My Unedited Life: What?? This isn't normal??

So. A couple times in the (very) recent past, I have found reason to pause and analyze my life and parenting a little bit.

The first happened at the veterinarian's a couple weeks ago. Our cat, Cat, had an oozing eye. And she was overdue for her shots by... oh... I don't know. Forever. So we made an appointment and went in.

For those of you who are pet-less, you may not know the joy that kids take in taking pets to the doctor. Because there is absolutely NO chance that they'll be getting a shot. Plus, vets are much more likely to let them play with a stethoscope that their actual doctor. (I swear. It's like the pediatrician thinks they have cooties. Why would she think that???)

I digress.

We get to the vets. Cat in cat carrier. Waiting our turn. All is well. We finally get called in to the room, and the vet begins to work with our cat. After a few minutes, three things happen simultaneously:

1. Thing 2 tries to jump up on the table because he's a "doggy",

2. The Munchkin bites my rump good and hard, since she's not the one getting the attention,

3. Thing 1 passes out COLD because she's sees a needle on the counter.

Herr Doctor looks at me with this face that says "Are you FOR REAL????"

I look back, as I'm dragging Thing 1 out the door by her shoulders, trying to muster up a look that conveys "What?? This doesn't happen all the time??"

The next thing was this past week when I took my kids to the store. The Munchkin had marker all over her face and was wearing a Minnie dress, Thing 2 was wearing really short shorts and a pajama top with galoshes on the wrong feet, and Thing 1 decided now would be a good time to roll her eyes back in her head and drool, just for fun.

Where did I go wrong???

Land Ho!!

Happy Columbus Day, everyone.

This morning we got up and made stick-puppets about the Columbus story. Complete with Moneybags King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella. (Who, by the way, was 9 when Columbus sailed. NINE. No wonder she wanted to give him the money.) Anywho, we took our Window Markers and decorated the windows of our car with the Nina, the Pinta, and the Santa Maria. Then we wrote "Happy Columbus Day!" on the back window. I believe in offending people as much as possible. Because it's good for them.

So we set out to explore and discover--to find a new world.

Before the morning was out, my children yelled out with excitement "LAND! LAAAAAAND!" Hands waving and pointing frantically.

At a McDonalds.

So, we made landfall and ate McNuggets.

The irony is delicious.

What Dreams May Come..

It feels like summer is never going to end. It really does. Day after endless day of more than 90 degree weather, and not even the swimming pool is appealing any more.

School starts next week.

I am going to miss my daughter. Who will draw mermaids with me? Who will give me constant dance recitals? Who will answer when I go looking for her and find her room empty?

I think I hate school.

But she is thrilled.

I am trying to be thrilled for her.

But I have thought of one good thing: if she's going back to school, then surely fall is on it's way. Surely the leaves will change and the humidity will confine itself to Florida, like it's supposed to. And I'm watching for those subtle signs--the trees that I consider canaries in the mine. Their leaves are the first to change.

I thought I saw some tinged with red this week.

Someday, fall will come.

All Hail the Queen...

I have had a nerve wracking week.

Last Saturday, I took my friend, Merriweather, who was visiting from Maine to go and check on my bees and see how they were settling into their new hive. Well. They were downright ornery (meaning, they kept flying at me and buzzing and generally acting like bouncers). And I couldn't find my queen. I was so flustered by my own inexperience that I just hurriedly put the hive back together and ran away.

All week, I've been thinking about my queen.

A hive must, absolutely must, have a queen. They can't survive without her. They depend on her to give the colony cohesiveness and direction. They count on her for more baby bees, to keep the hive strong and healthy. Just by her mere presence, she sets the tone for every bee in my hive. All 10,000 of them, and counting.

But without my queen? Well. Without a queen, the workers start just wandering around like teenagers at the mall, being promiscuous without any clue of the consequences. It doesn't take long at all for the colony to shrivel and fail without their queen.

So I've been anxious about her. Without her, I fail.

Today, my mentor (bless him) met up with me and we gave my colony a thorough going-over. I have been humbled, which is a good thing--I am more careful. I ask lots more questions. I ask for more help. And on the second to last frame--there she was. But even if I hadn't seen her, I knew she was there. The colony was in perfect order. You could easily tell, they have a queen.

Which has gotten me thinking about my own little home, and my own children. How often I set the tone. How little I realize it. How I can send out the "All is Well!" signal, or the "Every man for himself!" signal at any given moment. That's my job. To set the tone. To give my own little baby bees cohesiveness and direction.

I need to be a better queen.

Everybody do your share...

This morning, Munchkin hucked her eggs off her high chair tray and declared herself "STUCK."

I got her out and started chanting the "Clean up, clean up, everybody do your share" song.
You know that song right?

She crouched down next to me, pointed at the eggs, and sang the REAL version of that song. It goes like this:
"Mom-my, Mom-my, Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommeeeeee..."

Yep. That's about right.

Easter Week.

Confession: I'm really terrible at celebrating Easter. I've just never known how to do it. How to strike the balance between the beauty of springtime with it's bunnies and Cadbury Mini Eggs with the serious observance of Holy Week and Easter.

So we've dyed Easter eggs and hunted for them the Saturday before Easter. We've tried to emphasize the importance of Easter Sunday.

But it's always been small and understated, and it somehow always felt... flat.

This year I was determined to really celebrate Easter. I "invested" in some more Easter decorations. (I have to say "invested" to justify buying them at all.) The Spouse and I started a countdown to Easter two weeks ago Sunday where, each night, our children open a numbered Easter Egg that contains a jelly bean for each child and a scripture about Jesus' life and ministry. We hung colorful plastic eggs on our front tree and talked about the symbolism of things in the spring that can remind us about Jesus.

In short, we did everything we harped and pounded on the subject until it was exhausted.

Sunday was Palm Sunday, and began the nightly opening of eggs that also contained a symbol of Holy Week and the countdown of this sacred time of year. We have talked about the life of Jesus a lot for two weeks now. I have drilled this into my kid's heads. This is going to be a week where they really get it. My hopes are high.

We sat down to read our scripture. My beloved Little Ones are gathered around me.
Filled with anticipation, I asked my five year old daughter what holiday is coming up.
"Easter!" she exclaimed.
"That's right!" I encouraged proudly, "and what is Easter about???"

A heartbeat of a pause. The Humpty Dumpty of my hope teeters.

"THE EASTER BUNNY!!!!!!" she screeched, and both she and Thing 2 started writhing on the floor in delight, amongst the shattered remains of all my plans.

But like a doomed sea captain in a fog, I floundered onward.
"Um, no. Not the Easter bunny. Well. Kind of. But what is Easter REALLY about?" I pressed.

"CANDYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!" they both exclaimed.

Deep breaths.
"What, besides candy, is Easter about?" I insisted.

Blank stares.
"A person?" I asked hopefully.

Oh well. Maybe next year. At least there will always be Mini Eggs.

Gold Medal Parenting...

I am the most fantastic mother. Ever.

This is what I was thinking this week as I scrambled over the seats in one of my friend's vans so that my son could pee in a pop can. The situation was desperate. And I certainly didn't want him to pee all over her beautiful van. So the Welch's grape soda pop can got to go above and beyond fulfilling the measure of it's creation.

I thought about what a fantastic parent I was, again, later in the day as I ran up the stairs at the local ice skating rink to grab Thing 1 from ballet, having left Things 2 and 3 locked in the car downstairs. It was pouring rain, for crying in the mud, and Thing 2 had no shoes. Because I'd forgotten them. So I ran upstairs and came rushing back downstairs, only to find my son standing in the lobby, barefoot, holding a dollar, with some woman holding his hand and glaring at me. "Is he YOURS?!" she growled, as I worried that her laser beam gaze was going to melt me on the spot. I didn't even reply, just grabbed his hand and shoved him out the door. Because she had no idea what a phenomenal mother I am.

It just confirmed to me that I am, truly, going for the gold medal in parenting as drove away from the ice skating rink with all my children screaming and I did the thing any good mother does: I pretended that there was a plexiglass barrier between the driver's seat and all the passengers (like in a limo) and made my way to the local Little Caesar's Pizza where I bought two five dollar pizzas to throw in the lion's den with my children while I went to hide in the bathroom as soon as we got home.