The Season for Being Sick

Yes, Sick Season is upon us and my family is getting a head start with a round of fevers and coughs. Sure, this is to be expected this time of year, but that doesn't mean that everyone who is sick has an all-access hall pass to spread their germs. Here are a few ways I will do my part in helping society by NOT spreading our flu-like germs to others, and if you care about your friends and family then you will too!

1. No parties or play-dates. Spare others the pain of your illness by staying home until everyone is feeling better. It doesn't matter if the kids are going stir-crazy, so am I! But it's a matter of respect for other people's health.

2. Teach your child how to cover their cough. The new thing is to cough into your elbow, not your hand, that way you don't continue to spread the germs from your hands to whatever else your grubby little child touches. How gross is it when you are out and someone coughs over his shoulder without even paying attention to the pregnant chick standing behind him?

3. Fevers mean...stay the @!#$ home! Don't go out until the fever has been cleared for 24 hours without the use of fever-reducing medications, at least that's what the school attendance line says, so you'd think that more parents would be aware of the reasons behind that and stop spreading their kids germs. There are good reasons for these rules, people.

4. Stop the denial. If you think it's going to just resolve itself, you are wrong. You need to address whatever is ailing your kiddos and follow the recommended treatment. It's best to start at the first signs of being sick, so don't spend a week "waiting to see" what happens. Water. Rest. Quarantine. 'Nuff said.

5. Be rude if necessary. I am going to be more assertive in telling sick people to stay away. Okay, I don't want to be rude, I like to be nice and have people like me. But, I HATE being sick and even worse having SICK KIDS. So, with that said, you need to take a stand and just be frank and honest with people who are obviously sick and tell them to stay away until they are better. No offense. (This, however, takes some practice, and you have to be prepared to call someone out with your bull-@#$% detector. We've all heard the excuses, "Oh, it's just a little cough. Just a runny nose. Oh, it's not contagious. It's just allergies." Be prepared to JUST SAY NO to the people who actually really LIE about their kids being sick, then claim how coincidental it is that now you are sick, and how it must just be "going around.")

Okay, that's enough for my rant on getting sick from kids who should be home in bed, and their parents who either don't know better or just don't care about other people's well-being.

Now I'm going to go drink more honey-lemon hot water, and convince the kids it's time for a family nap.

Graduation means...Officially Unemployed?

Every student looks forward to the last day of school, but as it nears, the temperatures rise and end-of-year events, birthday parties, and FINALS overwhelm! But, when it's all said and done, there's a good reason to celebrate. I wish my graduation ceremony had as much entertainment as my kids preschool graduation. They sang cartoon-inspired songs, featuring such catchy favorites for the boys as "I Like to Move It" and "Shake Your Groove Thing" (which Tristan insisted was actually "Shake Your Groofy", hm, can't imagine where he gets his stubbornness). The girls danced in tutu's and the one on the end pulled hers up around her head, covering her face for the entire performance, although impressively still dancing along in sync with the others even with the head-dress blinding her.

I could have saved some money if I had just made my own square paper cap and yarn tassel like theirs. Especially when I realized I had mine on backwards nearly half the time, the top-heavy thing just kept sliding off my head. Of course it probably didn't help that I only brought one bobby pin so I only had it pinned behind one ear. But it's not even about the costume of it all, because, yes, I get it, we all wear costumes every day. We will have to dress for the jobs we want, not the one we have (don't have?). But it's a day of achievement, and celebration, and yet all I can think is: What's next? And that's something I had not even had time to figure out, as I struggled to get chapters read, essays written, and creative nonsense structured into something tangible. Something I had not come to terms with until it was inevitably time for me to come up for air.

So, Happy Graduation? Yes and No. Yay for my kiddos, they are so smart :) But, boo, for having a three month run of not seeing their friends, and the temps getting too hot to do the outdoor stuff they love all the time. And boo for me trying to keep up the momentum of the final quarter of my undergraduate studies! And everybody's favorite question to answer: so, now what are you going to do?

Well, anyone with even one child knows that there's never a dull or boring moment, or a moment when you find yourself sitting in a big cozy chair twiddling your thumbs and falling into a leisurely nap. But, the job hunting starts, and instead of considering myself unemployed, I think it's fair to say that I still have several jobs, of which being a mom can get a little more attention now, and not getting out of pj's until lunch an added perk of summer time. Not to mention the three days worth of laundry I did immediately following my last final exam.

And for me, the college grad? Preparing for the GRE, researching graduate schools with MFA programs in Creative Writing (and great financial aid), and finally revising the work I've been letting marinate for a while, buried in various notebooks, files, and shoeboxes. I guess a scavenger hunt might be in order too!

Park Bombers

Ahhhh, school's out for the kids and the June Gloom fog burned off to reveal a blue sky screaming "Park Day!" It's been a while, I must embarrassingly admit, since I've taken them to the park. This has been a tough quarter, at school four days a week, sometimes more. But I felt ready to go let them run around and perhaps sneak in a few chapters of my first summer leisure read :) yay!

But, of course, Ashlyn wanted to swing, which requires me to get off the bench and push. Maybe I would try to read while pushing, but on better thought I told myself "This is their time, I can read later." And then, sure enough, the girl who stole Ashlyn's first choice swing began engaging in typical child banter. Quickly I learned she was NOT a little girl, but a four year old. Along with so many other useful tidbits of information I feigned much excitement over, while I thought deeply about what lay ahead in the next page of that book. I was only in six chapters, a tease.

"See how I pump my legs. Yea, I don't even need a push, because look how fast they go, because I push them out early, you see. Look at me, look how fast I'm going," said the annoyingly sweet little girl with too-short bangs and a proud smile.

"Wow, that's really cool," I said, with as much enthusiasm as I could bare to muster up for someone who I was NOT related to.

"I've already been to kindergarten," she says.

"Great. Good for you," I said, not realizing until now that the math doesn't add up if she's only four, but I never really cared for math all that much.

Ashlyn began to slip off the seat, so I grabbed it to slow down and she went flying off, plopping in the sand. Oops. I'm a little out of practice.

Yes, I get to read my book now. So I sat down on my bench, and the woman on the bench next to me tells me how cute the kids are.

"Thanks," I said, sighing, preparing for another unwanted conversation.

"Yes, so cute! I'm here with my grand-daughter. See her, over there. She's so gifted. I saw your daughter, how old is she? Three? Well, you have to take her to the dance studio down the street. You just have to. They have all these great classes that she can take, and they only enroll twice a year, that way she can be in the big recital in June," she said, as if she were going to get commission from this referral.

"Thanks, maybe when she turns four," I said, and then stared at my lap, to the book eagerly awaiting my attention.

"I forgot my book," she said, forcing more conversation. "My grand-daughter takes piano on Fridays, and then Tennis on Wednesdays, so she doesn't have time to do dance anymore. But it's a great studio. You should take her in, just to look around, if anything. She'd really love it. I know she would."

And so I continued with her as much as I could tolerate, sneaking in a paragraph here and there, in between telling the children not to play in the mud or dip their wet shoes in the sand. After her fourth or fifth endorsement for the local dance company, I decided it was best to give a five minute warning call to the kids, and get out of there. Oh yea, it was dinner time anyways, I guess.

And that, my friends, is what I call getting park-bombed. Even with oversized sunglasses and book in hand, there is no avoiding it. So maybe someday, when I tell you about the little boy I made cry at the other park, you won't judge me.

I Just Need to Practice Dancing

We all need to be reminded of how important it is in life to slow down and enjoy ourselves. Amid my rigorous sixteen unit schedule I find myself being away at meal time far too often. I get frustrated sometimes at feeling like I have to choose between being a student, or being a mom. But my kids remind me that it's okay to struggle with this. Because everything takes practice. Even as an adult, it's impossible to think we suddenly know how to do it all. Be it all. Be everything to everyone.

So, when we sat down for our fancy dinner: corn dogs, peas, and chocolate milk, Tristan was feeling jittering, nearly jumping out of his chair. Now, if you know Tristan, this would not surprise you. He's the type of kid who literally lights up whatever room he's in with his intense energy, a smile that spreads the span of his dimpled face as he cooly swipes his bangs out of his eyes.

"What's the matter? Do you have to go to the bathroom?" I finally asked him.

"No, mom. I just have to dance. I have to get up and practice dancing when I'm done with dinner. Because I haven't danced in a while, and so I need to get up and dance," he said, in his matter of fact tone, that, if it weren't for it's high pitch, you might expect an older child to have said, not a five year old.

It took me back to Jr. High, practicing my moves in the mirror before the big dance. And yet, when the dance came, I ended up just going with it and moving in ways that weren't planned. And then I realized it was silly to practice.

And yet, isn't it funny how when we become adults, we think we can stop practicing? We leave ourselves to our own habits, uncaring if we are better or not, but accepting this is who we are. But I say, Practice to Dance. Dance as if it's eighth grade all over again, but this time you don't care if you look silly or not. You are out to dance in the world, and if you want to dance, son, Dance.

Don't get mad when you aren't good at something right away, because chances are that anyone who is good, has been practicing every day since they were five.

The house is alive with the sound of muuuusic....

Mommy coping strategy #1: How to stop yelling at my kids

I may not be the screaming mom who overreacts and gets irrationally annoyed, but maybe I am. Sometimes it feels like children are little manipulative monsters who drive a splinter under your last nerve. It's those rare occasions that I become that mom, you know, the mean and loud one who your kids are afraid of, and who is ashamed of themselves for not setting the best example.

And with kids, you always know how you dealt with them because they copy your behavior like an obnoxious trendy commercial. My daughter has told me 'whatever' and my son says 'frickin', and it's those times that I sarcastically call myself 'Mother of the Year.'  

Maybe I'm too hard on myself, maybe we all yell at our kids and they will all turn out okay. But I hate myself for doing it, even if it's not often, and I've come up with a great alternative...

Whenever I want to scold them, I take a deep breath (yea, I know, that's not original) but then I proceed with my lecture in the form of a song..."Pick up those toys right now before I send you to your roo-oom" I try to end each line on a high note to keep the song feeling positive.

And then, even if they don't listen, and I have to get louder, or more threatening, at least it's not as bad in song form: "I'm going to have to start taking stuff awa-aaay, if nobody can do what they're toh-ooold. Maybe I will just give it to children who waa-ant it, and know how to clean up after themsehh-elves."

I feel better, and the kids respond better when they feel like I am not going to blow a fuse when the house is a mess. I'm still up in the air if it's totally effective, but it does lighten the mood and has really (stupidly) worked to help me feel like I am scolding less, but still keeping the kids in line. Because one false move and they will walk all over you....

What the ????

9:45 am today and I had just spent nearly an hour on Facebook, tagging my family in pics from a fun-filled weekend in Las Vegas. I checked my school email and found that my professor had emailed the syllabus and signed his note with a "See you this evening." But that message was yesterday, and that was impossible, I thought, because it's still Spring Break.

He's just a visiting teacher, I thought, silly guy. But when another email was found with another syllabus and a message, "See you in class!" the suspicion that I was wrong became disgustingly clear. I checked the school calendar online, and sure enough, the first day of Spring Quarter was YESTERDAY!

Okay, don't panic. I had fifteen minutes to get dressed, put make-up on and head out the door to make it to my Tuesday classes on time. What about the kids? Hubby was supposed to go to LA today. Sorry hubby, gotta go!

Pulled into the parking lot and found a space. Pulled in too close between two other SUV's. Ugh, the gardener mowing the lawn in the parking lot is staring at me, I back out and pull to a free space with nobody next to me. I get out, it's crooked. I start her up and do it again. Better. Off to school. Damn, car's still crooked. Oh well, I'm running out of time.

Cross the street. Damn, forgot soda on top of car. Run back and grab it so it doesn't ruin my paint on the car (does it do that? I know it does on coffee tables). What building is my class is in? I forgot the schedule in the car, crap. I know it was BY-something so I find the map. Where's a campus directory when you need one? I need an app for that! So, found "Boyce Hall" and I think that sounds right. And I head into the side of campus where the trees are big and shady, and it would be beautiful if they weren't covering the building names. Circle around the library once. Better check map again.

Stopped to consult my laptop campus map and knew that if I saw the Physics building I had gone too far. And low and behold, I finally found it! Hooray! By this time I was sweaty and tired, and had to creep into an already started History of Modern Mexico class. About ten minutes into it, as I reapplied my lip gloss and checked emails, I remembered why I used to hate school, and history. Ugh.

After getting through this class I would have to revise a play that was due in my next class, and figure out what room number that class was in since I wasn't "officially" enrolled in it. So I would be spending the short break between this class and my next one trying to eat lunch, revise a ten page play and then find somewhere to print it out, and hope either my professor emails me back with the room number or my friend texts me back in the next hour.

All I can say is, 10 more weeks until Graduation...

She's Marking her Territory

Okay, I know this is typical of new male dogs, but my tutu-clad 3 year old is already a year past potty training days, so what gives?

I have changed the bed sheets in the house probably four times in the last week. First we had a run of the flu, so all the sheets got cleaned and the house smelled sanitary like the pungent aroma of bleach escaping from the laundry room. The next night Ashlyn crawled into bed with me somewhere around 3 am, and I woke up at about 6:30 in an enormous puddle of urine soaked sheets!

Good thing I bought a new mattress protector a few weeks ago, except that this girl must have leaked a gallon of pee into my bed, soaking through the pad and into the once nice and new pillow-top mattress. Why was I so eager to get her out of pull-ups at night?

Then the laundry starts again. A couple nights later she is unable to sleep all night again (all these darn colds and coughs going around) but I wasn't going to make that mistake of letting her in my bed happen again, no sir! So, I climbed into her bed and tried to snuggle her back to sleep. She sweetly told me not to put my arm around her because it would hurt her belly, so I pulled up her pink pony comforter and rolled over to try to get some shut eye. After countless conversations, I realized that there was no chance of being able to sleep with my insomniac daughter, I gave up and brought her into my bed.

We woke up to yet another puddle, and I cursed myself for giving her so many sips of water in the middle of the night. But what was I supposed to do, she was coughing? I didn't make her sit on the potty, even though it is usually a steadfast rule that no kids can sleep in Mommy's bed until they at least try to go pee on the toilet. But at 3 am, or 4:30, whatever time it was, Mommy was delirious and just wanted to go back to sleep! So, shame on me for not enforcing my own rules. And I see clearly why I set that rule in place.

Today I am washing Ashlyn's bedding. I just put new sheets on her bed two days ago, but this morning she wet right through her comforter, blanket, sheets, mattress pad, and even managed to soil her snuggly kitty-cat Armando.

If this wasn't enough evidence that she is marking her turf, her vomit explosion on the sofa sealed the deal. It wasn't bad enough that she threw up all over the couch, but it was on the part of the sectional where I typically sit and lie down. So now, after a week of continuos sheet changing and bleaching laundry, I can't even sit on the couch and relax without the lingering aroma of vomit.

I looked up how much it would cost to have the couch cleaned, but since it's a sectional (and the vomit was right in the middle section of course!) it would be almost $200!!! So, I scratched that idea and googled how to clean up vomit, coming across a recipe for white vinegar and warm water, followed by a baking soda paste. Let dry, then vacuum.

I followed the instructions, eager to get that stench out of what used to be my nice navy blue chenille sofa. The vinegar stung my eyes, but was refreshing compared to the smell it was trying to clean. I waited all day for it to dry so I could vacuum it up, but after ten hours it was as dry as it was gonna get and the vacuum effectively smeared the baking soda deeper into the texture of my couch, it did not suck up the white at all.

Well, I flipped the cushion, but the smell still won't go away. I sprayed a new bottle of Febreze all over the cushions five or six times throughout the next couple of days. But I still can't lay down on my couch without catching a not-so-faint whiff of vomit.

But why should a Mom get to take a break anyway? There are more loads of laundry to get done, folded and put away. Oh yea, and finals week for this college mom...

Poop Stains

Okay, don't tell my son I told you this, but it's too good not to share. And inspiration to write doesn't come along this easily ever.

Sitting down to blank screen, even though it's fifteen minutes past the kids bedtime and I should be bathing them or something, but they are playing and it's quiet and I should check on them but I don't and then their friend (a six year old blonde quite like a young Alice in Wonderland) skips into the dining room and announces

"Tristan has a poop stain" as if it were the time of day.

I should have known better how to react. I am a mother of two, with over five years hands on experience. Right? No, it stumped me. Why was she telling me this? I don't care if he has a skid mark. It happens. I do laundry, I see it. But why did she see it? These thoughts, paired with my goofy-tired state of mind, make me just laugh hysterically. I can't even see clearly, the tears running out of my eyes, and I can't speak or I bust up again. I realize I need to investigate.

I go upstairs and find him on the toilet. I go in to help and check out this poop-stain, when I discover an entire poop smeared over the front of the toilet bowl! That was way more than a poop-stain! So I look to Tristan for an answer because he never does this, and he gives me the stink eye, saying "I heard you laughing at me, mom, and that wasn't very nice," while holding back his anger tears.

I feel so bad that I was busted, that's not my finest parenting, and I rarely slip up like that. But it was so funny and caught me so off guard. So I tell him, "I'm sorry buddy, you're right, that wasn't very nice and I shouldn't have laughed like that, but think about if someone came up to you and said 'mommy has a poop-stain', would you laugh a little?" Luckily he starts giggling at that idea and so I'm off the hook. I peel him off the toilet, give me a baby-wipe bath, and send him to his room to grab some fresh clothes while I finish cleaning up. I'm grateful for lemon-scented Clorox wipes to help do the dirty work of cleaning up that toilet and then throwing them away immediately.

Ah, poop stains. Happens to the best of us.

My kids are TOO popular!

Usually this would be every parent's dream...to have kids who everybody else's kids want to play with, but enough's enough!

When I drop the kids off at their preschool class (they go together) the other kids call out like a fan club "Tristan! Ashlyn!" Cheers all around. Then Carter invites himself over for a play date. And Justin wants to come over too. So I agree that maybe we can meet at the park (since my house is usually a disaster midweek) and Tristan tells me to text Carter's mom and invite Madelyn too (his crush from last year who has moved on to Kindergarten this year), meanwhile Ashlyn is inviting Roxana and McKenzie to a sleepover?

And the worst part is that I can't keep track of all the other mom's names, and I really don't have much, if any, free time during school to arrange such social engagements. Because it's not really just about the kids, it's about the moms too! It takes energy and effort to forge new friendships, but it's always really rewarding and comforting to hear other women my age share similar struggles with the insanity of parenthood.

Becoming friends with other moms has it's equal share of getting even funnier inside stories of your kids. Logan's mom, Jennie, told me that he was reporting each day that Ashlyn was absent from preschool (she had a really bad cough and runny nose so I kept her home for a week) and then the day that both the kids were absent he was very worried about them! And I got to share with McKenzie's mom that when it was Tristan's turn to bring a preschool snack he wanted to get the pancakes on a stick again because McKenzie really liked them last time.

It is so fun to watch the kids build their first friendships, and they are so sweet that it reminds me how important friends are. As busy as I get with school and life, it's absolutely necessary to my sanity (and the kids too!) that I slow down and make time to chill with a good friend (or a new friend) and appreciate the comfort of not being alone.

So, in my efforts to help my kids they are actually helping me remember the importance of friends at all ages. One hour park play dates have been a reasonable time commitment and just enough for everyone to wind down. While I may have ruined my suede boots in the sandbox, it was worth making the time for friends and I am proud of my kids for being so popular.

O Christmas Tree...

Yay! Winter break is here, which means I finally have time to put up the Christmas tree with the kids and get the house feeling warm and cozy (and clean) again for the holidays. We dragged out the good ol' 8 foot fake pine from the garage (which wasn't hard to do since we never put it back up in the rafters after last Christmas) and assembled it with ease. Now that my son is 5 years old he helped me heave each of the three heavy sections up raise the tree to life. Then I began the ponderous task of fluffing, but really I don't mind it, and so it goes on for several days after because I need to fill the gaps to make it look less see-through. Once the lights are up, and the kids have caked it in decorations (though somewhat disproportioned heavily on the bottom third of the tree), it will look real as Christmas itself!

Now, people seem to be firmly on one side or the other of the Christmas tree argument of real versus fake. Most of this opinion seems to be formed based on childhood experiences. Personally, I grew up with the real thing and have fond memories of it as part of my traditional Christmas experience. But my mother-in-law was allergic to pine trees so my husband grew up with the artificial trees.

I have found that the majority of real tree enthusiasts are actually quite snobbish about it, as if it's a matter of refined taste and superiority. As if artificial trees were like worshipping a false god. They try to plea to your senses by conjuring up emotional attachments to the scent of pine and the prickly needles that stick in the carpet and the fact that it's alive and real.

Then there are the fakies. Some claim environmentalism, that they are saving trees from the senseless murder, that they are only glorified then discarded on street curbs. Others, like me, just want to be economical about the matter. Trees are frickin' expensive! Fake ones are cheaper and last longer, and won't scratch the roof of my car each year when I have it tied down and drive it home. Many of the new trees even come with the lights already in them, how cool! Fakies see the practicality of owning a reusable tree.

Although artificial trees can't replace the scent of the real thing, they are a decent alternative. I just burn a pine-scented candle, and mop with pine-sol. And nobody has to crawl under the tree to water it, or in my case forget to water it. Memories of tree lots and the festivity in the event of picking a tree are fun and irreplaceable. But I don't want a tiny pine tree, I want a big one, and if that means I have to go the fake route, so be it. I might not be fully converted, but I'll never be a tree snob. And the kids hang the ornaments without such cares.

Getting Lost

Okay, so I have suffered on countless occasions from my lifelong battle at being directionally challenged. And yet it still frustrates me each time I get lost, or take the long way there (in my case it's usually the extra extra long way).

My natural inclination is to make friends with people at school and I want to be part of a real community of people who are into writing, like me, for the first time ever. But it can be frustrating sometimes. There is nobody in my life that I can have an honest and educated conversation about poetry, with unless I get them drunk first...and even then it's a stretch. So, getting out of class early and being invited to a new friend's b-day party was great. Such a change from last week, when I wanted to cry like a baby everyday because of the demands of four upper division classes and two crazy children at home.

But navigating my way one mile from the student parking lot was too far for me (without the comfort of my navigation system that is in the car I usually drive, but did not drive on this particular day, ugh) to go without just accepting the fact that I probably won't find it. This is called coming to terms with being directionally challenged and obviously I waiver back and forth between denial and acceptance.

I think I made it to the parking structure, though I can't be certain. But I couldn't find my friend who invited me anywhere in sight! I walked around, though not really sure which way to head. I think I even found the right apartment building, again I can't be sure. And I remembered that in all my brilliance I told her I would call her when I got to the parking lot, not realizing that I didn't even have her phone number in my phone! Ahhhhhh! This is the story of my life, I just do these things sometimes that don't make sense and end up making my life more difficult but I can't get mad at anyone but ME because I did this to myself!

So, there I was wandering through the parking structure, aimlessly loitering and feeling weirder each time a guy or group of people would pass me. I was convinced they were looking at me suspiciously, although they probably could have cared less. Here I am in a parking structure I've never been to before, by myself, with NO pepper spray or self-defense techniques to speak of (I can't exactly defend myself with yoga). What was I thinking? (Ok, yes, these were mostly people of my peer group (ok, younger!)) Why was I, a twenty eight year old married mother of two (wow sounds even dorkier when I write it out) intimidated by anything?

Well, it was dark and I became nervous and had an unsettling feeling of complete vulnerability. I like to be in control, so these anxieties and fears multiplied inside me until I had convinced myself that it was hopeless to wait out in the dark (and it was really dark, although barely 7:00) and got back into my car.

I drove around the parking structure again. I drove out and around the front of the apartment building. It was a lost cause. I didn't want to ditch my friend and the party, but I couldn't come up with any other ideas to get ahold of her or find the right apartment, and I didn't even think she had my phone number, so I figured it was a lost cause. So I hit the road and cursed myself for even thinking I could pull it off. I'm a mom, after all. Am I even allowed to have college friends?

And wouldn't you know that my friend would call me the second I enter the freeway and am immersed in what else but rush hour traffic. I was relieved she got ahold of me, I wasn't trying to run away and make her think I really was abducted and raped or something, but felt super lame at not being able to just turn around and still meet up, having literally just reached the point of no return. And so I drove home and replayed my failed attempts to be both friend and mom, because by this time the kids would be nearly asleep when I got home anyways. And I had to finish homework due by midnight. Waste paper and toner printing out assignments then realizing errors and reprinting, then reprinting a third time...

My Double Life

is becoming increasingly split. Having just come up for air after barely making it through my son's 5th birthday, midterms, Halloween, picking classes for next quarter, researching MFA programs, keeping deadlines straight, and the always-there reality of a mortgage payment that's twice as much as the people renting the same model house down the street. I don't even know who I am. Or which one of me I am right now.

As a student, I feel the exhilaration and stress of my senior year. I am excited to be finished, but all of a sudden "finished" doesn't really mean the same thing. Can a piece of paper and a silly ceremony where everyone wears frumpy mumu's and square hats really mean that I am done? changed? employable? If I can barely keep up on college assignments, how can I expect to be able to work full time? or go to Graduate School? Where can I even go to Graduate School when I am anchored here with my family? What am I even going to do with the kids next quarter when I will have to be at school Monday through Thursday, with child care coverage only on Tuesdays and Thursdays until 5 pm and classes that go until 6 and 7 pm??? and I have ZERO flexibility on the classes that I need to graduate, if I want to in fact graduate some day!

As a mom, I have this crazy biological urge that compels me to take care of my kids, and not just by providing their basic needs like feeding them and wiping their butts. I enjoy doing stupid arts and crafts projects, which are basically any combination of glue, construction paper, and stickers; dressing up my daughter as a princess and watching Disney movies that I am not too proud to admit I really enjoy; going to Disneyland, the park, the Zoo, Grandma's. And yet here I am this very moment yelling at my son to just be quiet for 5 minutes, just stop asking me questions for 5 minutes, just let me write for 5 minutes, I swear I could save the world if I just had 5 minutes of peace and quiet! Could everybody just leave me alone???

Then I feel bad. Bad mom for ignoring her kids. Bad student for ignoring her studies in order to pay attention to her kids.

Suddenly it feels as if my two lives are diverging, and I have to lasso them in and remind them that we need to work together.

Is what I'm trying to do even possible?

Dreaming of Disneyland

Some days you just feel defeated from the moment you blindly slam the alarm clock and regret such commitments such as morning classes. Okay, it doesn't start until ten, but I gotta be up by seven to leave the house by eight to get to the university preschool by nine and make it to class by ten. Whew. It was exhausting just saying that.

Yesterday was supposed to go smooth. I stayed up way past my ten o'clock bedtime reading and studying in order to finally catch up. I was feeling tired, but confident about making it through class. But, ugh, group work. Sometime it's tolerable, like when it's in a classroom setting and you are forced to awkwardly converse or role-play with that weird long-haired dude who might actually be, no, definitely is, twice your age. But, yesterday I thought would be a breeze. Four smart, intelligent, and quite pretty girls writing a two page analysis of one chapter of a novel. Cake. Right?

I had never met one of the girls in my group. I guess you could say we were either too much alike, or...completely opposite. I think she was crazy, because she was driving me to talk to myself. I had to stare far away from her, into the library books around us and tell myself, Don't say it, just walk away, no, don't walk away, that would be immature, just politely agree, but she makes no sense. So, I stayed on and endured, but didn't hold back completely. My friend in the group totally avoided making eye contact with me because she could tell I might just go off any moment. Explode my pressurized word ammunition with no holds barred at this pretty little thing.

But remember the crappy thing about making a scene at school? You have to see everyone again at the next class. So, I couldn't be mean, as much as I reeeeaaaaallllllyyyy wanted to! Maybe I've been watching too much Chelsea Lately and she is igniting my inner bitch. The two classes that followed this mind grating experience tested my inner strength even more, the fun surely didn't stop at group homework time. I dealt with irritating people, then my first graded assignments turned back with "barely okay, could be good," and an intense workshop on a lame catalogue poem I wrote about my closet. Gotta appreciate honest feedback. Really. It's great. Very character-building, I think. But, remedy for shitty day? DISNEYLAND, bitches!

I dreamed all night of our plans to celebrate at my favorite place with my sister for my niece's 5th bday. The sky was So-Cal blue and cloudless, the crowds were not suffocating, lines were fifteen minutes, kids were happy...ahhh, a child's happiness, more impressive is the happiness of four children under five and no major meltdowns, which by itself makes a great day. Although, while driving home in traffic, which was right at the kids' bedtime, I looked over at my husband and said "Maybe we should go alone next time?" and he smiled in agreement. Back home. Kids are alseep, thanks to the long car ride, and I already have to snap back into the reality of doing homework due tomorrow.

But I will dream of Disneyland, and resent my alarm.

I'm gonna miss sleeping in...

Whatever that means to a mother of two preschoolers. Sleeping in changes meaning with each new phase of life. So, with a three year old and a four year old, sleeping in really means refusing to get out of bed until I can't block out the spanish speaking cartoon characters who are literally yelling at me through the neon glow of the TV. Especially with the early rising summer sun, the kids wake up at about six thirty a.m. Lucky for me they are just cuddly enough in the morning to climb into my bed and watch cartoons until I am ready to get up. I can get even more snooze time with the recent addition of our new babysitter, they call her iPad. I just need an app for making breakfast and I'm really in Heaven.

Buying some time in the morning is worth the cost of an iPad. I might even buy two to occupy both kids and maybe double my snooze time. But, even with this kid-friendly gadget, my current version of sleeping in is really only eight o'clock. Goodbye sleeping in, it's Back to school for this mom and her kids. And going Back to School means that I have to wake up, get out of bed and get ready to leave the house by eight. I might even have to set an alarm clock! Something I have never had to do since I had kids.

I will be missing my lazy summer mornings where all I had to do was:

Wake up to whiny child staring at me and peeling my eyelids open.
Grumpy child pulls me to the bathroom by my finger to help with potty.
Climb back in bed and get whacked in forehead by remote for TV.
Hope that the first thing to come on is a cartoon,
But not Dora or Barney.
Slowly drift back to sleep for approximately 1-2 minute intervals,
In between breaking up fights
And explaining why this TV doesn't fast forward like the one downstairs.
Repeat for 30-60 minutes, or until I give up and get up.
Once I go downstairs I clock in to my mommy duties:
breakfast, dishes, floors, wiping counters, wiping bums and on and on.

Oh, but those days are gone with the 100 degree temps of summer, and my life will begin each weekday with:

Wake up to sleepy child pulling my arm out of the warm blankets.
Snuggle squirming child for five minutes before declaring, I'm up, and making it so.
Do a quick face wash and makeup to force myself awake.
Scramble downstairs, eyeballing the roman numerals of large black clock on the wall
Counting down the minutes I have to feed the kids, pack the lunches, get them dressed, dress myself, wipe the spilt cereal, run back in for sunglasses, run back in for the inevitable last minute potty break then load the car, fill up with gas,
And go to school.

Drive for forty five minutes in the throes of freeway congestion
With kids who refuse to stop talking and watch the DVD player.
Pass my exit for school to reach the preschool, keeping an eye on the car clock's digital numbers
Counting down the minutes until class starts.
Figuring out how many minutes I need to sign in the kids and drop them off
In classrooms on opposite ends of the building (15-20 minutes)
Backtrack to the student parking lot (5 minutes)
Park (5 minutes)
Walk briskly to campus (15-20 minutes)
Take off my cardigan since I'm sweating from the walk (2 minutes)
Hit the bathroom to freshen up and so that I don't have to go after I buy food,
Because I don't want to take food in the bathroom (5 minutes)
Grab a bagel and fresh oj for breakfast (10 minutes)
Make it just in time for my first class!

So, if you read my summer mornings and wondered what could I possibly miss about that??? You can see what I'm in for with Back to School and that first description starts sounding pretty good, huh?

Fall Signals...New Shoes?

A cool foggy morning following Labor Day surely signals Fall is here, and Back to School is around the corner. After a hot, lazy summer of flip-flops and tank tops it's time to put on the socks and sneakers and dress to impress for the new batch of preschoolers. With two kids now attending the University preschool, many people will think they are twins, I'm sure. I'll get the questioning looks, disguised as sincere smiles and flattery about how young I look. But with the potty training in the past I look forward to the kids' new routine, even though it means I am going back to school too. My rigorous schedule of classes will be a challenge, but I just have to make it to Spring then I will finally be a college graduate!

So, back to school. I always get excited and anxious. I look forward to being productive, creative, busy. I also know that it means sacrifice. Drive thru dinners, looking past the pile of dishes and wearing outfits twice before washing. Ignoring the kids, or worse...yelling at the kids, while I try tirelessly to read 300 pages the night before midterms. But even with procrastination I get it done, and it feels good. I like pushing it to the deadline, the pressure, the rush of working obsessively to type the words out into some well-thought analysis, the realization that I can do it when I finally set out to.

Fall is finally here. We all have new shoes. Tristan has some white sneakers with navy velcro straps, Ashlyn has silver ballerina slippers also with velcro strap, and I have bronze ballet flats with flowers embellished on their toes, no velcro. We are ready to face a new crowd. I will be excited until I am actually sitting there in my first class, but then I can look down at my new cute shoes and smile.

By the way, we all can jump higher and run faster now, too.

Do I Love Summer? Let me count the ways...

Ahhhhh summer at last. After a crazy quarter of going to school 5 days a week and dragging the kids around to and from preschool it has been unbelievably relaxing to finally snooze in the morning. And by snooze I really mean that I refuse to get out of bed until 8 and try to drift back to sleep even when the kids come climbing into my bed at 6:30 or 7 am and I put cartoons on to hypnotize them but never really quite go back to sleep. I think it really just postpones the inevitable crawl downstairs followed by breakfast, dishes, laundry...which of these am I dreading?

Let's see, breakfast (and every other subsequent meal) has become an hourlong struggle to force feed my children. I am not trying to make them fat, but every other parent will understand the desire for their picky preschoolers to simply eat...without making it a battle.

Dishes really aren't that bad since I have a dishwasher, although my dishwasher is getting old and can rarely fit a whole sink full of dishes in one load, so what should be a quick clean up is actually 2 loads of dishes, and my dishwasher takes what seems like 3 hours to cycle, which cannot be very energy efficient, and still there are food scraps in the forks.

Laundry, oh laundry, my arch nemesis. I have finally come to the horrific realization that my everyday chore to "finish laundry" will never ever ever ever be complete...as long as my family gets dressed each day there will always be dirty laundry. This is eternity....laundry. I can get into a good groove with the washing and drying and even the folding most of the time. However, the putting away is what loses me. And get this, when the laundry is put away, we are always whining about having to run upstairs to get the kids clothes when we are used to them being conveniently on the pool table in the front room. I know, decorating at it's finest. The pool table, of course, was purchased before we had kids, and this much laundry! I must say, it is quite a nice laundry table, but it does create quite a "wow" when people walk in the front door to be greeted by piles of clothes stacked 4 feet high and covering any kind of sign that what is underneath used to be a pool table.

Ah, lazy summer, breakfast table showdowns, dishes out the wazoo and drowning in piles of clothes. Is it any wonder I am ready to go back to school? I am already tired of all this "free time."

On my way to school today...

The typical Thursday approaches and I am dreading the long day ahead, classes until 6:30 at night that puts me home at 7:30 after leaving for school at 8 am....whew long day! But the bright side is that once it’s over I only have one short class on Friday and the whole weekend ahead....yay! Of course this enthusiasm for freedom is really the knowledge that once the school week is over the housework begins. After turning my head away from the tower of dishes overflowing the sink and the heaps of wrinkled clothes and leaning stacks of laundry that blanket the pool table, Saturday and Sunday transform me into a cracked out housekeeper, busily trying to mop and dust simultaneously, and I’m lucky to get laundry done, folded and crammed into a basket in the right person’s room...the whole concept of putting laundry away is just a lost cause at the rate we go through clean clothes.

But this day we were running late, Tristan slept in until 8, and I hate waking up such a sleeping angel, especially since when I wake him up he is already resentful at me for being awake (hm, can’t imagine where he gets that from) and the mood of the morning is already set to stress level: yellow. We pack up the car as if going on a road trip out of state for a week, but this is the baggage that goes along with having kids. I’ve got their jackets, pull-ups, wipes, sunscreen, spare clothes, travel-potty, and a lunch bag for their picnic dinner with my friend who babysits them on campus for my last class of the day (since the daycare closes right as that class begins and if I don’t take that class it will postpone my graduation until the following Fall).

Almost there....we exit the freeway, make our way to the daycare/preschool when Ashlyn says she’s sick, and I dismiss it somewhat because this girl is a drama queen and always feigns illness as part of her character study. But the strawberry-banana yogurt vomit that spews down her chin and slimes her entire front side, even finding a way to get in her strawberry curls of hair, makes me feel like mother-of-the-year at reacting to my child’s sick cues. At least I am only half mile from parking and not stuck in the sticky traffic that began our journey this morning, turning a five mile stretch of freeway into a twenty minute study of bridge construction and impromptu preschool lesson about cranes and diggers.

After using an entire package of wipes to bathe Ashy, I wring out the carseat and soaked straps while the kids hang out in the back of the SUV blowing bubbles and coloring in their coloring books as I hold back my own urges to vomit at the stench of the mess that’s now absorbed into my skin like lotion. I guess the thing that makes me a real mom now is how I don’t rush home and hop right into the shower, but just spray some Victoria’s Secret Vanilla Lace body spray on me and rub antibacterial gel all over. Good as new!

Back at home now when I should be in class, but I haven’t missed one yet this quarter so I will be forgiven...and it gives me a chance to start and finish the midterm essay that’s due tomorrow morning...and then I have the whole weekend to relax.

Doing Homework

I am in the kitchen simmering soup, stirring mashed potatoes and buttering rolls when I look at the kitchen table that needs to be set. As I look at the open laptop and books and paper scattered about, amongst play-doh and Lucky Charms, I realize that I was right in the middle of doing my homework...so how did I suddenly appear in the kitchen making dinner?

Well, I remember my two year old princess asking me to put on her Belle dress, and her crown (her shoes she put on by herself) then scurry away only to appear moments later with the inevitable VHS of the classic Disney movie Beauty and the Beast. I admit that I am very proud inside that this is her favorite princess movie (since Belle is the brunette princess who loves books!) So of course I am pulled into the playroom to put the movie on for her, hoping that it would also provide me with some quiet time to finish my homework. Of course I have to rewind it first, (blast you VHS! although DVDs are almost as bad with their unskippable menus!) as I patiently rewind it I realize that many of the other VHS tapes are in need of rewind, so I que those up in my special VHS rewinder.

As I do this the Belle song comes on and Ashlyn (princess) just lights up and begins to sing, with basket and book in hand just as Belle does (well, a halloween bucket from Jack-in-the-Box and the Book of Mormon, which really does resemble the book Belle carries). Soooo sweet! So I call in my husband to see our little starlet in action. In the middle of her performance he discovers a heinous smell that is almost immediately recognized as our dog pooping in the house! I am fairly strong when it comes to changing a bad baby diaper, but this dog poop just instantly hits my puke reflex and I have to hold my breath ‘til I think I’m going to pass out.

Going back into the playroom, where the smell was least pungeant and after a thorough spray of Glade Apple Cinnamon Air freshener all over the house twice over, I see my little princess now with her basket on one arm and book in her other, she is totally mimicking Belle’s character and acting out her own performance. I almost cry in slightest hopes of her living out my childhood dreams of becoming a star, and am not sure if I want to cry out of excitement or fear. I really don’t.

Looking at the clock it is almost six, and the dinner hour. That means I need to get my butt in the kitchen and figure something that is easy and won’t cause too much guilt on my motherly conscious that makes me feel complete responsibility for the health and well-being of my family through the groceries I buy and meals I make. And here I am, making mashed potatoes out of a box, a can of chunky soup and hawaiian rolls. Tah-dah! That’s how I do homework.