Quote of the Day.

Gracie and Bee have been playing Make Believe all day. Before it was house and then it was school and now it’s mostly car rides between home and school. It is quite interesting to hear what they act out.

For instance, earlier, Bee was driving Gracie to…somewhere, I’m not sure where. Gracie kept asking from the back seat, “Are we there yet? …Are we there yet? …Are we there yet?” and Bee acted out her mock frustration. At least, I thought it was mock frustration.

Later, after playing a completely unrelated make believe scenario, the girls went back to pretending they were mommy and daughter. Bee picked Gracie up from school and asked Gracie what her day was like.

Gracie: I got in trouble.
Bee: Why, honey?
Gracie: I don’t know. I didn’t get a grade.
Bee: Maybe it was because you kept asking, “Are we there yet?”

God, I love being a mom.

Love charges back into the fray.

July is always a complicated month for me. It’s the time when the girls spend an extended visitation with their dad, which means basically that we flip flop our schedules of who has who when. I have the girls every other weekend, as always, and I get to see them for dinner two nights a week, but other than that – they’re at their dad’s house. No little kids for me to tuck in at night. No whiney faces to drag out of bed in the morning. It’s calm and quiet and…disturbingly still…at my house during July.

On one hand, I LOVE the freedom I enjoy during July. I like being able to go out at night to catch a movie or meet for happy hour or do whatever I need to do without watching the clock to make sure I’m home in time to meet the children. I love the quiet! During the really difficult times, I actually count down the days until July. When one kid is screaming because she doesn’t want waffles and the other is crying because no, she is NOT tired!, it’s hard to imagine that the break from day-to-day parenting could be anything less than blissful. And most of the time, it is blissful. It’s divine. It’s peaceful.

But then, the quiet sinks all the way into my bones and I miss the chaos. I miss the noise. I miss the laughter I would have heard just as often as the whining (even if that’s not how it seems in realtime). I miss just having Gracie and Bee around. As much as I enjoy being Katie for a month instead of Mom, my daughters are what make my world spin around.

Tonight is the last night of July visitation. Tomorrow I pick them up for my weekend and the clock will strike midnight while they’re home. Everyone will turn back into pumpkins, mice, and cinder-girls and all will be well. Part of me already misses uninterrupted time to myself…but I am ready to be Mom again. I know I love myself enough to make the most of my time away, and I love my girls enough to be impatient to get my brood back into the nest and into our routine again. Isn’t it lovely that we have so many chances throughout the year to feel like we’re starting fresh? Happy Love Thursday, everyone.

Book Review: A Smart Girl’s Guide To Her Parents’ Divorce

I picked up The Smart Girl’s Guide To Her Parents’ Divorce at the beginning of the summer. I know I sought it out in reaction to some comment from the Ex or his fiancé about something the girls’ had done or some change in their behavior, although now I can’t quite remember what it was. It’s possible that Gracie had acted out or had made some comment. It wasn’t anything that raised a red flag at the time, but I remembered that Mir had reviewed the Smart Girl’s Guide series favorably, so I thought I’d check it out.

I have to say I was very impressed with the book. The sections cover a range of issues a pre-tween or tween is sure to face when dealing with divorce. Dealing with different and ever-changing emotions, the possibility of moving, change itself, parents dating or remarrying, divided loyalties, different rules, playing one parent against the other, losing a pet, custody, etc. There didn’t seem to be a problem too complex or too minute for the guide to tackle. I liked that. I liked that it had gumption in taking on everything head-on because lord knows guts are going to be called on when you’re trying to make it through a separation or divorce – for everyone involved. The fact that the subjects were discussed matter-of-factly helps give a girl a bit of understanding that she can deal with any sticky situation that comes up. As for how to deal with it, the guide was pretty pragmatic in approach and tween-ish in language: it listed several scenarios that could come up and offered suggestions for handling each one and – best of all – explains why a parent might put her in that particular situation. I’m a girl who likes to know the “why” of things, so I really liked that the book tried to de-mystify actual divorce situations. Okay, and this is really, really my favorite part: for each possible problem, the book described a way the reader could tell her parents she was uncomfortable. Bravo, Smart Girl’s Guide for empowering our children to open the conversation. That’s how the real problem can start to be solved: with honest communication. Most children won’t verbalize what’s wrong without acting out in some manner, but this book gives her the exact words to say. I think that makes it much more likely the reader will actually say something.

As for how the book delivers all of this wonderful content – and there’s a lot of it – I thought the guide did a marvelous job breaking down the information into small bits and pieces for girls to chew on. Those small pieces of information or advice are spread out on the page amidst sketches pertaining to the section, written in speech or thought bubbles, or typed out in Q&A style format or as if it were submitted in an email. The effect was that I – or the tween reading the book – could read just a piece of information and really think about it without feeling pressured to keep reading. The advice was presented in a manner as un-intrusive as possible for the reader to nibble on at her own pace. Given the weighty subject manner, I thought that was spot on. There is so much information, I don’t think it’s a book any girl would read front-to-back (I couldn’t even do it) so styling the book in a way that could be sipped instead of gulped is – just as the title proclaims – smart.

So, yes, the book was glitter and unicorns for smart parents – and the daughters they care about – and I will be checking out many of the other titles they offer (Starting Middle School, Using the Internet, Fighting with Friends, etc). The problem is that the target audience I think is just a wee bit older than my Gracie. I could read the book with her (and at some point I probably will), but she’s not quite old enough to really get the tone. I would place the fitting age range at 8-12ish. Or third to sixth grades if you’re thinking about sending some to your niece and find grades easier to keep track of. So for now I’m going to put the book on Gracie’s shelf for her to find. She’ll know when to pull it out if she needs it…and if she doesn’t, I’ll know where it is so I can leave it on her desk. Or I can mention she might want to look through it. Or – crazy parenting thought – I can use what I’ve read in the book and scale it down to her level. It’s too good not to use in some form or fashion.

Relaxed…or just procrastinating?

Know what I realized today? My big fly-home-with-the-girls vacation of the summer is a week from tomorrow. Eight days. Essentially, one week. Know what I’ve done? Practically nothing.

Whereas last year I was maybe a tinge bit worried, this year I’ve thought about…then shrugged my shoulders and moved on. I’ve done a few things, true. This past weekend I’ve bought snacks for the plane (because the reality is that even if you pack 293 things for them to do, the only thing that keeps them busy for a minute is if you hand them a snack). I spent an entire morning (and half the afternoon) cleaning out my email because I couldn’t find my itinerary. Last week I actually reserved a rental car (smart thinking, since the airport is an hour outside of my hometown). I’ve emailed a few friends and set up tentative plans. But packing? Meh.

See, last year I went completely overboard – not that I can blame myself. I had a pre-kindergartner and a toddler. It was my first time shepherding the children alone on flights of any kind, never mind connecting flights. My sanity saver was the thought that no matter how badly the first flight went, Auntie Kim was meeting us in Baltimore for the connecting flight and drive to Mom’s house. Backups were waiting. That was totally what I needed this year. And for all the drama and worrying? It wasn’t that bad. Yes, the flights were still long and the kids were still bored (and I was still bored), but it wasn’t the nightmare I was expecting. Turns out, I have really well-behaved kids.

This year, I think as a form of subconscious compensation, my pendulum has flung itself the other way. I’m under-prepared (so far). I’ll pack this weekend. Just – gasp! – three days before we leave. I’ll still bring a backpack full of diversions for the girls – but not two backpacks like last year. I’ll pack their kid-friendly portable DVD player and a few movies. I’ll bring cards and their travel-sized magna-doodles. I’ll have paper and crayons. And lots and lots of snacks, of course. I’m sure because I’m winging it that the girls will be rotten and I’ll swing back to the other extreme next year. Of course, next year they’ll be 7 and 5 and at that age they can practically pack for themselves.

And really, that was my mom moment of the week. I was thinking about why I just can’t work up a panic this year about taking the girls on a looooong plane ride. It surprises me, my non-reaction. As I was thinking about it, I started marveling: did I really have toddlers last year? Toddlers? That word brings to mind such small, itty bitty children incapable of any rational reaction. No wonder that was my state of mind last year! But could one year really make a difference? Could 6 and 4 really be all that much of a difference between 5 and 3? Yes. HECK, yes. Gracie had just turned 5, but she’s always (mostly) been mature for her age. Bee on the other hand, has done so much growing this year she deserves some sort of super-medal. She hadn’t even had her birthday yet last year, so essentially I was taking a two-year-old on a day-long journey across the country. This year I’m taking a much more reasonable (although entirely too-chatty) 4-year-old who has finally caught up to her behavioral age-bracket. (And surpassed it? Fingers crossed!) Sure, Bee can still throw her prime-time meltdowns, but she’s pretty sneaky about when she pitches them. With any luck (and a backpack full of bribes), they’ll hold off till we get to grandma’s. Okay – maybe one thing hasn’t changed. I’m still plotting my way towards my reinforcements!

It will be a good vacation. I’m excited. The girls are over-the-moon excited. Now all I have to do is pack so we have something to wear when we get there.

It’s alive only because I haven’t touched it.

I am notorious in my family for having a black thumb. This fact is highly amusing to my ex-Mom-in-law (who has graciously agreed to stay on as my mom-away-from-mom). Throughout the years she has tried to teach my how to garden, often using her own back yard that looks as if fairies and magic and unicorns lurk behind every flower, stone, and tree. She’s bought me house plants and outdoor plants, shade plants and full-tilt-nuclear-sun plants. Nothing grows. I’ve killed two of three trees we’ve planted. I killed an aloe plant, for goodness sake. The only thing still alive is a giant 12-foot cactus I’ve named Black Betty and I’m too scared to ask Black Betty how she’s survived for fear that she’ll choose that moment collapse on top of me, impaling me in a gruesome death.

But now, there is one more plant I have to show off. I should qualify that with, “for the moment.” Remember how last year I left our pumpkins and jack o’ lanterns out on the front patio for so long that one of them sort of rotted ew melted? And I threw most of the rind away? But there was no way I was touching the gloop left on the concrete so I sort of just used my sneaker to edge it off the patio and into the bushes? Ha, well funny you should mention that because guess what my ex-mother-in-law pointed out to me the other day:

See that flowering plant with the elephant leaves in front of the big pot? At first she thought it was a cucumber plant and I thought, huh, how weird! But then the next week she mentioned that it could also be a pumpkin plant and I had a light bulb moment. I remembered kicking the pumpkin goo, seeds and all, into the bush. Now, if I had’ve planted that on purpose, nothing would have happened. The only thing I’ve gotten to grow on purpose would be the girls. So I’m watering Miss Pumpkin Plant with all measure of stealth I can muster. I accidentally threw a pitcher of water over it this morning. I figure if I start taking care of it intentionally, it’s going to wither up and die before I can even say “boo.” So if I act all casual like, maybe the pumpkin won’t notice I’m trying to let it grow. And then it will be happy and live. Maybe.

Just to throw it off my scent, and to perform a sort of experiment, I think I’m going to tear all the weeds out of the giant pot behind the Accidental Pumpkin and plant the seeds I so carefully culled from Crisanna’s Raspberry Chocolate cake. Raspberry bushes are supposed to grow fairly easily down here. If I can get it to grow in a pot, I won’t mistakenly mow it down in the yard. If it lives, I can transplant it very carefully behind a fenced-in area until it grows brambles, resembles a bush, and can fend for itself.

Plus, if I have something growing in that big pot, I can accidentally spill water all over the pumpkin plant while I wait and see how this pumpkin caper unfolds.  If that doesn’t work, I’m declaring Gracie officially old enough to take care of all the greenery that enters Casa de Katie – including the fake Christmas tree.

A little Sunday anecdote.

I’ve kept up with Jillian’s 1,000 30-Day-Shred workout, even though I haven’t been talking about running or my workout schedule much. I haven’t lost any more weight, but then again, I haven’t gained any weight (or clothing sizes) either, and I’ve been enjoying a summer treat or two. So I still consider it a win.

I’ve found, though, that I’ve turned my workout sessions into something other than just a tool to get fit: I’ve been using them to clear my mind. Had a stressful day at work? Work out! Annoyed with someone or something? Go work out! Need to get some energy to tackle a project, problem-solve, or just make it to the end of the day? That’s right – work out! The endorphins are unbelievable and the rush never fails to floor me. I live for the Woohoo! moment.

So you can imagine how disgruntled I was tonight when my Wooho! moment was ruined. I had been sitting on the couch for most of the day, being decadently lazy as I worked through most of Bones: Season 2, and I needed a change of pace. I needed to jumpstart my motivation so I could maybe get one productive thing done. I made it all the way through Jillian’s workout and my brain did indeed kick into gear – the problem was that it wouldn’t turn off. I didn’t so much have an “I rock!” moment as much as I started to think about every problem I was currently facing and think about how to resolve it, only I didn’t really get anywhere. My mind kept spinning and spinning and spinning, and I was having this odd double-consciousness moment because I knew that’s what I was doing and I was trying to stop, but couldn’t. Yep, all of my efforts to just. stop. thinking were pretty much futile. Or, they were until a bunch of shampoo slid into my eye. Good night, gracie, there is nothing like an eye full of burning chemicals to get your mind to screech to a dead stop.

Having learned my lesson, I am headed back to the couch where I anticipate finishing Season 2 of the Temperance and Booth saga before bedtime. Productivity hurts.

This round goes to (a healthy dose of) paranoia.

I started writing this post this morning while I was waiting for the doc-in-a-box clinic to call me back. If I had been sitting around feeling like I was about to die, of course they would have been busy. Because I was just trying to keep my adoring fans in the loop (oh, hush), of course the clinic called me right in.

Turns out I’m fine, but this morning I was pretty sure I had a staph infection. It was perfectly reasonable! Last Sunday I was bitten by a fire ant while I was mowing the grass. Usually fire ant bites don’t bother me; I’ll get a tiny red blister that will itch less than a mosquito bite. This bite, however, immediately started to swell and itch and itch and ITCH until I thought I would grow crazy if I didn’t scratch it to smithereens. Finally I had more than a theoretical appreciation of why everyone hated fire ants. By Sunday night, my ankle had turned into a cankle and the rest of my lower leg had started to swell. I applied hydrocortisone cream and ice and pretty much blamed the feral ants that were invading my shower for their cousin’s torture. Surely this abnormal reaction was some sort of revenge for mowing over ant homes and evicting unwanted guests.

I muttered and cursed and applied hydrocortisone all week. The bite seemed to get better for a few days, but it was still weeping clear pus and it had turned a fluorescent red. (You’re welcome for the pretty details!) It was still swollen, warm to the touch, and pimply. I figured it would go away in a few days – I’m allergic to mosquitoes and my mosquito bites sort of do this same thing. Well, except they go away in a few days and this ant bite to end all ant bites was still itchy enough to drive me insane a week after I was bitten. It was getting worse instead of better. So I convinced myself to go in and get it cultured.

I felt like an idiot when the doctor said she thought it was just a bad allergic reaction. She gave me some antibiotic creams to take just in case it was cellulitis (a skin infection) and sent me on my way. But at least now I have peace of mind and I won’t have to worry about my leg falling off in the middle of my vacation in two weeks. I’m sure my insurance doesn’t cover spontaneous limb reduction while I’m out-of-state.

So, yes: I might have over-reacted this time. But at least the ants didn’t win!

Drinking and chatting mixertate so well.

Because today is Friday and I was too busy de-stressing from work to think of anything clever to write, I bring you another installment of Quotable Katie. I just know you’re thrilled.

Kim:

me: I would totally choose fixing your crises, but my potato just dinged. I will leave my computer up and return as soon as I finish eating to mixertate and crisis solve. (Also, drink.)
Kim: HAHAHAHAHAHA. Well you know me – potatoes TOTALLY rank high on immediate priorities!
me: I thought you would understand.
Kim: so here’s the thing:
[blah, blah, crisis, blah talky talk]

me: [Still haven't left to fix dinner, but felt the need to interrupt so Kim can stop stressing] I have already solved this crisis mostly. But you keep typing it out while I eat and I will be right back(ish).

Kim: wow! i KNEW you must be good at solving things, what with all your practice

[blah, blah crisis talkity talk]

me: Dinner is too hot to eat, so I am going to catch up on your crisis novel.

Kim: yeah, dude – i may not have as many mini-crises as you do, but I always feel like mine take a whole lot longer to ‘esplain!

me: Annnnnnnd I’m caught up. Yes, but yours are always quite interesting!

Kim: OHHH! if only Stephen Fry could drive me up the east coast!

me: [crisisy solution stuff]

Kim: you’re awful!

me: I am making you feel better!

Kim: but in an amazing, spinny kind of way that you are.

Me: [talkity talk] So don’t worry about it. Just do it. Okay, I am going to go eat my potato and I will check in with you. Keeping gchat open.

me: kk. I need to find my Rufus [Wainwright] cd…

Kim: oooh – are you sending me chocolate milk and rainbows!? that’s an awesome song

me: You should stop thinking. >:-(

Kim: hoooo-k!

me: I can’t remember what the songs on here are. I will have to name them myself.

Kim: ha!

me: This one will be called Shame and Valentines

Kim: if it helps, I never knew what they were officially named to begin with… HHAHAHAHA

me: This one is the Hurdy Gurdy Song.

Kim: hehehehe That makes me think of Dr. Quinn (the historical reference for SO much of my American History…)

me: He would not have done well there.

Kim: nosiree

me: I think this song is too slow to have a name.

Kim: HAHAHAHAHAH  wtf!?

me: AHA! Cigarettes, Choco Milk and Rainbows! What?! I think that is a perfectly legitimate observation!

Kim: what does the tempo of a song have to do with it deserving a name??

[Kim changes her status message to: "Katie, on re-imagining names for Rufus songs:  I think this song is too slow to have a name."

me: Also, I am not imagining them, I am giving them.

Kim: everything deserves a name!

me: It was too slow to be worthy. There were other songs willing to get their point and reason for being over with much faster than that.

Kim: Fixed it.

[Kim changes her status message to: "Katie, on re-imagining names for Rufus songs:  I think this song is too slow to have a name. [...and then...]  Katie:  Also, I am not imagining them, I am giving them.”

me: You forgot my emphasis.

Kim: Allie says you’re brilliant.

me: SEE?!?! The One With All the Songs says I am RIGHT!

Kim: heh. am telling (blaming?) al right now!

me: She gets to be right about all the songs. <sigh> Sorry, Kim.

Kim: hahahaha. agreed. le sigh. This is SO Quotable Katie!

me: Totally Friday’s blog. I am listening to Despicable Me over and over. Strangely addictive.

Kim: like, the soundtrack?

me: Just the one song. I was going to buy the whole soundtrack, but THe Unicorn Song did not have the bit from the movie.

And I felt disgruntled. Did you know A-E makes up 40% of my iTunes library? I think that is a lot of space for five letters worth of artists.

Kim: and how DARE they not include the unicorn bit from the movie!? how is there even a song otherwise??

me: It’s Despicable Me by Pharrel or Pharral or some such hippity hoppity name

Kim: hahaha He IS hippity hoppity

me: I know. It was a shout out to Steve Carell. Also, it is downright mean that you can’t get Elbow’s Independent Women on iTunes.

What kind of world is this?!

Kim: that is JUST wrong don’t they realize how much money they would make off that one track!? you should write them a note on their website

me: I think I will.

Kim: (also: it’s a TOTALLY FUN website)

me: Do you think they’re named after the body part or the macaroni?

Kim: hunh. ask that too. www.elbow.co.uk

me: It better be the macaroni.

Kim: i don’t know. if it’s at all related to the fact that you cannot lick your elbow, i’d be sold. it’s…just soooo…close!

me: I can get just 2 inches away.

Kim: i always feel like my twisted arms should afford me an inhuman advantage. they do not.

me: I was just wondering that.

Kim: hahahaha – Erin made us pause in the middle of bug spraying me at the Hotallings to demonstrate to Rick. it was hysterical.

Yes, yes, for we are hysterical people. Except, um, maybe more so if you know us.  Enjoy your weekend. I will try to get into some sort of shenanigans so I don’t have to resort to chat excerpts.

Love sings, swings, and smiles (but mostly sings).

I have a little secret. Wanna hear? Of course you do.   …When I get to ThePlaceThatShallNotBeNamed every morning, before anyone else is there, I plug in my earbuds and listen to a few songs. Some mornings I need to listen to sad songs to leech out the blues. Some mornings I need 80s music that makes me think of home. Most mornings I need happy music to set the tone for the rest of my day. When I hear the first person come in, I shut of all of the music and continue working as if I had been productively humming along in silence the entire time. No one’s the wiser. And my day is much happier.

Here’s a song my sister Kim sent me that I’ve been listening to all week, “Ghosting” by Freelance Whales. It’s amaaaaaazing and utterly worth of all the Thursday Love you can shower upon it. I love these little SxSW concert versions even better than the “real” ones on their CD. Go. Listen. Adore. And may your Love Thursday surround you in song.

Wonderfully Despicable.

As part of Operation: Fun Parent!, I took the girls to see Despicable Me last Sunday. I have been dying to see the movie since I saw the trailer and since I had some catching up to do with regards to Bee and the movies, I thought this was the perfect opportunity.

If you can believe it, the movie actually lived up to the hype I created after watching the trailer. The dialogue was unbelievably funny, the humor worked at both the kid and grown-up level keeping us all entertained, and the predictable storyline was peppered with enough jokes that we didn’t care about all the hyperbole. One thing that did surprise me was Steve Carell’s interpretation of Gru. I expected Carell to be a lot more…well…Michael Scott-ish. Yeah, yeah, I know – but to be fair, Michael Scott does do a lot of impersonations, tricks, schticks, and weird things and I thought I’d recognize one of them in Gru. No so. In fact, Gru was everything Michael Scott is not; he was predictable. I think the only comparison was that his exasperated sigh sounded spot on with Michael Scott’s. (And yes, that made me giggle in the theater.)

There was little not to love about this (dare I say it?) instant classic. There were plenty of laugh-out-loud moments – I was in tears at one point – and the animation was incredible. The roller coaster scene, in particular, was “shot” and edited so well that it made me queasy. The invention of the minions was utterly brilliant – who can’t see them infiltrating pop culture and being highlighted on “I Love the 10s” on a future VH1 special? All of these elements, I’m sure, should get the credit for keeping the girls wiggle-free all the way through. Bee did ask at one point if we could go home because she was tired, but all was well once I lifted the armrest so she could lay her head on my lap.

Yep, I have to say it was the perfect outing and a near-perfect movie. The only downside, besides the fact that I’m already impatiently waiting for it to come out on DVD, is that now I kinda want a unicorn. A big sparkly white one that’s so fluffy I could die. At least then everyone will know why I’m randomly yelling, “It’s sooo flufffffay!” Ahem.