Working Vacation

Took the kids on vacation.

Had a nice place all picked out when it rained and I had to make alternative plans. After some thought, I figured that I could turbo charge their experience and turn it into working fun and it would be way, way better than just petting and feeding animals at a park. Not like the poor deer with three legs is going anywhere in the near future anyway. At least not very quickly.

I’ve read these articles about folks who are using their vacation time to go try out a new career and they sound like it makes them happy, happy, happy. Not that I get it, mind you, but there is apparently something to it to it in an entitled yuppie sort of way. You go play Chef for a week. Try out being a Park Ranger. Or wash cats. Whatever floats your boat. Apparently, the sky is the limit. Fun, fun, fun.

So I decided that denying the kids this right would be tragic. After all, we all know just how competitive today’s economy is. And, of course, they will have me and their father to support so there is no time like the present. So it was off to work.

I made sure they were well fortified for the day ahead and made sure to get them the breakfast of champions at the local gas station. Mia liked the corn dogs and Aidan liked the drink I got him in the little free-sample cup. After all, wouldn’t want to actually buy him the barrel-o-coke. That was for me. Robert passed on the six-pack of beer which I thought was probably ill advised. Just a glutton for punishment, I guess.

Took them to a kid’s museum where I had Mia try out shoe sales. She got the hang of it and demonstrated her product all around. Only problem was that she wouldn’t hand the shoes over to the customer. Her love of shoes just shined too bright and caused some work place conflicts.

So, we moved on to putting her to work in the general store where we had sent Aidan. Put him on cashier duties after we had him unload the truck. Assigned Mia to stock girl. Both seemed to greatly enjoy their duties although Mia did seem to have a bit of an attitude about her brother being the boss which she eloquently expressed by throwing a tomato at him, one at me and then one at a former shoe customer. Fortunately, she does throw like a girl. Then, it was on to fishing and heavy equipment operations........

And Save us from Polar Bears

Educating the little ones about the environment is a big part of fulfilling my responsibility as a certifiable "green" mom. Certified as what I'm not sure, but as it is part of my mom duties, I've been fulfilling it with gusto, most recently at 10:30 pm when the son asks some question about polar bears that I didn't quite hear. But as a top notch mom, I didn't need to actually hear it to know what the question was. My heart fills with joy as it dawns on me that he has again made the mistake of giving me the perfect lead for my informative discussion on all things socially responsible.

So, its off to the races as I regale him with all the fine details and facts he needs to consider when formulating an accurate answer to the polar bear question. Including, but not limited to, the melting glaciers in Peru, the polar ice caps, why polar bears don't eat penguins but do like to eat, eat and eat, the Amazon rain forests and all the wild animals of the world. I show him the whole world in my hands. And on and on. I do such a fabulous job that he actually suggests I stop talking so he can go to sleep. I know that is a clear sign that he thinks I have described the facts so perfectly and so clearly, no further erudition is necessary. As I give him a good night bear hug, he mentions something like he still doesn't get why the polar bears' mom lets them drink soda whereas his mother doesn't and where in the world is the justice in that.

Next day, it's church where we do our weekly lighting of a candle for any special intentions. The son carefully considers what he has learned over the past week and what his concerns are and then asks "Dear God, please do not let the polar bears eat us this week." Pretty sure we got a "yes" on that one. Four days into the week and we are all still good.

Next time, probably shouldn't cap my earth day talk off by telling him, as I left the room, that I had just heard that Coca Cola cut those disobedient bears off when they found out they didn't have their mom's permission to drink the brew and the bears were now a tad bit hungry and cranky as a result of coming off the stuff, especially since they had been out of penguins at the north pole for a while which is why they had turned to a high fructose caffeinated beverage in the first place and were now in time out for their crankiness, each on their own ice floe, floating around.

Mom, Mia cut her leg off...

Clearly, the son got his sense of humor from his father. His mother would not even think of something so demented as anyone who knows me would certainly testify. For a small fee, but testify they would.

Turns out the son has now enlisted his sister as a willing co-conspirator in his plots. Apparently, "Hey Mia, want to see what happens when mom comes running down the hall in her socks and tries to stick the landing?" just sounded like too much fun to pass up.

After executing a 10-point banister stop which consisted of expertly positioning the hall banister in the dead center of my chest for impact and then decelerating from 60-0 in .5 seconds, I quickly assessed the situation.

Let them know that the glass was clearly half full. Although the leg had been handy and would be missed, the current configuration would make it measurably easier to find sparkly shoes, especially at Disney sales. The glass was also half empty as Mia's social worker was scheduled to come out in short order to do her 6 month post-placement visit to assess our awesome parenting abilities and watchful behavior.

For some reason, Mia found this to be funny. The social worker part. In fact, she quickly moved on from laughing to outright chortling. Meanwhile, the son looked for the glass. Said he was thirsty.

Happy Easter

So were going into Easter weekend and an Easter photo shoot is on tap. Not that a photo shoot isn’t on tap every weekend. After all, the motto in our home is “If it isn’t recorded, it didn’t happen.” The kids have gotten quite adept at knowing that all spontaneous activity and discoveries are to be instantly halted until Mom returns with the camcorder to record all of the spontaneity, albeit with their heads cut off at the top of the frame due to her amazing photographic skills. But, it’s Easter. Cute dresses, bunnies and all that.

So we are meeting at my folks and the husband is late. He finally shows up with the little one and the son. He is holding Mia and as I approach, the husband starts moving in a circle. I take a step, he matches it. Another one, ditto. I briefly consider that perhaps he is making sure Mia shows me her good side but then rule that out as she doesn’t have a good side. Both are great. So, I finally get the wheel to stop and discover that Mia has a major scrape on the side of her face which is sort of bleeding and a funny shade of white having been treated with diaper rash ointment which apparently is the treatment of choice for anything duct tape can’t fix.

I ponder the situation and am quietly thankful that it didn’t happen on my watch as I would never live it down. Unlike my spouse, I understand the restraint necessary to ensure good familial relations when it comes to these things. In fact, I didn’t even mention the time the husband locked the son in the van while locking himself out of it because the dear husband allowed the son to put the keys in the ignition and lock the van's door right before he snapped the soon to be imprisoned son in his car seat. This, of course, one week after the husband solemnly agreed with me not to do the same ever again due to the danger presented. At least the son enjoyed the fancy fire engine and police cars.

The caring son fills me in on the facial damage. Explains that Mia almost cracked her head open which, to him, is solidly up there with almost putting her eye out. Very serious. Informs me that there was an apparent disconnect between the weight of her head and the weight of her body and that she apparently was testing how fast she could run downhill while waving her arms and that the answer to the same was not apparently fast enough to counteract that toppling over thing. Makes sure I understand that her father let her. Wouldn’t want her to get in trouble for almost cracking her head open when she had the tacit approval of her father I guess.

I think about asking her what she was thinking and then decide that I might not want the answer to that given that fact that my best thinking is what normally gets me in trouble (Let’s see, I’m grounded and am not getting shocked by this shorted out thing, wonder what would happen if I touch this other piece of metaaaaaaaaaalllll.)

So we all consult and decide it is merely a flesh wound and that the answer to the problem is chocolate. For mom, of course. After all, disaster was narrowly averted. Got to have steady nerves when pointing a camera.

Luck O the Irish

You know how it is. You're just standing in line at the pet store trying to buy cat litter when an employee begins to amuse the kiddies by eating one of those pink dog Oreos from the doggie bar.

As I'm watching the show, I get a bit concerned that this employee is somehow of my gene pool and might be a long lost relative as his behavior clearly indicates. While I try to figure out what side of the family he looks like, he shares with us that the fuchsia cookies are made out of the same high quality ingredients that one finds in those glow in the dark Halloween Oreos. Genuine trans fats. But, the doggie version costs a tad bit more. So, I stand there and calculate that an Oreo sized package of the things would cost roughly the same as one month's mortgage at a sub prime rate. I continue to stand there and notice a kid who decides he wants to play along. And, remarkably, it isn't my kid. When his mom isn't watching, the kid steals a dog nugget from the doggie bar and pops it into his mouth. Turns out it isn't the equivalent of people nuggets. Just priceless.

Of course, I get giddy by it all and begin to admire the various items that the well dressed dog must have when he goes bar hopping. I have the only logical thought possible - that hat sure would look good on my kid. With a green outfit. And genuine leprechaun boots expertly crafted from his father's dress socks. I revel in the the joy my kid will experience looking back on his first celebration of his Irish heritage and eagerly fork over the $40 dollars or so for the high quality felt cap. And, as is clearly evidenced by the unadulterated joy in his face, it was money well spent.

A couple of years go by but clearly due to high quality craftsmanship, the felt hat stands the test of time. This year, I pull it out of the drawer and immediately know that Mia would just be deprived if her brother got to wear the hat for St. Pat's and she didn't. Sibling rivalry being what it is and all. I snap into action, crafting some genuine leprechaun boots out of my brown hiking socks. Mia takes issue with the booties, clearly due to her appreciation for authenticity. She communicates the same to me by pulling the booties off her legs, examining them and then tossing them down the stairs. Seeing how she really respects all things leprechaun just warms the cockles of my heart so I enthusiastically explain the whole St. Pat thing to her and the hat goes on. Mia exhibits her ability to run while simultaneously shaking her head, a quite impressive feat and then raises her hands in praise to show me just how joyful she feels.

I'm sure the kids can't wait for next year.

Punch & Mints

So, our oldest apparently got married two weeks ago without any prior notice or public ceremony. This, of course, is a big downer for me for many reasons but, most importantly, because I have been practicing the mother-of-the-groom mantra since he was born; Show up, shut up and wear beige. Show up, shut up and wear beige. No one looks good in beige which is, of course, the point but I ask least wanted an excuse to get my hair and makeup done and perhaps some new shoes. Not shiny glittery ones as it would look weird with Mia chasing me down the aisle while trying to take them off my feet but new shoes nonetheless.

So, the lovely bride and my darling son apparently began to bond over punch and cookies during their morning preschool break and solidified their relationship on the monkey bars and swings. I knew nothing about it. I had taken him to Monkey Joes, a cavernous play palace with multiple inflatable jumping things for a party and the lovely bride was there. He studiously avoided her. I suspect that the reverb of the children's screams bouncing around the place may have given him the same shock and awe feeling that I had. Don't know who Joe is but we should unleash him on our worst enemies. During the Monkey Joe outing I sat with the rest of the defeated parents in the center of the chaos at the cheery orange picnic tables trying to figure out why they didn't have a bar as it would certainly be profitable and why Mia kept trying to pick up the patterns in the carpeting. Gosh it was fun. In a Clockwork Orange sort of way.

So, several days go by and his father goes to get him at school. The kid wants to stay a while and play in the playground with his friend from school. Says his little sister never gets to play and they should stay for a while. It's for Mia's benefit, of course. The little friend's nanny agrees which, I suspect is problem number one. After taking him to the mega birthday party for last year's love interest, I've been quite diligent in explaining to him that he will need to support his wife in a manner to which she has been accustomed. Having full-time house staff is certainly shooting quite high. But hey, its young love in the spring.

So, he and his love are circling the playground hand in hand and then go romping around picking flowers for his sister, I'd guess so that he can show his sensitive side. They were the church's daffodils from their garden but as we all know, churches are all for marriage.

And then the nanny, who has been standing by, breaks the news to the husband who was attempting to follow Mia around. She had been told by her charge that the lovebirds had gotten married the week before. Just like that.

Imagine the surprise. So, the husband waited until the shock had passed and got our oldest securely fastened into his booster seat and started the car. As we all know, it is best to question children while they are securely strapped into a car seat and the car is moving to not allow for escape. I use the method often, even though he does get a bit curious as to why I am circling the Walmart parking lot over and over at 3 miles an hour, muttering "we're going to the truth, we're going to the truth". He capitulates and then asks why, if we are going to Duluth, I appear to be driving in endless circles in the parking lot. He isn't generally satisfied by my telling him that there are some things that are just too complex to understand but he does seem to have the ability to know when to placate his mother so that he can go home to play.

So, he considered the question of his marriage quite carefully and then quite simply confirmed by stating, "She is not supposed to tell you that. It's a secret."

Two days later, outright denial. But then, I have to go to school for his parent teacher conference and run into my mother-in-law once removed who greets me quite warmly which was a good thing as I wasn't sure what to expect as it does not appear that my son followed the protocol and asked for his love's hand in marriage. Comes up behind him and next to me and states "so that's the husband". The husband, meanwhile, is hightailing it to the car. Then the mother-in-law once removed tells me that she hopes he can keep up as her daughter is high maintenance. Guess so, boys always marry a gal like dear old mom.

I guess some punch and mints are in order.

Baby has new shoes

So I had Mia for the weekend. The boys went to New Jersey while the girls stayed behind for a girls weekend in. First, we got Mia's hair cut. This was not a fabulous experience for her and resulted in a price that worked out as a dollar per hair. We then picked out a neat headband that Mia agreed to wear for approximately 12 seconds.

Then, we had a fashion show with her in the starring roll. Let her try on her dresses to show her how pretty she was in her pretty dresses. And just how cute she is. Even went all out with the accessories although she quickly decided to throw her purse on the ground. Found these little sparkly shoes her brother and I got her when she just got home. Two sizes two big. It was the total package look we were going for. Twirled her in front of the mirror where she was pretty impressed by the gleam of the shoes.

Took her to change her clothes and took the shoes off. That was met with a snarl roughly equivalent to the cry of a Tasmanian Devil followed by the shrieking of lemurs when their terrain is invaded by some poisonous snake. All in all, pretty impressive.

Put the shoes back on and the snarling stopped. Took them off again and it started. Still wasn't convinced that she could have that strong of an opinion about anything much less sparkly shoes at 14 months. However, after observing her as she tried to put said shoes back on over her footie pajamas figured that was it. So, she wore them to bed.

Next day, it was all about the shoes again. Futilely explained that they were too big, she would fall on her head, she would fall on her butt, she would fall on the cat. Didn't care. It was the price she was willing to pay for beauty. She then proceeded to work on her catwalk up and down the hall. Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle, turn. Shuffle, fall, shuffle, fall, shuffle turn. Looked like a little drunk in clown shoes. Every so often stopped to look at me to make sure I understood just how pitiful it was that she had to wear shoes that were too big. Did it until she extracted a promise to find some new ones that were her size. And that is where the search began.

Went to Target, the purveyor of the original white sparkly shoes. Apparently a seasonal item as they didn't have them. Tried the GAP. Nope. Agreed to go to the mall. Walked through the mall at .25 miles an hour - shuffle, shuffle, shuffle, stop to pick up dirt from the floor, shuffle, shuffle, shuffle, stop to look at the floor and so on and so on and so on.

The difficulty of finding sparkly shoes in February apparently can not be underestimated and such a promise was foolhardy at best and more likely completely idiotic. Who knew there was a sparkly shoe season other than most sentient humans other than me? Based on the earnest explanation of this that I got from all the sales clerks, it is roughly for that period of time that ends 14 days prior to my going to get them, whenever that may be.

So, after doing the mall shuffle for a period that felt roughly like two months, an ephinay hit me. Disney. They have princesses and princesses need sparkly shoes, don't they? So, off we go. Apparently, princesses only need sparkly shoes for that period of time that ends roughly 14 days prior to my going to get them. After sifting through the entire store, we found one sparkly shoe. In her size. Only one. We looked in all the Poohs, the Cars and the many, many princesses and the sales bins. No luck. We expanded our search to include any and all shelves in the store. No luck. They decided that they could just give us the one. However, although they held the opinion that one sparkly shoe is better than none, I just couldn't bear to shuffle, limp, shuffle, limp, shuffle limp the kid through the mall with everyone saying, "isn't that cute" while asking each other what planet the kid's mother came from.

I offered Mia a pair of Snow White slippers that are three sizes too big to settle my shoe debt. She accepted and we shuffled our way out of the place.