Tuesday tunes.

You know how you sometimes run across a new tune and you just can’t get it out of your head? I have one of those. I’m even hearing this song in my dreams and lines will run through my head while I’m lying there half asleep. And know what? It’s so good that I don’t even mind. So here you go – Modern Love by Last Town Chorus (so much different better than the David Bowie original). Now it can be stuck in your head, too.

If I was all fancy, the YouTube video would be embedded here. Since I’m not, you can go watch it here. Really – it’s worth clickity-clicking on the link.

How I know soaps are written by six-year-olds.

Yesterday, after weeks of begging, Gracie’s friend A. was finally able to come over for a playdate. Thank all the gods of Child Play, the afternoon was all they had hoped (and we had bribed) it would be. Despite all of the games, the pretend tea party, the slip’n'slide and the fact that I got all of the dishes, laundry, and vacuuming done, my favorite part – hands down – was this:

Gracie, A., and Bee emerged from the front room where they had been playing behind the closed doors, marching slowly and pretending to cry. I didn’t realize at first that they were pretending to sob; I thought the girls had a falling out and one of them was coming to tattle. But then I heard one of them say, “I can’t believe she’s dead,” and the other wailed, “Our baby!” Heart wrenching sobs poured forth as the two girls marched towards Gracie’s bedroom and some mysterious official who was – apparently – going to confirm the identiy of their baby.

Not a bad way to be entertained while you’re loading the dishwasher, I have to say.

Gracie and A. soon came out of the bedroom with the baby wrapped in blankets inside an empty container that had been appropriated to serve as the coffin. “I…just…(sniffle)(sniffle) can’t (breath hitching) live without my baby!” Gracie simpered. Then A. quickly added, “Maybe (sob) she isn’t really ours. Maybe (wail)(sniffle) she is a different baby.”

The dramatic unveiling came next. The tupperware coffin was opened and the blankets ripped off dramatically (natch). Squeals! “She’s not ours!” Gracie exclaimed!”Let’s rescue her!” A. suggested! I could almost hear swelling music in the background.Then, right before my living room broke to commercial, A. broke the bad news, “But now she’s dead, too.” Gracie quickly manipulated the plot back to her liking: “I’m a doctor who saves the day now. Look! She’s alive forever now.” Uhhh…way to call dibs? But A. went along: “Oh thank goodness! We must save her!” Gracie grabbed the baby and threw her back into the…uh…coffin? baby carrier?…and suggested they run away. “Yes! Before the bad guys get her!” A. embellished.

And that’s when it happened. Gracie got a gleam in her eye, wickedly declared, “I am the bad guys! I’ve been trying to get the baby!” and the two girls took off running and screaming – one trying to kidnap the mistaken-identity alive-then-dead-then-alive-again baby and one trying to save it. That’s when I knew for sure that soap operas are really written by six-year-olds.

Quote of the Day.

I had just finished helping Bee change into her play clothes. She was trying to walk out of the room and somehow stepped on her stuffed unicorn – the only thing on the floor, by the way.

Me: Don’t step on your toys, Bee! You might fall down (like you just did) and you might get hurt.
Bee: Oops! I stepped on the unicorn!
Me [hoping for a teaching moment]: Yep. What do you say to your unicorn?
Bee: You have a fat butt!

You’re welcome.

A Friday confession. (Or, Good gracious I hurt.)

Vacation was…wait, was that only two weeks ago? Sheesh, it feels like so much more time has gone by since then. But I was saying, my vacation was weeks ago and yet I’m still feeling the repercussions.

I never should have given up my workouts while I was on vacation.

I didn’t work out the last few days before I left because I was sort of in a tizzy trying to get everything ready. When I came back, I had my birthday to celebrate and errands to run and more laundry than I knew what to do with. So working out might have been put off. Bad, bad mistake.

I should have brought my workout clothes with me. Really, all I’d need would be shorts and a sports bra. My sister Rhi has Jillian’s video. She has baggy tshirts I could wear. I could have even made her work out with me and gotten her kickstarted on her own little journey full of endorphins and pride. And if I had’ve packed my running shoes, I could have gone for a run, something that would have helped me deal a lot better with the stress and the depression that hung in the air heavier than all the humidity. A run would have been glorious.

Instead, I’m struggling now to get back into the groove of things. I admit it: I’m struggling. I figure I spend so much time bragging about my accomplishments that I should ‘fess up when I hit a bump in the road. And judging by the way my pants seem to be fitting, the bumps and the lumps are pretty girth-ful. Tire-sized, even. Heh. Okay, not really. But it feels that way some mornings when I’m trying to find an outfit I feel comfortable in. Who knew just five pounds could make a difference?

Don’t worry – I have a plan for those five pounds and for this minor setback that is my lack-of-shape-and-stamina. The way I look at it is like this: Even though I was only out of the loop for about two weeks, I struggled the first week back. I pushed myself too hard during my first week and spent several days trying to recover. So I need to gradually push myself back to where I was so I don’t make things worse…but not too gradually or Jillian will yell at me. (You know – in my head.) This week I’ve worked out at least every night the girls spent at their dad’s. That’s two nights, plus a workout while they’re at church on Sunday mornings. Next week, I’ll force myself to get out of bed 30 minutes earlier in the morning and workout every day. That will suck, but too bad – that’s how Week 2 goes. The week after, I’ll start running on the nights when the girls are having dinner with their dad. Two-a-days are going to be something new, but I think that’s what I need to shed these five pounds. Well, either that or I’ll have to give up my nightly glass of wine and, frankly, I’d rather do two-a-days.

So! A plan! I feel better already. More accountable and more in control. And that’s an excellent feeling to have heading into the weekend.

Never underestimate the value of kindness.

Never underestimate the value of kindness.

“Dad is a lot nicer than you!”

I knew it was coming. It’s been a good month for the girls and I. We had a lovely vacation. The girls spent a few weekends with their dad. Time at home has been generally upbeat (in spite of Bee’s sudden recurrence of chronic whining). Lots of patience and laughter and unicorns and sparkles. So something like that was bound to come flying out eventually.

It happened just after breakfast this morning, when I dispatched the girls to brush their hair and their teeth. Last night I had asked the girls to brush their teeth in my bathroom instead of over the sink of gurlgling, blub-blub-blubbing Drano in their bathroom. It was such a luxurious experience, Gracie thought she would repeat it this morning. And I broke one of my golden rules of parenting: I said “no” for no good reason. And once I said it, I had to stick to my guns so I wouldn’t be viewed as wishy-washy. Gracie didn’t want to hear it, apparently.

“Dad is a lot nicer than you!”

It hurt my feelings. I knew she was just mad because she hadn’t gotten her way, but I didn’t want her to think being sassy – especially with that sentiment – was okay. “That was kinda mean, Gracie,” I told her, firmly but not unkindly. “It makes me sad when you say things like that.” She tried arguing her case but I cut her off both times, insisting she go brush her teeth in her bathroom like I’d asked.

I ignored Bee’s sudden interest in why her sister was in trouble while my inevitable inner-monologue geared up. I know the Ex  likes to be the fun parent since he gets to see the girls so little. I know he has a different, more laid-back parenting style. He prefers to clean up after the girls rather than enforce rules and he likes to spend money and say yes. He’s not extravagant, just more so than I am. Someone needs to teach the girls life lessons and rules and consistency; I’m doing a good job. I know it – don’t worry. But what I do worry about is that the Ex might be genuinely nicer than me. Okay, no, that’s a lie. Not nicer – he might be more patient than I am with the girls.

“Dad is a lot nicer than you!”

What if what Gracie meant was that her dad wouldn’t have had that slight edge to his voice? That he would have gently redirected (if at all) her to her room with a flourish (and unicorns and sparkles)? That he wouldn’t yell as often as I do or get frustrated as quickly or raise his voice so sharply? Not that all of these things happened this morning, mind you, but you how the What If? game goes.

I quickly sent my self-doubt packing. I’m a great mom. I don’t always keep my cool, but my own mom kept her cool a little better than she maybe should have and I love her to pieces. So I smartly let it go. But not Gracie’s comment. I waited until we were all in car, driving to daycare. I turned down the radio for a minute and I calmly told her: “Gracie, I do a lot of nice things for you. I changed your order slip and let you order Highlights this morning, even though it costs a lot of money, and I baked you a lemon pie when you started school. It hurts my feelings when you tell me I’m not nice and compare me to your father.” She didn’t say anything and I didn’t push the issue. I just turned the volume back up. Gracie was quiet and pensive the rest of the way to school.

She wouldn’t look at me when we got there. She sat quietly in her seat when I parked instead of bounding out of the car. This morning it was Bee who ran ahead and when I waited up for Gracie and held out my hand to her, she shouldered her backpack and said, “I got it.” Still, my temper didn’t flare and my annoyance stayed far, far away. I walked the girls in like everything was normal, gave them hugs and kisses and wished them a good day. I started to walk out, then opened the classroom door again. “Psst! Gracie!” I stage-whispered to her. She didn’t hear me even though she was about a foot away. I reached out and tapped her arm and she turned to me, surprised. “I love you!” Big, knowing smiles. “I love you, too, Mom.” And it was Gracie who waited at the window to make silly faces at me.

That’s how I know. That’s how a mama knows a lot of things.

Coming Soon: Adventures in Stickville.

Gracie and Bee aren’t the only ones headed back to school – and related adventures – this week. Auntie Kim has been leading her own action-adventure novel the past month and I finally have a chance to catch you up on her latest escapades.

Most of you have figured out that Kim kinda rocks. She has this amazing ability to figure out what she wants – something that escapes me on practically a daily basis – break down her daydreams into individual goals, set deadlines, meet said deadlines, and achieves her goal. All with grace and aplomb. (And usually cursing and laughter, too. Meh meh meh details.)

So, with the family situation being what it is, Kim decided in the past few months that she really needed to move closer to home to help oversee my mom’s medical care. That meant she had to find a new job somewhere in New England that would be in easy commuting distance to some place she wouldn’t mind living and also close enough to my mom’s house – and all in today’s economy. Of course Kim found something in time to cancel what would have been a tricky travel scenario to interview for a different position.

But! The new job meant that Kim would be living – for the first time – outside of a major metropolitan area. In fact, she would be living in the sticks. Podunkville. Surrounded by…nature. As humorous as that thought is all on its own (stop, savor), it also meant Kim would have to get her driver’s license. You know, and also learn to drive. Oh, and buy a car. Allllllll before she started her job at the end of the summer. No pressure.

Lesser humans would fail. But Kim, having decided she must, made driving her beeyatch. After weeks of randomly quoting me driving rules via chat messages, she took one road lesson and her instructor declared her ready for her road test. Kim was all, “Uh, you’re on crack,” and scheduled a few more road lessons. After years of teasing her, I enjoy the irony in the fact that Kim passed her road test while Joey and I were driving around lost in New Hampshire, trying to find the beach. Funtimes. But YEAAAAY Kim!

In between driving lessons and much mockery (of what? who cares; it’s how we live!), Kim also found a place to live. I will let Kim describe her new home in detail (guest blogs have been promised), but suffice it to say that every night at dusk, a troupe of wandering turkeys walks past her house, back to their little teepee in the woods. (Okay: I might have made up the part about the teepee.) This is where Kim the City Girl is living. She gets mad props for finding a lovely place to live in less than a month and after only one trip to look at the prospective apartments; even more so when you figure in all the bloggable opportunities that await!

I cannot wait until the dust has settled and I hear more about the Exciting Adventures of Kim in Stickville. (It’s an affectionate nickname. I am moving there as soon as possible.) She drove up last Thursday, her worldly belongings arrived Friday, and she started “school” today. Tomorrow she gets her internet hooked up and I. can’t. wait. Hearing all of the blog-fodder will almost make up for not being there in person.

Good luck, Gracie!

Today is the first day of first grade for my little Gracie. (How many more years can I get away with calling her that?)

I hope she is full of smiles and news and giggles and excitement when she comes home.

I hope this year of changing classes and having two teachers means she always has someone who understands her instead of always someone who is causing her stress.

I hope there is a little more structure (and a lot less behavioral issues) for Gracie to embrace this year. She is one to get swept away with the crowd, so I hope hers is a list-lovin’, post-it craving crowd of geeks!

That being said, I hope her teachers are as fun as they look. Nothing beats a well-executed science experiment or a chapter-book read aloud after lunch-time.

Lastly, I hope this year passes quickly because I cannot take one more year of cradling my Bee-baby as she cries because she wants to go to big-girl school too! Just like her idol big sister Gracie.

Good luck, girls! Remember that no matter how your day goes, your mom – and a freshly baked lemon pie – is waiting for you at home.

There will be no dragging her back to earth.

Tonight was Meet the Teacher Night at Gracie’s elementary school. Last year was quite the learning experience: we were late because Gracie’s dad forgot about the event (and that we made arrangements for him to pick us up), then there was the nightmare of 300 cars squishing into 20 spots and one empty field, and then there was the zoo of finding your class list in the hallway and finding the correct room. But that’s okay because last year’s learning experience was this year’s ammunition!

I didn’t stress when I didn’t get an email back from the Ex (nor did I panic when I got a last minute text-message; I rolled with it). I convinced the girls that it would be cool to have a picnic in the “back-back” of the car for dinner – because then we could arrive 30 minutes early, get a good parking spot, and have something to do to kill the time. The girls ate it up, natch. Right now, I’m the coolest mom ever – they told me so. When they’re older and parents themselves, they may remember tonight and think I’m crazy. (Or genius, either way.)

When 5:30 hit, Gracie, Bee and I popped out of our Jeepy-Jeepy and carried our two bags of supplies into school and found the classlists. Gracie was in Ms. N’s classroom. I hoped and prayed Ms. N wasn’t the mean teacher. Gracie has been dreading the start of school – supposedly there’s a mean teacher who barks at the kids if they bump her papers or if they talk out of turn. I’ve been walking the fine line between brainstorming with Gracie reasons the teacher might be misunderstood and trying to reassure her that her luck isn’t that bad. THANK GOODNESS Gracie smiled when we walked into Ms. N’s room. I’m pretty sure that means we’re in the clear. Actually, Gracie might have beamed either way: her classroom is in the second hallway, the big kids’ hallway. And if that wasn’t enough to make her think she was hot stuff, then learning she would change classrooms each day and have two teachers certainly made her float into the stratosphere. It turns out, she has Ms. N for homeroom and then walks next door to have math and science with Ms. D. After lunch, Gracie walks back to Ms. N’s classroom for reading, writing, and social studies. How cool!

And after a short meet-and-greet with both of her teachers, I have to agree with Gracie’s personality assessments: both teachers seem pretty awesome. Ms. N is youngish (my age, or a tad younger?) and seems warm and intelligent, but hip to the sneaky ways of first graders. Ms. D was very nice, a little more experienced, and the coolest balance of calm-with-a-hint-of-mad-southern-scientist about her. I am very excited to see how both with deal with my brilliant-but-easily-distracted drama queen. (Enough adjectives? Okay, moving on.)

All in all, we were only there for fifteen minutes tops. Gracie’s dad did walk in while we were in Gracie’s first classroom, so he didn’t miss anything. Our side of the building was actually pretty quiet: either the (eight) kindergartens are the only ones getting any attention or else I’ve gotten this Meet the Teacher Night thing down pat! Let’s hope the first day of school goes just as smoothly, mkay? Gracie is floating on air and (as she would say) wicked excited for school to start now. I’d like that to last at least a little bit longer!

I *love* checking everything off my list.

This week one of my bloggy friends posed the question: “What one thing do you want to accomplish before the end of summer?” It’s a common theme this time of year: summer’s ending! So much to do and little time to do it! Quick – go have fun before you’re stuck in school and rigid schedules and opportunities for spontaneous fun evaporate!
 
Ignoring for the moment the fact that summer will last until roughly the end of October down here in hell Texas, I stopped to think about what my one thing would be. Stay up all night and have fun? We partied – with fireworks and everything – late into the night on the 4th of July. Go to the beach? We did that on vacation (though whether or not it counts as fun or a disaster is still a toss). Zoo trips? We enjoyed several of them before summer started slinging us triple-digit heat day after day after day after day. Swimming lessons? Check. Splash days? Complete with slip’n’slide, multiple kiddie pools, super soakers and sprinklers. And actual summer vacation? We’re still recovering! I started wondering…could it possibly be…that we…did everything we set out to do and then some this summer? Why, yes! Yes, we did! POINTS FOR MOMMY!
 
How often does that happen, folks? How often can you say that you accidentally had all the fun you could possibly squeeze into one summer? We carnivaled and festivaled and had a general ball (and all for very little money because momma is a rockstar). I can’t think of any one special outing I’d like to partake in before the end of summer. Sure, there’s lots of stuff I’d love to do – and we probably will – but it would all be icing on the cake. You know – going for ice cream or sweltering at the zoo again, that sort of thing. It has truly been a wonderful summer.
 
Happy Love Thursday, everyone. Even if you haven’t checked everything off your list, I hope you take a moment to smile over all the things you did get to do.

Casa de Katie’s Got Talent.

For the most part, I am loving this whole “Woo hoo! My kids are older!” thing. I didn’t have the usual dread before we got on the airplane because I knew the girls were old enough to (mostly) behave and sit (relatively) still for long periods of time. I can send the girls back to bed on the weekend with the instructions that they aren’t to get up until their clock reads 7:00 a.m. I can let them play in the backyard for hours at a time with only the occasional body count and cursory welfare check. Life is good.

Except… (you knew that was coming, right?) there’s this little thing Gracie is developing. I think the kids are all call it “free will” these days. Oh, that Gracie is so sneaky. She wants to do things and veto clothes choices and have an opinion on everything. Like whether or not her world will end if we don’t attend the Talent Show at daycare.

This talent show is the latest brainchild of the daycare’s Powers That Be. Someone decided last year that they needed to have extra-curricular activities. Back-to-School night. Parents’ Night Out. Open House. Summer Celebration. Sometimes the girls ask to go to these events, but mostly it’s the teachers or the assistant director who try to wheedle me into attending. Look, I appreciate that the center cares more than any other previous administration. I know they’re trying to get the parents involved and when parents are more involved, children do better. I get it. But really, I just want daycare to watch my kids while I work. Do a bang-up job during those hours and then let us enjoy our evening as a family alone, please and thank you.

But nooooo, they’re having a Back-to-School production, featuring a Talent Show. Each class was practicing a number. Soon thereafter, Gracie’s “Will we be able to make it, Mom?” quickly turned into “Please oh please oh please can we go? Huh? Pleeeeeeease?” Gracie couldn’t have hounded me any better if daycare had paid her. So I said we could go, as long as “Meet the Teacher” night at her elementary school didn’t fall on the same night. Curse my luck – they were scheduled for different nights.

So, 7 o’clock rolled around and off we went, back to daycare. And dang if we didn’t have a good time. Okay, perhaps that’s a bit of a stretch. But the kids had a blast and that’s all that matters. The place was packed, seriously packed, and I could only hear Bee sing Little Bunny FooFoo over the crowd in front of me. But shhhhh – don’t tell her that. I told her she was amazing. And Gracie and her bff A did a little skit with memorized lines and everything. It was so good, I just might forgive the Gracie&A Braintrust for using Crayola markers to draw giant tattoos all over each other’s backs. Even the teachers got into the act with a funky hip-hop line dance they used to introduce themselves. Not how I’d choose to spend an evening, but since my kids used my love for them against me and forced me into it, I guess it was okay.

Now if someone could please stop merchandising items, gimmicks, and shows to my impressionable children so I don’t get roped into anything else, I’d appreciate it.