Spring Break? Seriously?

Spring Break?

I’ve heard it said that a mom going on a family vacation isn’t a vacation at all but a trip with the kids. How very true.

Our family decided to venture to Chicago for spring break this year. Joe and I were so excited to show the kids all the sights and sounds of a big city – the food, the museums, and the art. The kids mostly just wanted to swim in the hotel pool.

Moms and Dads have an entirely different way of approaching family trips (or at least Joe and I do). I packed the kids’ things carefully making sure to include good walking shoes, warm clothes, toothbrushes, shampoo, bathing suits, electronics for the car and so on and so on. I also made sure to stock my purse with gum, cough drops, band-aids, children’s Motrin, Dramamine and matches – you just never know. It should go without saying that I ended up forgetting to pack a coat for myself. I spent the week trying to act like I wasn’t frozen when I really, really was. It should also be noted that I threw my back out right before we left so I survived on a diet of Motrin and heating pads for the entire trip. Martyr? Who me?

Joe had done a lot of research before the trip. He’d gotten travel books from the library and figured out most of the things we’d need to know to get around the city. He knew, for instance, that if you don’t get to Shedd Aquarium by 9:00, you could end up waiting two hours just to get in. Really good information to have.

We started our first day with a quick breakfast and then headed right to the aquarium. Almost immediately upon entering, the kids tried to scatter in separate directions, as kids will do. In the past I might have judged the people who put leashes on their kids, but this trip had me rethinking that. At least those people got to look at the fish. I was too busy darting my eyes around like a crazy lady trying to make sure that I had visual contact with both kids at all times. Joe got to read all the signs about the fish, where they live and how they feed. Me? Not so much.

Around 2:00 the rumblings began from the kids that they were hungry. We had obviously pushed them past lunch so I mentioned this to Joe so we could take a break and have something to eat. Apparently, I forgot to check the “imaginary itinerary” because eating, resting and breaks weren’t on it.

“We only have one more floor to finish then we’ll be done with the aquarium and we can head out for some Chicago style pizza,” he said.

“Oh,” I said, “I guess that will work. The pizza place is pretty close right?”

“Yep, we’ll just take the blue line to the red line, catch the 146 bus and get off at Michigan Ave. From there it’s only about eight blocks!”

Seriously? The whining was reaching a fevered pitch at this point. It must be that women have different hearing acuities than men because, to me, it was deafening but Joe was completely unaffected. It probably helped that he was about 10 feet ahead of us at all times…

Luckily, I had had the forethought to grab some of the leftovers from breakfast and was able to ration out a few warm grapes and a slightly squished orange wedge to keep the kids at bay. I also produced an old granola bar that was smashed up but still edible. When the kids rejected this sad and measly offering of food, Joe proclaimed that “They must not really be hungry then”. Sigh.

Joe was enthralled with the city – the hustle and bustle, the people and all the great food. I couldn’t quite get into it in the same way. Exploring and enjoying a city is not exactly the same as it was “pre-kids”. Throughout the entire trip I was tuned in to who might be hungry, thirsty, tired, bored, overwhelmed or in need of a bathroom RIGHT NOW. I tried to be two steps ahead of every request so that it wouldn’t turn into some kind of “emergency”. Joe said that I was coddling them. I know that you moms out there understand what I’m saying – “Mom Mode” is a 24/7 kind of thing that can’t be turned off. No matter where you are, you’re anticipating needs of everyone and trying to stay ahead of it. Have you ever caught yourself asking your (adult) friend if she has to use the potty before you leave? Enough said.

After the trip I was exhausted and paralyzed by the load of laundry waiting to be done. There were no groceries in the house and everyone was suddenly starving. Right back at it.

Once we settled in and I was able to touch base with some other mom friends I started to hear many of the same complaints. One friend, whose name I won’t mention, told me the story of her troubles on their spring break road trip.

She had dutifully packed a bunch of healthy snacks and sandwich fixings for the long drive. She had drinks and even fruit! At the first stop (I think it was Baker Road) her husband led the charge into the gas station to get “other” snacks. As she sat staring at her humble ham and cheese slices, the children paraded back out with cracker jacks, Gatorade, Pringles and Doritos. When the husband took his place behind the wheel and opened a giant Slim Jim, she lost it.

Is it a lack of communication between the spouses or is it just that men and women are programmed differently? For men it seems to be about the destination and how quickly and efficiently they can get there and get it all done. For women it’s more about the journey and noting the presence of every bathroom in a three mile radius. For the kids it’s just about an indoor pool. Maybe we’ll save some money and stay in Ann Arbor next time…

My awesome kids in Chicago

True Confessions

Confessions of a Reformed Snow Day Hater…

It used to be that snow days were a cause for celebration. It used to be that snow days were full of fun, laughter, snow forts and hot chocolate. It used to be that way when I was a kid. Now that I’m an adult, snow days have a different feel altogether.

It began with the initial notice that school had been closed for the day. Ugh. The kids were happily rejoicing (instead of taking advantage of the situation and sleeping in, like a normal adult would do) and making plans for the day.

Joe and I who have been, more or less, happily married for almost 13 years (up until this morning) began the same argument that was occurring in other households throughout all of Washtenaw County. We began to jostle for position.

“It’s all you today. I’ve got a REALLY important client that I’ve GOT to see today,” said Joe.

“No way. I’ve got a meeting that’s been on the books for MONTHS so you’ll have to stay home with the kids, “ I replied.

That went on for another 15 minutes, each of us coming up with something more preposterous than the next that absolutely had to be handled. And that was all before we’d even gotten out of bed. Finally I straggled out of bed, mostly because my coffee addiction will not be denied, and I made my way to the front window. Oh. My. There’s a LOT of snow out there. Really a lot. I got the coffee fired up and retreated to the bedroom to give the report.

“Well, it looks like we’re stuck at home today. The snow is really deep and there’s hardly any traffic on the road. I can just barely make out the top of the mailbox. So, short of hitching up “Sugar” (our miniature schnauzer, who is a notoriously bad sled dog) we’re not going anywhere.” Dang.

Then the (parental) chaos really began. Both of us began to run in opposite directions babbling about emails that needed to be sent and voice mails that needed to be checked. We started to calculate just how much we’d be able to get done at home with this “bonus day” that wouldn’t leave us horribly behind for tomorrow. Computers were fired up and cell phones come out. It didn’t occur to us to take a minute and look at our kids.

Our kids, who were bundling up in snow pants, mittens, hats and scarves to embrace the beautiful snow day that they’d been given. Their excitement level was through the roof, causing me no small irritation, and they were talking a LOT. And loudly, too. Then they hit me with the big question and asked if Joe and I could come out and play.

Are you serious? With all of the stuff that I’ve got to do today? In my mind I was going over all of the replies that I could use, “I’ve GOT to check in with the office and take care of some things, it’s really important”, “I could use this extra time to finally clean out that closet in the basement” and “Can’t you just go out and play by yourselves?”

In the end, I chose a reply that I almost NEVER use. “Ok,” I said. “Let’s get Dad and go outside”.

And so we did. We bundled up and went outside to build a family snow fort. The snow was really deep and the air was crisp but we had all the snow gear on so it wasn’t too bad. We began to build the fort but we got off to a bit of a rocky start. It’s sometimes (ok, almost always) difficult to shift out of the “married couple” mode even when it comes to something as simple as playing. Joe decided that we were going to build the fort by the side of the driveway and he started to dig it out and shout orders, “Pack that snow, bring me some more snow bricks, put them right here.” This was where I got really irritated. I said, though I’m not exactly proud of it, “Who made you the boss of the snow fort?”

He stopped, turned to me and said, “Did you have a better idea about how to do this?”

That is when I completely reverted to the playground rules of our youth and hit him square in the head with a snowball. Then I started running, which is not easy to do in deep snow or in snow pants that don’t fit the same as they did last year. Plus, I was laughing hysterically because he was catching up. Before I knew it, I was tackled into a huge pile of snow. The kids piled on and there was snow everywhere, down my back, in my mittens, in my face and we were all just this laughing, rolling pile of family in a snow drift. It was awesome.

We built a great fort with high walls and even a roof. We all crawled inside (even the cat and the dog) and listened to the snow fall. We talked about how we could hide in there and wage an amazing snowball ambush if anyone stopped by - they’d never see it coming.

It was exhausting and wonderful and the stuff that memories are made of. It is, however, far more difficult to build a snow fort and hike through deep snow when you’re over the age of 10. I could barely move in my snow pants and my hat kept falling down over my eyes. I fell down and got snow in my boots and got crabby for a minute and then I just let it go. I tried to remember how it was when I was a kid. How nothing could stop the fun – not even snow in your boots.

Joe and Max raced by on a sled (not exactly at an Olympic Luge pace but quicker than I would have volunteered for) and were laughing all the way. Zoe and I found some pristine white snow and plopped down to take a big scoop and eat it. I don’t remember snow tasting so much like dirt when I was kid, but memories are sometimes deceiving, so again, I let it go.

We came back in the house to beeping and buzzing cell phones and urgent emails but suddenly, nothing seemed all that urgent. I slipped into the kitchen to make the most killer hot chocolate I have ever made and to reflect on the day. We had fun, together, all of us. We don’t get a chance to do that enough, nor do we allow ourselves to do it. I’m always reading in my magazines about how you need to slow down and take some time to just take it all in. It sounds like such a great idea and I sometimes write it on a slip of paper somewhere and promptly forget about it. But today I didn’t. Today I actually slowed down and enjoyed a moment.

To be fair, I documented the event well. I had the camera going off like crazy – I’m not even sure how many pictures I took. And it was very intentional. I would like to be the bigger person and say that I took the photos so that I could put them in the kids’ scrapbooks so they could look back and remember what a great day it was. In reality, I took the pictures so I have proof that it happened. The next time they say to me, “You never play with us”, I’ll be able to whip out the pictures and show them that I did!! Petty, I know.

This snow day was on the heels of a trip we took to Vets Park the day before to try out ice skating. I guess I only mention it now because it wasn’t nearly as successful, in my mind, as the fun we had in the snow. The ice skating trip involved blood, bruises, tears and more than a little complaining (and that was just the time it took to actually put the skates on...).

I had vowed to try skating again even though I remembered HATING it as a child. My parents always told me that it was because I had weak ankles. It must’ve been the excitement of the Olympics or something (how do they make it look so EASY) that gave me this genius idea. It was horrible. It was even worse than I remembered and from here on out, I’m vowing to never do it again. My feet were killing me. My ankles hurt. And when I actually fell down (it was Zoe’s fault) it took a LOOOOONG time to get back up. I was irritated with the other skaters who looked graceful as I tripped along frantically gripping the wall.

Max and Zoe were amazing. Not in the way that you’d think, like they were amazing skaters or anything, far from it, but they just kept plugging along. Max must’ve fallen a hundred times but he just kept getting up. At one point I noticed some blood on the ice and didn’t know that it was his until later (Joe was in charge at that point…). If I would have been injured on the ice to the point of bleeding, that would have been the end of the show for me. By the end of the session, Max had figured it out and was gliding along like a practiced hockey player.

Zoe, who also fell repeatedly, cried when we told her it was time to leave. She cried. This is the kid who was clinging to the wall next to me the whole time. Had we not experienced the same thing? Apparently not. She thought it was wonderful.

So I guess what I’m saying is this. We’ve only got this one time around. The kids will be irritated by us and embarrassed about us sooner than we think. We should take advantage of every opportunity to do something together as family every chance we get. As long as it’s not ice skating. While Joe and I may fight over who took the last Motrin tonight, we’ll sleep well remembering this fabulous day.

Varmits

Varmints or is it “Varmits”? I can never remember.

I remember the summer when I was about sixteen and we had a chipmunk that was living in the drain under the garage. My Dad handed me a handgun (which I held by the trigger area like a dirty sock – you know, “girl style”) and told me to point it at the hole in the stone wall. He said that he was going to flush the rodent out and that when I saw it, I should shoot it. Riiiight. I let him go back into the garage to do his “flushing” and as soon as the thing ran out, I shrieked, shot the gun into the air and yelled for the chipmunk to “Run away and be free!!” Obviously, I forgot that there would be no chipmunk carcass as proof of the killing, but whatever!! Girls don’t shoot chipmunks. At least not this girl.

Joe and I had a bat “situation” a few years ago too. Just thinking about those stupid bats (yea, yea, I know they’re good for the environment…) still gives me the heebie jeebies!! It went like this. Joe was out of town (of course) and I woke up at 3:00AM to the sounds of flapping. I saw the bat get hit by the ceiling fan and I quickly pulled the covers over my head. The crazy thing landed on my face!! (Well, on top of the covers on top of my face but close enough.) I flipped the covers over and started piling pillows on top of it while the nasty thing shrieked like crazy. I kept screaming for Max (my son) to get me the phone. He brought it to me and I immediately dialed my Dad’s number.

Three o’clock in the morning and my Dad answers the phone as if it were 2:00 in the afternoon. Perfectly calm and collected, like he was maybe just having some tea on the porch or something. I, on the other hand, was completely hysterical. I was shrieking louder than the “smushed” bat at this point and it’s a wonder that Dad understood me at all. I stayed there holding the pillows over the bat (pushing down pretty hard, mind you, just to be sure) while Max went to the door to wait for Dad. I kid you not, Dad was there in 5 minutes. He came into the bedroom, surveyed the scene and said, “You and Max had better wait in the living room.” Good call as my shaking, sobbing and weeping might have just gotten in the way.

He quickly disposed of it and came back out into the living room to inform Max and me that the bat had been killed. Now I’m the kind of gal who doesn’t believe that you’ve killed the bug/spider/bat or whatever without the proof of a body. Dad had skipped this all important fact and had chucked the dead bat out into the weeds. Great.

We actually had three more bat incidents within the next few weeks. Joe was once again gone during the second incident but I was on the phone with my friend when the bat did a “fly by” in the kitchen. My friend is a bit of a city girl and was horrified at the thought of a flying rodent in my house. She couldn’t believe that there could actually be wildlife on the inside of the house. She really was not the least bit helpful in my time of crisis and asked “Isn’t there someone you CALL for that?” Kind of makes me chuckle that she had a bat get into her house a few years later…

Joe was certainly present for the last two which kind of brought me some joy. We woke up to the sounds of flapping and I again pulled the covers over my head but was at least thankful that Joe was here to handle it.

While hiding under the covers with me (what?) he said, “Ok, let’s review what we know about bats.”

“We know this,” I said, “you’re going to get your (ahem) self out of this bed and HANDLE IT.”

So he slid to the floor, with a blanket over his head (which is silly because he’s bald anyway - it’s not like the bat is going to get caught in his hair or anything) and set off to face the challenge. When he came back a little while later he informed me that he “lost it somewhere, I think it’s in the basement”. No problem, I’m sure I can fall back to sleep easily. Just let me go put the bat netting over the children…

The next night, as I was making hotel reservations because we (Joe) had still not located the bat, we had yet another surprise. I was in the kitchen when I heard Joe’s voice from the basement say “WHOA!” followed by the sounds of him scrambling around. I closed the door at the top of the stairs and silently wished him luck.

Another incident actually involved Zoe’s hamster, which I know is considered a domesticated animal, but it’s still a rodent really. We woke up one morning to find an empty hamster cage. Of course, the usual chaos ensued. Joe, Max and Zoe were looking everywhere for the missing hamster - under couches, behind the furniture, in the recycling bin. No luck. I wasn’t so into the search. I figured it was all kind of fruitless and that the hamster was now running free with the other wild hamsters in the area and we’d never see him again. So, instead of officially looking, I went to make some coffee. (I’m no good to anyone without my coffee - oxygen mask on yourself first, and all). As I entered the kitchen, the hamster’s nose poked out from behind the stove. “Found it!” I shouted to the rest of the family and went about starting the coffee maker.

We’ve also had our fair share of run-ins with wildlife on the outside of the house. Mostly raccoons as they seem to be especially fond of our chickens (and not in a good way). We’ve tried using the traps that catch them alive but all we ever catch is the cat. After one particularly unpleasant chicken vs. raccoon interaction, Joe had had enough. That night, he geared up. He had on muck boots, shorts, a t-shirt and a head lamp. Plus, he was holding a shotgun. (Take a minute to sit with the visual…)

I heard the gun go off about 5 times and then Joe came back inside.

“Did you get them?” I asked.

“I got something, but it might’ve been the cat. I couldn’t really see very well out there.”

WHAT???? Ok, all you hunters, back me up on this one. If you can’t see, you don’t shoot, RIGHT?? I had visions of the kids waking in the morning to find our beautiful little Rosie cat, shot dead. Luckily, his aim was even worse than his outfit and the raccoons (and the cat) lived to see another day.

We’ve had all kinds of run-ins through the years – it’s just par for the course when you choose to live in the country. Still, if a rodent (domesticated or not) ever jumps out of the recycle bin onto my arm (one of my biggest fears), you’ll most likely read about it in the news.

Decorator Blues

I’ve heard it said that the only way to work through a problem is to admit that you have a problem. So here it is. I have a problem. I’m just a little bit addicted to watching home shows on HGTV. I can’t really remember how it started or how it got to this point, but it’s really getting out of control.

In my own defense though, who doesn’t love these shows? I live for the before and after shots. I marvel at the “reveals”. Getting a room redecorated changes peoples lives. This is big stuff. People weep with gratitude and go on and on about how this has changed their lives completely. They can’t remember how they were able to live in the “before” for so long. Finally, they have a landing zone for keys and mail – it’s revolutionary.

So that gets me thinking, I know I need a room make-over. I’m always losing papers, shoes litter my front hall and the living room isn’t inviting. I always think I can make some changes on my own and make it work for me but it never quite works out. My family will tell you that I am almost obsessive about moving furniture around. I have actually heard Joe trip over the couch in the middle of the night (with accompanying profanities) because he forgot that I moved it AGAIN.

I can’t help myself because I know there has got to be a better way. My living room confounds me completely. If you have a bay window with a view, a TV and a constantly used wood stove, where do you put the couch? Seriously, this stuff keeps me up at night! I just keep thinking that if I have an interior designer come in, he/she can fix everything and turn my life around. Not only will I not lose papers, the bins containing said papers will be cute!!

I’ll be the first to admit that I’ve made some poor choices when it comes to design. I have been forbidden (by everyone I know) from painting with yellow. I’ve tried it on numerous times, you know to get that “sunny” yellow look, but I’ve ended up with nothing less than 70’s gold and Dr. Seuss green/yellow. I also made a bad choice on a shade of orange once but the paint store was able to help me correct the situation and it turned out beautifully.

Still, I press on with my entirely too limited knowledge of space planning, lighting and color blending. My most decidedly bold move came a few years ago when I decided that the dining room was just too closed in. I had talked to Joe about it repeatedly but he wouldn’t commit to doing anything about it so I took matters into my own hands (when he went out of town) – and took out some walls. Husbands everywhere just took an audible gasp. Detail work isn’t really my thing so I was a bit distressed to learn that there was a load-bearing wall involved that had to be addressed. Help was just a phone call away and the proper supports were installed so the house didn’t fall down, which I consider a “win”. A few months later I would learn that I had also severed a wire leading to the furnace – oops – but that was fixed as well. All in all, the house looks better with the walls removed.

I’m not sure if I’ll ever be happy with the way my house looks. Do the rest of you struggle with this? I wonder if it’s a cyclical thing and you just have to ride it out? Bell bottom pants came back (now referred to as boot cut) so maybe that’s how things work in the field of interior design as well. Maybe you’ll only like the paint color you so carefully chose for a few years then it’ll be time for another change. I’ve got to say though, if avocado green and orange come back around I am NOT putting it on my countertops, dishwasher, refrigerator and stove. Even I can’t mess that up!!

The Holidaze

I have officially survived the Holidays. A little bruised, a little tired and wondering what to do with one too many Christmas coffee mug sets. The holidays can tend to be a real problem for me. Over the years of freaking out or finding myself in tears Christmas morning (can’t remember if it was relief or hysteria) I’ve tried to figure out what it is that sends me around the bend. Mostly, it comes down to this. Christmas requires shopping and organization – the top two things at which I am notoriously bad.

The organization part is a big deal. I have friends and family who keep detailed journals of shopping lists – who they need to buy for, what they’ve already bought, etc. My system is a little less, well, systematic. I rush headlong into a buying frenzy, running from store to store, hoping to cover all the bases. Not really armed with a list or anything, just a general notion of what I might need or what I’ve heard the kids mention. I also end up grabbing way too many “Twelve Days of Christmas Coffee sets” for all of the gift exchanges I’m involved in. Did I mention that we went to FIVE family parties this year? I don’t care what circles you run in, that’s a lot of parties. Plus, I see my family all the time and, though I love them dearly, it seems a lot like overkill.

I tried being organized about the whole thing (once) but it didn’t really work out for me. I actually did all my shopping (mostly online) ahead of time and was done by Thanksgiving. I was so proud of myself. I really thought I’d just sit back, sipping hot chocolate while baking cookies with the kids. The thing is that it didn’t work out that way. I still ended up frantically rushing out buying stuff but I maintain that the blame for that falls completely on my kids. Their “I must have this or my Christmas will be ruined” gift changes daily. Try keeping up with that.

I don’t know if it’s true for you, but for me it’s all about making the perfect memories. Let me assure you, in my everyday life, perfect is not an issue. Far from it. My sisters (lovingly) refer to me as the “Whatever Girl” because nothing seems to get to me. I don’t worry about things being “just so” and I can usually just hum along quite nicely. But when Christmas hits, they know that the whole “whatever” gig is out the door. Friends and family tread very lightly around me in December because they know that I’m usually flailing around. My best friend even wrapped all of my Christmas presents one year because I just couldn’t get it together to get it done. Did I mention that she was pregnant and delivered on December 28^th? Don’t judge me.

If I’m alone in this you can just read on and marvel at my lack of organization, but if you run into the same issues every year, let’s examine the problem. What is it that drives us into this frenzied Christmas state? I think the biggest issue is that the responsibility for creating a magical holiday season falls entirely on women. Not once did my husband bake six dozen cookies for the school holiday party or volunteer to bring in 18 gallons of fruit punch. He did not practically strangle himself with raffia trying to make a gift look “artsy” to impress the kids’ teacher. Nor did he help to address all of the Christmas cards, even though his family is MUCH larger than mine. Christmas morning was great fun for him because it really was all a big surprise. He had no idea what we got the kids until they opened the gifts in front of him. He did, however go out shopping on December 23^rd to pick up “a few things for the kids”. Mothers everywhere will understand my anxiety over this because it is imperative that the two piles of gifts MUST BE EQUAL.

I do have to give Joe some credit. He is a great shopper when it comes to gifts for me and he’s always able to pick out some great things that I love. I won’t praise him too much on his shopping ability though just in case his buddies might be reading this…

I guess I don’t have an answer for how to make this easier (though I am wide open to friendly suggestions). I hope that maybe I’ll outgrow my crazy ways and eventually settle into a calm and relaxing holiday season. Maybe as I get older I’ll realize that things don’t have to be perfect in order for my family to enjoy Christmas. Maybe I’ll be able to say no to the unnecessary obligations that keep me running in a million different directions. Or, maybe I should pick up a TON of clearance gift sets and brace myself for next year. Just a thought.