It Started with the Sausage

You know those moments?

The ones where you are like holy-shit-this-is-my-life-right-now?

Let's be honest, I have them on the regular.

But yesterdays, it started with a spatula.

I knew it was going to be one of those days because it is always one of those days.  The ones where the orchestra has to play together because otherwise it's all going to go to hell.  And to be honest, we're having more of those days lately than not.

And I was going to make breakfast because I was going to make breakfast because the plan was to make breakfast, and where was my damn favorite spatula.

As I posted on Facebook, it made me realize that I was "I have a favorite spatula years old."

I did a tick tock on a day in the life of the family a few years ago, and I always laughed when my colleagues with older kids said YOU HAVE NO IDEA.  But you guys, you have no idea.

Things get complicated and busier, and you just have to get better at what's going on.  Or choose not to and go with the flow.

You guys, I need a little more flow go.

In the span of eight hours, I found the damn spatula, cranked out a real breakfast, dropped the rest of the family at church, realized I still haven't delivered the promised breakfast to the new member small group, rejoiced at 20 found minutes and got gas at Costco, realized that I was in charge of soccer snack and ran into Costco for said snack with R with a goal of making it in and out in 13 minutes (we did), stopped and got some ibprofun at another place because his back was sore from 15 other hours of soccer that week, hit the portapotty, watched the rec baseball game for ten minutes because we were early (we always are), schlepped the team bench a quarter of a mile because I've got this and this is where we parked, called to get the girl a carpool to Scouts, checked in the team, sat in my blue chair for 55 minutes watching but not watching, ,kept some disgruntled soccer fans in check and raged at the bad sportsmanship of our opponents, took the kid to Chilis to introduce him to queso, left him asleep in the car when I dropped by the Girl Scouts meeting I was supposed to co-lead until I had to go back out to the car because I had a kid asleep in it, failed to deliver the news that I wasn't attending the camping trip this week, came home, declare it fishsticks and roasted broccoli night the kids are all getting over their Halloween hangover...

Thank goodness it wasn't a work day.  Don't get me started on travel soccer logistics.

And then Shawn, our designated slowdowner, slowed it down.

There wasn't laundry to fold (that'll be tonight and tomorrow).

There was Crazy Eights and War to be had, and I just couldn't click into it.

I sat with them, but on the sidelines.  We didn't set back the clocks and went with the fact it was almost 8pm and OMG you guys are so late for your bedtime. (ps, it was 645).

And here I was.  Between the spatula and the logistics, and sidelined for the joy.

I've admitted before I'm not the magical parent.  I'm never going to be.  I just don't have that gene.

I saw a Dad at ice skating last week kneel to his kid and look him in the eyes and he really connected.  He looked like he did.  And I was hustling to return the skates to get to a birthday party on time.

Am I losing the joy in the logistics and the finding of the damn spatula and what can I do about it?

For tonight, I rest in R thinking "Chilis is the best restaurant we have ever been to and can we do it again soon please?"

Knowing I've launched Annie into wanting to go on the camping trip alone next weekend to scrap at independence, and checking my guilt about not being there.

Watching James practice him capoeria moves and destroy his siblings in cards war?

Looking at this guy, watching that ten minutes of baseball and saying six hours later "Mama, did you see how the black team crushed that other team that inning, wasn't it awesome?"

My magic is logistics, and it was still awesome, dude.

That one when you are going to write a post

That one where you are going to post a lengthy diatribe, but too lengthy for Facebook, and there aren't enough threads for twitter, and you don't want to just airdrop it so you post a couple photos of your kids to get yourself off the dime.

Also, you now have seen the pirate costume ride for six out of eight years of parenting.  Not bad for $11.99.

Halloween

We have life subtext going on, and some BIG PARENTING THINGS that we are trying to figure out, but, for grandma and I'm going to make this blog into a photo book later, we have pictures.

I'm a Yeller

Ya'll.  We are struggling here.

You can see the happy moments.  I litter them on Facebook and Instagram.  There are many of them.  That isn't fake  There are SO MANY OF THEM.

But then, there are the other moments.  #fakenews

I don't come from a family of yellers.  I'm not genetically a yeller.

People?  It turns out I'm a yeller.

Oif.  I am SO NOT A YELLER.

I remember the first (and probably only time) Shawn and I got in a real fight.  It was while dating.  It was a doozy.  I probably was justified in yelling. Saying that covers me in glory.  So OF COURSE I was justified in yelling.

And afterwards?  I shook for like 36 hours.  I don't think I had ever yelled in my life.

I'm a pretty gray zone gal.  I can see both sides of all the things. I can thoughtful inquiry with the best of them.

Parenting though?

The last year has been a kick in the face.

Maybe the first way-station was at the "Montessori Discipline" workshop at school.  So many lovely tools were presented.  I gleefully knew that I was a authoritative, not authoritarian, not permissive parent.  I was setting boundaries.  Everyone was responding.  WE ARE SO GOOD AT THIS.

We get to tools.  One word.  Repeated calmly.

"Come".  Or "Now".  Or "Bed".  Or "Shoes".  Steel eyes.  Focus on the child.  Convey confident and meaning.

Ok, great.  Let's test these tools out.

LOOK!  THEY WORK!

When you are NOT trying to do shoes (times three).  NOW (times three).  Wicked smart kids (times three).

Ya'll.

I yell.

So much.

Too much.

And here I am, struggling mightily for kids to use words instead of emotions.

And me?  I'm leading with emotions.

And they are SIX.  And FOUR.  And TWO.

And so very good.  Until they just know when you needle in.

Kids.  So good at needling.

Except for when there's just that I'm-sure-totally-developmentally-appropriate-boundary-testing and I fear these are the moments they will remember.  Dragon Mom.

But our life is so on the margins.  When the schedule and plan and process doesn't play out, everything goes to yell.  We are so in the process right now.  School, work, FTA, soccer, lacrosse, early closures, pack lunch, make dinner, catch bus, walk dog, doctors appointments, teacher work days,  boy scouts, church... just life.

There's not much space.

R bounces back.  He's not so worried.  He doesn't have an internal voice inside that processes right and wrong.  That makes me worry in the long term big time.

AH processes so deeply.  She hears EVERY WORD I SAY.  She stays up worrying.  She makes up songs about how "there are other ways to show we are strong than trying to pick up people"... and "I knew I chose wrong, I know how to choose right".  I hear them but not in front of me.

And James is so chilly willy still, but watching choices being made, and being two, just testing what is doable.

Tell me you yell.

Tell me how to fix this.

How can I be a yeller for the first time with the kids?

How do I feel better other than THROWING EVERYTHING AWAY #AskMeAboutTodaysGiantPurgeOfThings

Ask me about avoiding situations that just might be a little too hard?

Tell me I'm not alone.

First Day!

It's R and A's last first day without James.

Thank goodness for quality early childhood education in DC, and for being lucky enough to be a in a sustained long-term public school.

Montessori ya'll?  It's weird.  But it works.  It works so well.