittery Nail Polish

Sophie wants to wear nail polish. Apparently all her friends do at preschool (including a boy she’s friends with). I painted her nails once, over a weekend. She loved it. My thought process isn’t completely clear when it comes to this matter. I will try to use bullet points to organize it a bit more:

Reasons Why We Haven’t Let Her Wear It:
• too young
• all my women’s studies courses
• it’s good to learn how to wait for things in life
• premature sexualization of children
• it chips and looks awful 30 minutes later
• bright red polish looks strange on a 5-year-old
• fear of her caring too much how she looks

OK.

I’m sure many of you are thinking “but, but, but.” Just like Sophie. Last Friday she had some friends over. A couple hours into the play date they all came down and Sophie asked if I could paint everyone’s nails. I told her no. I told her I didn’t know how the other parents felt about it.

She threw a fit.

A fit!

I pulled her away from her friends, and took her upstairs. The following came out of her mouth:

“You never let me do anything!”

“All of my friends are allowed to wear it!”

“You’re not being fair.”

And, my favorite: “You’re treating me like a 2 year old!”

Well, of course I wasn’t going to paint her nails after all of that.

But still, her tantrum gave me pause. I thought about all the reasons I don’t let her wear nail polish. And I argued them, in my head— essentially making another list, with rebuttals.

Reasons Why Maybe We Should Let Her Wear It:
• too young (How does one determine this?)
• all my women’s studies courses (I don’t even really know what this means.)
• it’s good to learn how to wait for things in life (This is true.)
• premature sexualization of children (I’d have to read more about this but honestly, I don’t have the time.)
• it chips and looks awful 30 minutes later (This is true.)
• bright red polish looks strange on a 5-year-old (Andy brought this one up. But a paler color could solve this.)
• fear of her caring too much how she looks (Honestly, I don’t think it’s about that. Not yet.)

Monday morning I took her to the doctor. Sunday night her temperature spiked to 105.6°. Turns out she has strep. So, she missed Tuesday and today at school. Tuesday night I went to the grocery store. And I bought her pale, pale pink polish—full of glitter.

It was perfect.

It looks childish—not much color and all that glitter. It was the perfect sick day/rainy day treat. She found so much joy in it.

Maybe, I thought, I was over-thinking, this whole nail polish thing.

So I didn’t over-think at all when Owen and James asked for some, too. Everyone got glittery nails, and everyone loved them. It was akin to face paint (which we do almost weekly). Or dressing up (which we do almost daily).

It was fun.

Of course it was good to not cave to her in-the-moment tantrum. But I also think it was good to think about what she said (no matter how scary teenager-speak like it was). And to really sit down and think about why. And then to decide that maybe, just maybe, it’s not that big of a deal.

Because honestly? Half the time I don’t know what’s best. I know there will be things I don’t let her do now that later, I will realize it would have been OK for her to do younger. Just as I know there will be things I do let her do now that later, I will wish I would have made her wait. But. I do know today I had three small children running around the house, happy (so happy!) with glitter on their nails. And that made their morning a little more magical. And that made everyone’s day, mine included, a little brighter.

There can’t be harm in that.

“While we try to teach our children all about life,
Our children teach us what life is all about.” —Angela Schwindt

Links I Love

• Saturday Andy and I saw Hem at Taft Theatre thanks to free tickets from CityBeat (I entered a contest and won!). Hem just released a new album, Departure and Farewell, and it’s been a long time coming. My sister and I saw Hem in concert years ago (2005, maybe?) at The Southgate House. There were, maybe, 15 people there. And it was freezing! Everyone, including Hem, wore coats, hats and scarves. Despite the cold, our love for them grew that night—in fact, Katy played several of their songs at her wedding. Last night they were blessed with a much bigger audience. While waiting for the music to start, I began to tell Andy my favorite Hem story—he stopped me, and said I had already told him (several times). So because I didn’t get the satisfaction of telling him (again), I’ll share it with you: Dan Messé, Gary Maurer and Steve Curtis placed an ad for vocalists in The Village Voice. They received many, many responses—but no one fit their vision. Months later, Sally Ellyson, prodded by friends, dropped off a cassette tape of lullabies she’d recorded. Messé says he had no intention of listening to it. But then, by accident, he turned it on when he thought he was playing a different demo tape. “Lord, Blow the Moon Out Please,” came floating out of his speakers. “I remember thinking, What the hell is this?! It was like this voice I had heard in my dreams all my life,” Messé said to New York magazine. And thus the band was born. Listen to their newest lullaby, here.

• “The Helpers”

• My friend Colleen started a blog, Sisters Pushing Strollers, along with her two sisters. I love it. And relate to it.

• Thanks to Pinterest, I just discovered Baileys. Oh how I wish they shipped to the U.S.

• My friend Stephen, who owns Vertigo Catering, is hosting his first tasting event June 14 to benefit The Dragonfly Foundation. I’ve had the pleasure of eating from his menu numerous times and it’s some of the best food I’ve ever had. So if you’re looking for a fun date night (and a great organization to support) check it out!

• Life on Mars … in 2023?

• Speaking of planets, stars and space, I think because James’s middle name is Orion I should own this ring, right? (It’s lovely, but just a tad out of my price range.)

• I’m so intrigued by Elizabeth Winder’s new book Pain, Parties, Work: Sylvia Plath in New York, Summer 1953. Check out some pictures of Sylvia here.

• I don’t understand people who don’t have regrets. Yes, everything in life is a lesson. And no, one shouldn’t dwell on could haves or should haves. But we’re all human. We all make mistakes. And we all have said things we shouldn’t have said and we all haven’t said things we should have said. I regret those moments! How can one not? Anyhow, this spoke to me. This past Christmas I put a regret down on paper—and sent it to someone I knew in high school. He never responded, and I still regret my actions, but I did find the act helpful in letting go.

• Andy’s parents bought Sophie Goldie Blox for her birthday, and we’ve gifted it to others as well. Sophie and I finally played with it today, and she loved it. Watch this. You want to buy one, no?

“The bed is too small for my tired head
Bring me a hill soft with trees
Tuck a cloud up under my chin
Lord, blow the moon out please.” —traditional lullaby