Letter to Ethan, age 4.

Dear Ethan,

Ok, I get it.  You no longer want to hold my hand as we walk to the bus, or even give me a kiss before you get on the bus lest God forbid, another child sees you.  But you are only 4 years old, and I am still bigger and stronger than you, so tough nuts, kid.  Unless you would prefer to be attached to a leash (I'm open to it), your hand will be firmly in mine every single time we cross a street or parking lot.  Every. Single. Time.  Deal with it now, or make plans for your savings to be used on therapy later.  Your dad (and probably everyone else we know) calls me an obsessive helicopter mom, but I really don't care what anyone thinks about my over-protectiveness.  As long as I am here, I will be HERE.  I will do my best to not embarrass you (ok, I'm lying--I will embarrass you as long as I have breath in me, but a lot of that happens without me even realizing it because I think I'm hilarious).

I know you are finding your voice, and letting yourself be heard VERY CLEARLY.  But buddy, it's not ok to say you hate someone, especially me or anyone in your family.  If you remember, I am a lot bigger than you at present, so I can and will take you out.  Such ugliness will not be tolerated, even if it comes on the heels of me tackling you and smothering you with kisses.  You are freakishly strong, and I know I won't get away with this for much longer.  While we are on the topic, here are just a few other things you should work on:

(1) the golf club is not to be used as a weapon, nor is your sister's head to be used as a substitute tee; 

(2) it's not socially acceptable to hold up a salted peanut and say "you just suck on this"; 

(3) burps and farts are funny, but not ok in church, and definitely not with the gusto you've been putting behind them as of late; 

(4) retaliating against a perceived injustice by peeing on the wall is not permissible;

(5) do not pick your nose in public, but when you do, do not hold up the giant booger and announce "I just got my brain out!"

Next Fall, you will enter kindergarten.  I will be a mess.  A complete train wreck, and this is saying something because I do not cry.  Well, I do about once a year, so I'm saving up for August.  When your sister went, I was ok because I knew thought she was ready.  With you, it's about killing me to think of sending you off to a new school with a new teacher.  You've had a wonderful preschool teacher who understands your quirks, needs, and dry sense of humor (not sure where you got that) for the past two years.  I am worried about kindergarten.  I am fully aware no child or parent ever died from the jitters of the first day of kindergarten, but you should be aware that I will be a mess.  Your dad will probably find a reason to not be in town that first day because he doesn't want to have to make the call to Jaws of Life to pry me away.  I will probably be put on a list at the school as a problem parent, if I haven't already (there is some speculation such a list exists, and it's now called the "Anh List").

Until you absolutely have to, stay young.  Stay innocent.  Stay loving, uninhibited (although it's okay to NOT take off your undies and run through the house stark naked), and always love to laugh and make others laugh (you can do this without running around naked).  I love you all the time, even if we don't like each other 100% of the time.  

When will you go back to work?

Every year in December, Sam looks over our finances from the previous year.  In 2012, he let out a deep sigh, seeing what he'd made, what we had spent, and what he projected we should be spending vs. what we I really spend.  Then he asked me, with more seriousness than usual, "Do you think you'll be going back to work once Ethan is in school full-time?"  

My standard response since I quit my job as a scientist to take care of the kids (and discovered how much fun I was having) was "Is our house in foreclosure?"  

No, we are not at risk of losing our home.  You can let out that breath you were holding; we will not be asking you to take the whole lot of us in.  But, it made me stop and think, and then seriously look for a job.

Bingo.  My dream job was available - a research analyst with Shook, Hardy & Bacon, a very large law firm.  Quite obviously, the compensation would be very nice.  However, there would be travel.  Lots of it, and sometimes, with little notice.  I was 100% confident I would get the job, and decided to update my CV and begin the process.

Then I looked at Ally and Ethan.  Since missing a Mother's Day Tea when Ally was in preschool and realizing she was the only child without her mother that day, I swore I'd never miss another one of her events.  I volunteered regularly when she was in kindergarten, was in the classroom on a weekly(sometimes daily) basis in first grade, and tried to get on the volunteer schedule as frequently as possible this year.  She goes to school now, confident that if anything happens, I will be there.  Although I don't get to volunteer in Ethan's classroom, we get to spend a lot of time together, and it's so much fun to watch his language develop from 50 words a year ago to talking non-stop now.  Ok, I actually have a lot more enjoyment from tormenting him and making him scream at me to leave him alone.  He's talking.  Now, if only we could get him to give up the diaper...

Being with the kids is a lot of fun for me.  Sure, there are days they drive me insane.  I'm human.  To suggest it's always rainbows and butterflies is absurd.  There are days they probably wish I'd find a job and just go away.  But, I'm that weird bird who enjoys the summer days and breaks where I get to spend more time with them.  I just think the time where they love me so deeply and openly, believe I have all the answers, and all hurt is eliminated by a kiss and tight hug is so limited.  I feel that when I turn around again, I'll be packing Ally's things to go to college, and she'll never live at home again.  She'll only be a visitor.  So, I cherish this very short time with them.

But then again, things are costing more and I cannot spend less than I already do, trying to keep up with all the commitments and activities the kids are in.  We didn't get those luxuries as children, so Sam and I are determined to let our kids have that experience.  So, I started thinking seriously about the job, my stomach twisting in knots.

Just as I was putting the application together, Sam called with news that he'd received his bonus.  With tremendous relief, I put the application away, relieved to have another year with my babies. 

That was in December.

You dirty old louse.

Now that it's over, I can breathe normally and tell about it.

Last Thursday, I had lunch with a friend whose daughter is in the same grade as Ally.  It's nice when you are good friends with the parents of your children's good friends.  Not only does it make socializing with adults easier, you know someone else is looking out for your child when you are not around.  It's one of the things I love about our community.

Before her food even arrived, my friend was compelled by a self-professed moral obligation to disclose that she had found head lice on her daughter and herself.  I love this friend, whose anonymity in a rare move I shall respect, because she and I share views of what warrants us to go ape s*** ballistic.  As she described her experience of her discovery and subsequent desire to purge her home of this pest, we both started.  We itched, twitched, shifted in our chairs and soon, were scratching ourselves all over in a very public place with no shame for where the itches were suddenly erupting.  Mind you, we are women - we itch just like men; we are simply more discreet in how we manage it.  And I know that as you are reading this, your scalp is crawling, your neck is itching, your back feels like bugs are crawling up and down and your legs have an itch that seems to be behind the knees but when you scratch, there is no relief.

My poor friend was beside herself, and during the course of her story, revealed that she reached a breaking point and melted into a ball with heaving sobs.  My heart broke for her.  I had lice once as a child, and I know how horrific it can be to find it, and rid your home of it.

But as a helicopter concerned mom, I felt the need to take preventive measures and treated Ally's hair that night.  It had been a long time since my experience, but Sam and I were pretty sure we found a couple of live ones.  My reaction?

SWEET JESUS, MOTHER OF GOD, HOLY SAINT JOSEPH AND THE WHOLE ARMY OF SAINTS AND ANGELS WITH EVERYTHING ELSE GREEN ON EARTH!!!!!  How did this get into my child's hair and into my home?!!!

I combed and picked and pulled through that child's hair until she was in tears, Ethan cried in sympathy, and I suspect Sam wasn't far behind in the waterworks.  Although it was late, I stripped every single bed of every blanket, sheet, stuffed animal and began THE CLEANSING.

No exorcism could be as clean.

While the kids were crying because they were tired and wanted to go to bed, I began washing all the linens, vacuuming every square inch of the house, and came very close to boiling the kids to rid them of the pestilence.  Had I been around during biblical times, I doubt the locusts would have stood a chance. At one point, Sam got the nerve to squeak out the possibility that perhaps I was going maybe just a tad bit overboard.  When I turned in response, I did not see myself but I am pretty sure my eyes must have been blood red and my fangs bared with flames coming out from behind my hair as I was sprinting through the house with the vacuum in between cycles of the washing machine, all the while itching and twitching.  Because God forbid I should let the washing machine or dryer have a break during THE CLEANSING.

The next day, I went up the school to do some volunteer work, and was approached by the nurse.  Sam and I have endeavored to raise Ally to not be ashamed of anything about herself--how she speaks (she is exceedingly polite, so it's pretty easy at this point), looks, dresses or her choice of toys or games.  Our thought process behind this is to raise a confident child who recognizes that if someone judges her for something like that, they do not deserve her for a friend.

In an illustration of the effectiveness of our parenting, Ally announced to her class "I have lice!  My mom found bugs in my hair!!"  And of course, on that day of all days, her amazing teacher who is now very familiar with our family (I'll let you guess why.  One hint--it's not because Ally misbehaves) was absent, and the substitute panicked.  The nurse examined Ally's hair, and declared to me "She has a really bad case."

WHAT THE WHAT THE WHAT?!?!?!?!

"Please, show me what the devil you are talking about, because I just treated that child last night."

Turns out Ally has dry scalp that can easily be mistaken for nits if you have poor eyesight.  However, after a more intense search, she did find two nits, but determined Ally to be safe at school since I had preemptively treated her the night before.  I asked again and again and again if I should take Ally home and put her in an autoclave?  I think at this point, the nurse insisted I keep Ally at school for Ally's own safety because ape-s***-crazy-mama was back on the loose.

THE CLEANSING continued throughout the weekend.  I treated Ally again with prescription-strength shampoo on Saturday.  I vacuumed, washed, dried, dusted, polished, and sanitized everything in sight and a few things still in hiding.  Finally, on Sunday night, I collapsed onto my very clean bed and promptly fell asleep.  In the middle of the night, Ethan crawled into our bed as he sometimes does.  I did not care.  I was too tired to care.

Until he promptly peed.  All over my bed, pillows, down comforter, quilt, duvet, and sheets.  At least now, I am happy to report Ally is squeaky clean and free of lice.

Goodnight, Perry...

He was a funny little kid with his curly hair, button nose and his slightly darker skin that never meant anything to us other than he was a little different, just like the rest of us.  So, he welcomed us, we welcomed him, and being in the same grade, he quickly became friends with my older brother.  Of course, being friends with one of us meant you were friends with the whole pack.

The two of them made a funny little pair, both slightly chubby, both a little dark (one spending every spare minute fishing or playing outdoors), and both with a goofy sense of humor.  One of my most vivid memories was in the midst of a game of backyard kickball, he stopped, wrinkled his button nose, cocked his head to the side, declared "I smell rain", and sniffed the air the way a puppy sniffs when it detects something mysterious.  To this day, every time it's about to rain and I detect that distinct smell in the air, I think of Percy Crosley, or as he became known as an adult, Perry.


We reconnected on Facebook after not seeing one another for over 20 years, and all those intervening years melted.  He was the most attentive user, always responding quickly to any comment or post.  And, he was the most optimistic and positive person.  Every morning, he'd give an update on his plans for the day while enjoying a cup of coffee, ending that post with "Enjoy the day! Be blessed!"  His evening post closed with "Much love as always! Be blessed! Ciao!!"

Last week, we lost Perry after a long battle with pancreatic cancer that had hatefully spread.  Perry knew his days were numbered, but that did not stop him from living, and sharing his love.  He was never judgmental, and always gentle in expressing an opposing view.  Losing him hurts.  Really bad.  Nowhere nearly as bad as the pain he battled for so long, but it still hurts.  My only comfort is that I know when he passed, he knew he was loved and cherished by so many all over, and he was not alone.  Rest, my dear friend.  You were loved, as much as you loved.  When my daughter smiles, I know you are smiling.  When my son giggles as he thinks he has tricked me, I know you are giggling at me, too.  Rest, and I know I have someone looking after my family from above.  Much love to you, and thank you for your many blessings.  And for now, ciao.

Politics anyone? Not around me.

I am far too cynical to be an idealist, too goofy to be serious or taken seriously, and too realistic to think Rodney King's eloquent question will ever be answered in the affirmative.  There is one topic that I absolutely never discuss with anyone with any breadth of seriousness: politics.  Like everyone else, I have my own very specific views, and will not be swayed by propaganda, mud slinging or threats of impending doom if a certain candidate from a particular party wins the vote.  When I say I refuse to discuss politics with anyone, I mean EVERYONE.

As I have gotten older and have small impressionable children, I have tried to adopt a more simplistic approach.  One of my favorite authors for what seems like the last seven years is Dr. Seuss, and in his brilliant fashion, I will explain my view on discussing politics:

I will not discuss politics.

Not with my husband.

Not with my kids.

Not in my house, 

Not even with a louse.

Nor outside my abode.

Especially when weighed down with a load.

I won't talk politics today, tomorrow, or the next.

Not even if you wail and beat your breast.

I will not waste time to discuss such things

That make people seem they're barely hanging on by a string.

If you insist on sharing your views,

Avoiding the existence of other hues,

Do not be surprised or hurt

When I suddenly turn and punch your throat.

I will not discuss politics.

Ok, I really will not punch anyone in the throat, and it really does not even rhyme, but you get the idea of how I feel about this topic.

Safety in Suburbia

About once a year, we get a notice taped to our door.  For some reason, though I swear I have no reason to feel guilty, I always think it's an eviction, foreclosure, or notice of some kind of violation.  No.  It is this:

It is an offer, for a nominal fee,  to paint our house numbers on the curb with reasons why this is so important.  Apparently, the numbers on the house are not sufficient for the police or emergency personnel to find it, and they are delayed by having to use a searchlight.  I suppose that with the delay, by the time they reach you, you'll have given birth on your bathroom floor, your older children will have witnessed it, they will be traumatized and screaming while your husband is passed out and you're wondering when the devil are they going to get here?  Or, it's an intruder and the intruder has decided to let me live long enough to alert 911 and calmly give directions.  Alas, all that effort will have been wasted because they could not find my house.  Any number of potentially deadly and disastrous situations could be circumvented by paying to have my house numbers painted on my curb.

Here's my problem with this offer to increase my safety: The first time it was offered, it cost $25.  Now, it costs $10.  Is my safety cheaper to secure now?  Or is the paint cheaper, and hence, just another empty promise because the police are still going to use a searchlight to try and find me?  I have a neighbor who is very willing to come over to help me in the case of an intruder, and odds are, he'll get here before the police.  That is, provided I have the frame of mind to call anyone at all.  If I really did have the chance to call someone, it would be the coroner at that point anyway, and why should they rush?  I'd be better off calling a lawyer, and I've never known a lawyer to rush anywhere unless your name is O.J.

The only other reason I can think my house would need to be located quickly is in the case of fire.  I'm thinking if that were to happen, they'll easily locate my house by the flames billowing out the windows, me screaming like a lunatic in the yard, all my neighbors standing outside pointing and wondering "Why does her husband keep letting her buy candles?", and my kids thinking this is the best way ever to make s'mores.  Either way, I'd still need to call a lawyer.

I think I'll pass on this offer for now.  But maybe next year...

First Day of School with Many Firsts

This time of year always brings so much excitement to our home.  The summer heat begins to subside for the cooler Fall weather to slowly creep in, the grass that went dormant (or died) from the heat is showing promise that it's coming back, any leaves left on the trees not killed by the drought will change soon, and most importantly, a new school year means shopping for school supplies and new clothes.

I love it.  Or, I used to love it.

This year, I dreaded it.  I'm one of those rare birds who do not want to send my children off to school (but know better than to home-school them because I need them to learn more than cuss words).  This past summer, I saw more of Ally's personality emerge, and fought the balance of letting her become her own person vs. controlling her to prevent a monster-diva from emerging.  It was not easy, but often times fun and I think an ongoing project.

We saw an explosion in Ethan's speech.  In May, his speech therapist transitioned him over to the district, and we enrolled him into a preschool specializing in speech development.  When you add his expanding vocabulary with his already animated expressions, there is little need for cable (except for the Olympics--let us not forget the men's swimming and diving events).  Because his school is almost 2 miles away, he gets to ride on a bus to and from school each day.  I struggled with this, but decided to let him ride the bus because it was something unique to his routine, and I thought would add to the excitement of going to a new school.

But as we got closer to the day, the more my stomach hurt.  It literally hurt every night to the point I could not sleep.  Finally, the day came for Ally's first day.

Her nervousness made her wake well before her usual time, eyes brimming with tears when she came into my room.  Last year, she cried almost every single day, and I did not want to go through that again.  I had to lie and tell her the principal said there is no crying in second grade.  You can gasp and judge all you want, but a key to my parenting method is determining which lies will have long-lasting detrimental effects weighed against the benefits of said lies.  In this case, it worked!  She got moving and ready for school.

It is impossible for Ally to pretend to be impressed with my ideas.

Finally, a sweet and toothless smile I will always cherish, and she will always hold against me.

Once at school, she caught up with some of her best friends before they excitedly stormed the school.

Ethan did not know what to make of his sister's excitement to be with anyone other than him.

I believe she's telling me to get out and quit embarrassing her.

Once Ethan and I left, we loitered outside the school to catch up with other parents and their children.  Can you believe Ethan was the only boy in a sea of beautiful little girls?  That is one lucky little guy.

This is the sweetest little girl. She always looks after Ethan and makes sure he crosses the street safely.

This year was the closest I'd come thus far to shedding tears after seeing Ally off to school.  And, it was the first year she did not shed a single tear when I left.  I know she is in great hands; she has a wonderful teacher and a lot of old friends with the opportunity to make many new ones.  I am sad my little girl is growing up so fast, but excited and happy for her.

Ethan and I went home to enjoy our last full day together.  Because what hit us on his first day of school was unexpected.

This little clown told me "Take this, Mom!" and made this face.

This is his "happy face". Sure makes me laugh.

He was so excited, he refused to sit on the porch with me while waiting for the bus.

Once he got on the bus, he turned around and asked me "Mommy, you go, too?" This is when the unwelcommed and unsolicited lump formed in my throat and refused to leave.

And before I knew it, he was gone.  I couldn't stay another minute, and went inside, thinking I could pull myself together.  I could not.  Suddenly and without any preamble, the tears came and I started crying.  Sobbing.  Loud, snot-dripping, ugly-face crying.  I couldn't stop, no matter how hard I tried.  I even tried to scare myself into stopping by looking in the mirror, but that just made it worse.  Pathetic.

I solemnly swear to never laugh at another parent who cries on the first, last or any day in between of school.  I get it.  And I am sorry for all the jokes I made at your expense in the past.