The Misadventures of Halloween 2010

I know, I know. It looks like a perfectly fabulous Halloween, right? Evan's all-smiles while swinging at the pinata during a friend's birthday/Halloween party...

And they spent an hour or so gathering plenty of goodies on a crisp but comfortable October evening. Every child had a BLAST collecting enough sugar to keep our dentist in business till 2015 and hanging out at our friend's house.

"I know!" we said. "Let's go to the local haunted house! It's small and free and lots of fun for little kids!!"
Everyone was on board with this idea. We waited in line and checked out the front yard's spooky decor. Pretty cool. Spooky but not over-the-top. Evan liked walking up to random people with his mask and just staring at them. We laughed. We chatted. We warmed up our hands in our pockets.
We killed time taking silly pictures. What a fun night!
Moments before we walked into the backyard's haunted house, I convinced Evan that the set-up really wasn't that scary. After all, even Corinne went through it several times last year. And he could sleep in our bed if he was a little scared! Come on kid! You can do this!!

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Notice how there are no "after" pictures?

Ever try to carry an 8 year old through a haunted house? Ever try to stop your own screaming in the meat locker with devils and werewolves jumping out at you so that your bawling son won't be even more petrified? It's not an easy feat. But I pushed those bloody bags aside and dragged my kid through, all the while he's whimpering,

"I hate Halloween! It's scary! I don't want to ever trick or treat or dress up again!!"

Great. FABULOUS job, Tracey. I have unintentionally succeeded in assuring Evan's presence in our bed for another 3 or 4 years.

FYI, it's a great and free haunted house in Plainfield, IL. They collect food to feed the homeless instead of admission! It is definitely scary but very short, so if you want to see how your kids may react to an expensive haunted house, this may be a good starter spot.

Souls of the Forsaken - check it out next year!!

What I'm doing right this minute, not that you asked or even care...

I just cannot stop singing this song...



Every time that baby gets into the traffic I shake my hands in the air. Don't go in the street little baby!!! Don't they see him? Why aren't they pulling over and clearing the road?!? Babbbbbyyyyy!!!!

Picture me zooming around the house, pretending I have a baby walker. That's me as I hit "publish post."

A Swift Kick

My first post is up at Mamapedia!

~~~~

Just when I began to wallow yesterday in my own little pity party of financial woes and personal grief, I watched a recorded Oprah highlighting a couple who lost all 3 of their young children in a car crash. Bawling and furious with myself for the audacity I had to be so upset for so long, I released all of the pent-up shit in my heart and honestly thanked the universe for the blessings I DO have. I have the right to let the little things make me angry and annoyed. But I do NOT have the right to allow the tiny little blocks of strife to build up into a tower of supposed agony. The real tower of agony is one that those parents feel and carry with them every day.

So I gave my little blocks of irritating shit a swift kick and they tumbled down around my tear-soaked bedspread. They're still there. They're still irritating. But the tiny bumps in my life will NOT be permitted to become a road block.

Pre-teen

No longer attached to my side, days will pass where I realize I haven't had a real, honest hug from Justin. Nervous about my obvious lack of motherly attention, I rush to him and smother him with physical love. He doesn't pull away. He still returns the hugs and smiles at my weepy attempts to push his head below my chin, back where he belongs, beneath my heart and in my arms.

This is hard.

Harder than the sleepless newborn nights he gave me. Harder than potty-training. Harder than fractions. (that's saying a lot!) There aren't any manuals to tell you exactly how much space an 11 year old boy needs from his mother. It's impossibly easy to shower a toddler with love and attention. And as a pre-teen, Justin still wants our love and attention, but no longer walks up to me to proclaim his undying love for me. It's quite simple to let the time pass by without holding him to my heart and kissing his head. He appears to be content with a nod and a "Night, Mom" before he heads to bed but I still need that hug and kiss and hug again...

His life is already so removed from mine, despite the fact that I homeschool and we're together ALL THE TIME. I don't feel the need to monopolize his space, but it saddens me to realize that days may go by where I don't have conversations with him about anything but school, chores, bathing or treating his siblings nicely. How do I remain involved without crowding him? How do I give him the space he needs to independently explore his world without allowing a valley to form between us?

This constant push and pull of motherhood is what wears me down the most. These daily needs of the kids and the personal issues I have make it difficult to pay attention to the slippery sweetness of today. But between the packing of the winter clothes and the unpacking of the winter clothes, the haircuts, shoe sizes, friend conflicts, locations of books and socks... it all gradually pecks away at my ability to be still and focused on what is important to us as a family and that is our connection to one another.Today, I vow to be still. I vow to be beside him and witness his laughter at our Halloween party. I want him to know that I SEE him and HEAR his thoughts and LOVE him...

I am not a hostess

Sometimes I find myself in a state of anxiety so intense that a spilled glass of juice before a family party can send me into a freak-out tantrum much too similar to those of my kids. For some reason, preparing my home for a party puts me into a spiral of feminine hysterics. My apologies to anyone who is unfortunate enough to be within my scope of destruction. The fact that I hosted 4 parties in under 3 weeks is obviously a huge issue. I have noted it and clarified to my poor husband that multiple parties and events within our home within a short period of time are NOT GOOD FOR ME. Or our family. I sounded like Kate Gosselin in her early years of ripping Jon to pieces for not helping enough, not asking enough, not anticipating every single emotion and situation enough...

It wasn't pretty, guys. Not at all.

Sigh... I've apologized with a lovely epilogue of "but's" to clarify my pitiful reasons for being a banshee wife.

I hate when I do that. Apologize with a BUT. I should be able to say "I'm sorry. No matter what the perceived triggers for my anxiety and attitude, I shouldn't treat you that way." I should be able to end the apology there.

BUT.

But I ALWAYS seem to follow up with a but or a prettier version of a but:

"Maybe next time you can ask me what needs to be done before I get crazy?"

"I know you did a lot of work too, but if I'm still working and the kids aren't ready and you sit down to have a snack in front of the tv, it makes me feel anxious and that's why I freak out..."

That's nice. Place the blame for my own inability to control my emotions. Very adult.

It sucks when you realize ugly things about yourself, doesn't it?

Now I have to call him and apologize for real. Let's hope I don't have an explanatory sentence to follow it...

Five... It's a magic number!

I have 5 fingers on each hand.

5 toes on each foot.

There are 5 people in my family now,

and I grew up in a family of 5, as well.

5 days to look forward to the weekends.

I've been to Florida 5 times and

I've flown on a plane 5 times (not always to Florida!).

I have 5 nieces and nephews.

I am 5 feet (plus a little change) tall

and have lived in 5 different homes.


I just can't escape the magic of 5...


Today, she turns 5 years old....It's bound to be a magical year!

I am a genius

It's been a long week. Can I leave it at that?

(No. Of course not.) Without going into TOO much detail, just know that it's been a week of sharing 1 vehicle while transporting furniture, folding more laundry than you can possibly comprehend, baking and baking and baking and (FINALLY) welcoming a new nephew into our family!

(Whooot! A new nephew! He's adorable and I get to meet him tomorrow morning! Aren't my sister and brother-in-law gracious to provide me with a newborn to cuddle and spoil??)

We are all beat around here after spending the evening at the Annual Cub Scout Halloween party in the WOODS with glow sticks and fire pits and s'mores and pumpkins and children falling over logs. It was truly a fabulous time but absolutely exhausting!

I just needed a few moments to decompress at my computer and accept all of the Auntie congratulations that were extended to me on Facebook. Mere minutes into my decompression, I get the familiar page from Patrick:

"Oh, man! Trace, you have gotta come see this!! You won't believe it!"

He and the kids are watching some WWE wrestling thing. I can only assume someone made an incredible move that defies gravity and all common sense. I groaned because, really? I really am comfortable and and starting to relax and I really don't CARE about the wrestling moves. Instead of making them wait and wait and wait for me to trudge in and be unimpressed with the exercise I extended to witness the Most Awesome Guy Thing, I called back;

"So, if I come in there now, will you come and check out the really sweet and romantic thing I witness on the next show I am watching?"

A bit of silence and then,

"Probably not."

And Tracey remains in her comfy desk chair and all is right with the world.

End scene.

Another Milestone that Mommy wasn't prepared for...

Before the earring gun....

And after.

Not a tear.

At least, not from her...

Only smiles and giggles...

Calling the entire world to announce the new earrings that adorn her little ears.

I cannot believe she's almost 5...

It ain't fall till we've gone...

To our favorite pumpkin farm: Dollinger Family Farm in Minooka, IL.

Holy gourds, we love this place!

Climbing and jumping on huge bales of hay is always fun, but I recommend wearing long sleeves. Otherwise, your arms will look like those of a cutter...


When waiting for the Civil War Reenactment, Patrick gave a brief course on his little known talent of grass whistling...
We discussed the realities of war and the losses that have been suffered throughout the years. Watching a reenactment isn't about the cool cannons and rifles (though the boys do think they're neat). It's about making history REAL and tangible. It happened so long ago and seems so far removed that it can be difficult to comprehend what it must have really been like. Reenactments allow us to have a tiny taste of what was endured for our freedom and equality.
We watched the horrors of what a real medical tent might have looked and sounded like in 1865. I thanked my lucky stars that we now have the high-tech knowledge of SOAP to prevent infections... Shudders...
We relaxed by the blacksmith's shop and wagered on what he was creating. (this was also a chance to reinforce the proverbs that Justin and I had been reading: "Strike while the iron is hot").
We never do buy pumpkins, though the prices are good. I think we've decided that we are just not pumpkin carving people... Maybe next year?
Cheap face painting! Bring it on. My little butterfly was the cutest punkin in the patch...
Justin and I were drinking hot cider as we watched his siblings climb on the pirate ship playground.
And nothing makes a little kid happier than BUNNIES! Bunnies that you can PET and PICK UP!!!

Frighteningly enough, we almost came home with the sweetest little beagle puppy that was on display by the local animal shelter. Dude, I was thisclose to saying "yes" to their pleading eyes (Patrick's and puppy's included). I need to keep my wits about me around this family...

If that's not love, what is?

Love is a word that is thrown around a lot.

"OMG! I totally LOVE Edward! He is so HOT!!"

"I LOVE my fancy-schmancy-cell phone/computer/superhero contacting device that Tracey doesn't have!"*

But real love isn't so pretty. Real love doesn't always sparkle in the meadow or shine in a window display. Real love means accepting sacrifice and pain all for the joy you can bring to your beloved's eyes...

Real love is something you feel for someone so special, you'd spend hours making them Lite Brite hearts in the dark...
Real love means slaving over the iron, dewrinkling 9 shirts for your husband, even when ironing is your least favorite thing to do in the world (even lower than cleaning the toilets and cat box).

Real love is when your husband hears the PMS desperation in your voice after a long day of selling from your garage (We made $90 so far! Whoooot!!) and walks into the house with a box of Fannie May's raspberry creams....

~~
"Then you love me?!?"

"I suppose I do..."

"And I suppose I love you, too..." **
~~

*hint hint. I could really use a fancy-schmancy cell phone. With or without superhero contacting abilities....

**guess which character I was in that musical? Guess because I am seriously on a chocolate high and feel like finding out who else was a drama freak in high school...

Brighter Skies and Happy Clouds

Holy Cow. It's amazing what a little coffee and a working telephone will do for your mood. I'm sure the drop in temperature has played a part, too. For I am SO happpeeeyyyyyy today!! :DIt is GORGEOUS out!!

Ahhh...

The neighborhood kids are all home for Columbus Day and a teacher's institute day so my kids are off, too. It's too gorgeous and there are too many kids running around to try and get them to sit down and "do school." Instead, I gave Evan and his buddy a magnifying glass and a nature study booklet to record info on a dead grasshopper they found. Excellent. They are currently describing the texture of its guts.* If that's not hands-on education, I don't know what is! I'd also like to note that Justin just excitedly ran into my office:

"Hey, Mom? What was Abraham Lincoln's vice president's name?"

blank stare

"Ahhh... Um. I don't know. Check out our Presidential chart. The guy after Lincoln took over his office when he was assassinated."

He checks and reads...
"Hmm. Andrew Johnson? But I thought it was Hannibal Hamlin..."

"I don't think so, babe. Sorry."

his face is all confused and crestfallen...

"But I remember it!"

"Why are you asking?"

"There's a character on my video game named Hannibal Hamlin."

"Weird. Maybe it was his first running mate?"

By this time, his interest has waned and he is back in the family room, playing again. Curious, I Googled the name, Hannibal Hamlin and, sure enough, he was Lincoln's FIRST vice president! Hot damn. My kid remembered Abraham Lincoln's first vp's name! I am a totally AWESOME HOMESCHOOL MOM!! **Suspicions have been confirmed: I AM A NERD.

*For the uninformed, grasshopper guts are "slmey and gros with a crnche shel." I think we need to work on VOWELS a touch more...

** I can completely take credit for teaching him something I don't remember. I am absolutely fine with that. I am also trying not to recognize the fact that a video game may have just reinforced a historical fact. See how I can just block out shit like that? It's called a woman's prerogative. Look it up.

Ten to the Third

Damn, I'm in a pissy mood.

It's pretty obvious when I haven't posted in almost a week.

~ I hosted a jewelry party which I cleaned the ENTIRE house for. Holy shit. Naturally, it's a disaster again. I'm sure that can't have anything to do with the bitch I am today.

~ A family party for cousins I haven't seen in a few years (that rocked, though. Good food and good family.) was good. My kids loved rediscovering cousins that are the same age as them and Justin wants to write a reminder on the calendar for us to call them to hang out again. So. That's a good thing.

~ I'm trying to not be HOT in freaking OCTOBER. In ILLINOIS. I hate hate hate these last bursts of heat in the fall. HATE THEM. I am in a damn tank top and shorts on 10-10-10. What the hell?!? I don't want to shave my legs anymore. It's time to layer up and hunker down for the winter. I am ready to hibernate, not sweat.

~ My mood went completely down the poop chute this afternoon when Patrick waved goodbye to go watch the Bears game SOMEWHERE ELSE. That was a huge surprise and a royal disappointment.

~ I have banished Evan and Corinne to their rooms for about 30 minutes now which is why I have managed to plunk out these horrifically boring and trite sentences this afternoon. I had a sweet idea for posting a bunch of "tens" of things today in honor of the date stamp but screw it.

I need some coffee but it's 81 in my house. EIGHTY-ONE. In October.

Item# 4,371 on list of "Things I Never Thought I'd Do Until I Became A Parent..."

Why the long face, cutie pie? And why is your mom taking a picture of you beside a penny??
A COOKIE?!? Isn't that supposed to be for the jewelry party Mommy is hosting tomorrow night? How'd you manage to attain one of those? And at 8 pm to top it off?


Wanna know? Wanna know what I spent 20 minutes doing? Wanna know why I had my face a mere 3 inches from her behind (a dangerous spot to be!) while she pitifully cried and writhed in pain? Wanna know why I had to recruit Evan to sing her songs and stroke her hair as a distraction?

Wanna see the results of a daredevil daughter who slides down WOODEN railings of playsets when wearing a SKIRT?!?


That is only HALF of the HUGE ass* splinter that was literally STUCK into her bottom. The other half is still embedded in her booty cheek because after many tears (on both our parts) I determined that the remainder is just too far into her flesh for me to pull out with tweezers. I am slamming a beer tonight in hopes that her body will push it closer to the surface so that I can perform a splinter-ectomy in the next few days, otherwise it's off to the doctor's office for her.

Ah, Motherhood...


*Couldn't resist.

My Favorite Girl in the Whole Wide World...

I watched Corinne fall asleep last night.

Sigh...

Something that was so easy and common for years and years of parenthood is now a rarity that I needed to document. Ever try to watch a Big Kid or adult FALL asleep? It's kind of like a pot: you have to be incognito or it just ain't happening. And my baby is a Big Kid, guys. I mean, she'll be 5 years old in 19 days.Holy shit. I hadn't realized it was so close until I paused to count the days!

My baby! My YOUNGEST baby. My little girl...


"Rinny, stop growing up so fast!"

"I can't, Mommy!! I HAVE to eat, you know."

"I love that you're growing so big and strong, but it makes me sad to think that it's going so fast."

"Oh Mommy... I have to grow up. But you told me that no matter how big I get, I'll always be your baby, right?"

Gasp! My heart! I grabbed her long and lanky body and swung her around the kitchen.

"Yes, baby doll. You're my favorite little girl in the whole wide world, did you know that?"

Screaming with delight, she laughs and flings her head and arms into the spin. As we slow down, she wraps her muscular Big Kid arms around my neck,

"I know. And you're my favorite little Mommy, too!"
I am so proud of you, Corinne. Everything you are; confident, brilliant, compassionate, outgoing, athletic, creative, joyful, and did I say fearless? Everything you are took me over 30 years to master. You make me want to be a better person. You make me want to be a better WOMAN as your role model. I absolutely adore you, baby girl. Forever and ever, no matter what you do or where I am...

Now excuse me while I go snatch you up from your cozy covers and carry you around while I still can...

Babywearing Memories

Just another mommy, pitching in her two cents about baby slings and baby wearing...
My heart breaks for every parent who loses their child, be it due to product or user error...
If there truly are faults with ONE product, then that should be remedied, for sure...
But to think of the closeness and convenience that wearing my babies allowed and to think that it could be robbed from a future mother...
or father, makes me truly, truly sad.
I've never had a baby fall from a sling or get stuck in one, but I have had a stroller tip over WHILE my child was within it. I've also had situations where emergency required me to grasp my 3 year old by his arm before a car ran him over or to throw my arms out to balance myself while carrying Corinne in a sling. Had I been carrying my daughter in my arms without the extra support of the sling, she could have easily gotten hurt as Evan was when he was being carried in my arms. I slipped on the stairs and couldn't stop myself. Though I tried to protect us both, his little body was flung from me... ..and after much screaming and x-rays, it was determined that his sweet 1 year old leg was broken. A sling might have prevented that injury... So, which is safer? My arms, a stroller, or a sling?The only options I had back when the boys were babies was a backpack carrier and a Snugli, both of which killed my back and weren't feasible after 20 pounds or so.
The sling, though? My little girl was a breeze in it up to age 3 and still, at almost 5 years old, STILL talks about how she loved being my little Koala bear in the sling.

Babywearing memories are something I'll always treasure. Please link up to Adventures in Babywearing to share your babywearing stories or photos. Visit the BCIA and contribute your support over there, too. Our voices need to be heard as the big wigs of baby safety are discussing what the future of babywearing is...

Question for the weekend readers:

If a neighbor yells at your child, and I mean YELLS as in extremely angry, harsh tone, with an accusatory, direct order to "Come here NOW!" and you are witness to it, what do you do? Take into consideration that your child and his child were playing very roughly in the yard. Both have different versions of what happened where his child claims to have been handled too roughly (which I totally believe) but your child claims that the friend was totally involved in the wrestling match and was sitting on your child's head.

I KNOW, right? Soap opera in the backyard, eh?

I try to stay out of things as much as possible. I have stated, NUMEROUS times to all the children that if you are rough-housing, you are accepting that you may get hurt. I have also repeatedly stressed to my child that he is incredibly rough and needs to tone things down. I have also told the neighbor child that if he plays this way with my son, he has to know that things may get too physical for him, so maybe he shouldn't play rough with my son?!? I've told the parents the same. We've all agreed that my kid doesn't always know the limits so their much smaller child shouldn't be playing rough with the other boys in my yard.

And yet.

And yet, they still wrestle and play football despite the head and a half my kid has on theirs. And things still get out of control, but it is NOT entirely my son's fault!

Faults aside, though, it all comes down to the way someone else is entitled to speak to your child. I would NEVER speak the same way to their children the way he speaks to my son. Only if the said kid was in extreme danger or in the act of committing a heinous act against another child would I raise my voice at someone else's kid like that.

Keep in mind that:

a. I am not a person who will do a "hand in your face, don't you talk to MY CHILD" kind of person. I may not be mild-mannered, but I don't feel that rudeness is necessary as much as the world seems to.

b. We live within very close proximity to this family. They are our friends. We may have different parenting philosophies and lifestyles, but neither of us are perfect. We help each other out and usually get along fairly well. I want to continue this, not destroy it!

c. My son was crying today because I was reminding him about not playing rough with this child. He cried because he said the father doesn't like him, is always yelling at him, and he just wants to play with his friend.

Help!