No. I See the Car Wash.

If I rated my patience level today on a scale of one to ten, it would be about a....well....

HALF.

I knew from the moment I woke up and could hear my heartbeat in my eardrums that it was going to be a long day.
My blood pressure had to be approximately 250/185.

I hadn't slept well.

It's hard to sleep well when every two hours you wake up to find you are sequestered to the right 1/6 of the bed because your four year old has snuck in somehow, AGAIN, and is taking up all the space.
Half of Justin's body was on the floor.

We have asked her before how she justifies laying diagonally for hours in a bed that is not hers and she just replied,
"That's just how I sleep here."

We carry her back.
She shows back up.
A preschool Houdini, of sorts.

And you never feel her get in.
She's a night time ninja.

I had to get up early to greet my new daycare baby Jaxson who comes at 7:15.
A perfectly acceptable start time for most humans.
MOST who are not of the opinion that morning should start at approximately 10:00am.

I just felt off

I was crabby. Snappy.

And coffee didn't help, either.
Then I was just crabby AND cracked out.

What about put me over the edge today was the constant eating the kids did.
Literally every 10 minutes I was being beckoned to find crackers or locate yogurts that weren't 'too cold.'
The moment I'd get settled from making one snack, they'd ask for another.

ALL DAY.

The list of things Tessa ate went something like:
* An entire adult sized bowl of cereal
* three bowls of bunny crackers
* a cheese stick
* a Greek yogurt
* a quarter of a watermelon
* 20 strawberries
* a turkey and cheese melt on whole wheat
* 3 graham crackers
* 3 cups of juice
* one glass of milk
* one glass of water

And that was all before noon.

And also I'm not even kidding.

The neighbors probably thought I was doing some sort of child deprivation as I yelled out, "Don't even THINK of asking for another snack before lunch."

Then I had the GENIUS idea to skip nap time today and just put them to bed early.
After all, we were going to have to take Alena to the orthodontist at 3:00 anyway and why cut into their nap time to drag them out? Why not just let them stay up?

Bad, horrid, awful, wretched plan wrought with woe.

After the snacking, the whining started and NEVER STOPPED.

"Mama! Tessa won't leave me alone in the bathroom!"
"Mama! Tessa's trying to wipe me!"
"But I don't want to wear pants!"
"I want to squish the snails first."
"But I don't LIKE those shoes."
"Mama! Tessa's eating MY snacks!"


But all of these complaints, as silly as they sound, PALE in comparison to the meltdown of the day award that goes to Tessa for the fit about....drum roll, please......


WHO GETS TO TELL MAMA THEY SEE THE CAR WASH.

Beloved family game.

The girls play this game daily. Every time we're parked at the corner of Piner and Coffey Lane, one of them yells out, "I see the car wash!" and they giggle.
After all, car washes are quite hilarious, no?

Well today, Chloe saw the car wash first and was first to report sending Tessa into an absolute crisis mode. There was snot. There were tears. There were swollen, and I think possibly glowing red eyes.
She seriously needed some sort of hotline to call because that girl came unglued.

"CWOWIE!!! I WANTED TO TELL MAMA I THEE THE CAR WASH FIIIRRRRSSSSTTTTT!"

Pretty sure you could see the van rocking from behind.

And that's when I completely lost it.

"Tessa! Stop! I see the car wash! I ALWAYS see the car wash. As a matter of fact, I see the car wash before EITHER of you because I ride in the front. I see it every day. But say it! Say it now! Tell me again. Tell me a MILLION TIMES THAT YOU SEE IT, but after that NO ONE gets to tell me they see it. Only I get to say it. I see the car wash! I SEE THE CAR WASH!!!!!!!!"


And then that thing happened to me. That thing where you re-hear something you've just said and you cannot believe you just said it. You can't believe that ridiculous thing came out of your mouth. You hover above your own body for a bit.
I wondered how I had just had a nervous breakdown over a car wash, and had I REALLY yelled out "Don't even ask for another solitary crumb" earlier?

I daydreamed of a random safari truck screeching by and having a hunter shoot me in the carotid artery with a tranquilizer gun rendering me unconscious for at least two hours.

I thought about being drugged and abducted and put in a trunk and whisked away for ransom.

Both of these options lending a nap, at least.

I stepped on the gas.
Tessa's head spun around.
We pulled into the driveway.

She was still muttering some unrecognizable sentences as she vibra-breathed.
Something about a balloon. Something about shoes. Something about the car wash.

For a brief second, all I could think about was lemonade.

Then I hustled their little butts upstairs so fast there may have been smoke.

I helped them brush their teeth. I didn't even care this time that they only brushed for 20 seconds and most of that was spent sucking the toothpaste and trying to brush the cat with their spin brushes.

Jammies flew on.
I sang the worlds fastest and probably least settling lullaby.
Then I kissed them goodnight, threatened their lives if they called for me and pulled the door closed.

But not before Tessa meekly muttered,
"Mama.....Can I have a banana?"
Which I pretended not to hear.

Especially since she'd had two actual dinners. Full. With sides.

I know it may sound mean and unmotherly, but it was primal survival at that point.

I have few plans for tonight.

One is to lay flat on my back as far away from the kitchen as possible - well - maybe not. That would be Alena's room and a pre-teen's room is frankly scary.

Another is to watch copious amounts of TV. TV that does NOT include singing or dancing or animated penguins. Not even a HUM of Chim-Chim-Churi.

And last, I will google "Mini Refrigerators" so that I can fill one with perfectly proportioned cheese-its and juice boxes and who KNOWS what else. Whatever's on coupon, I guess. 6 for the price of 5.

Because I'm sure we'll end up on a talk show for SOME reason some day.

Might as well be that.

Two Trailer Park Girls

Today I took the crew to my friend Beth's house to meet her new baby boy.

Adorable, perfect, squish faced little boy.

It was great to meet him and see how her other two kids have grown.
Great to see her new home and her lovely life.
It was great to make fun of her for the extensive and very adult looking encyclopedia library she has in her also adult looking "sitting room."

It was even better to see her.

I don't know what happens to us moms when we have families.
We get so sucked in that we barely have time to pluck our eyebrows on the same day we shave our legs, let alone make plans for coffee with a friend.
But Beth is a good friend. One of the best, actually.

When the door opened and she was standing there, our eyes met with a look of glee/desperation that only another stay at home mom knows.
The look that says,
"Oh thank God you're here. Please never ever leave me."

She passed off the baby. The girls shoved through and
threw off their shoes, made quick introductions and then ran off to fight over whatever they could find to fight over.
Which was everything.

We almost had to reintroduce ourselves it had been so long.

"Hi. My name is Kerri. I like coffee, writing, cooking and ACTUAL ADULT CONVERSATION THAT DOES NOT INCLUDE ASKING IF YOU NEED TO GO POTTY EVERY 20 MINUTES."

It was great to catch up, and also funny, because when it's an old and dear friend, it really doesn't matter how much time or life has passed.
You slip back into friendship as if it were a favorite pair of house slippers.

We laughed about how life had changed and then both of us fogged over and were transported.
Suddenly we were taken back to a place and time before all of this.
Before the nursing bras and nap time meltdowns.

A happy place.

When I first met Beth we were in our early 20's.
I had been attending a Bible study at a friend's house and she started coming with her then fiance.
Then.
At first, I thought she was quiet and demure. Shy. Meek.
Nice enough to study the book of John with, but not my type of friend for actually hanging out and long conversations.

Kerri is to demure as oil is to water.

That winter, the Bible study group planned a trip to Tahoe to stay in a cabin and snowboard and ski. Apparently we were also there for sleep deprivation and laughing so hard that it caused actual physical pain lasting for days.
I remember having to rub my jaws for days after that trip because of laughing so much.

Beth came along sans fiance.
Something I thought nothing of, really, until 2 nights in when she ambushed me in the downstairs bathroom of the cabin when no one else was around.
I walked in unsuspecting.
She closed the door behind me.
Click.

We hadn't even talked before, really.
That apparently didn't matter.
She was scrubbing her face so hard I thought she would remove skin. Possibly even connective tissue.
Her eyes looked like a caged animal and I thought I may need to call for help.
I didn't want to end up on the news or anything.
I knew how things like this could go. I'd seen CSI.

I didn't say a whole lot as she barricaded the door, but then she just started unloading.
She must have taken a dose of Meek-Be-Gone, because she talked.
And talked.

And talked.

She bore her soul while I just sat there and blinked and then she asked for advice and I gave it. Thus began our pattern.

One thing I'm good at is opinions. It's a gift.

That weekend, as we left, I had a new friend for life and she had, well, broken up with her fiance.

And they lived happilly ever after.

Thus began the pattern of us sequestering ourselves in small spaces and talking through major life decisions with ferver.
Mostly it was me listening as she told me all her grand proclamations and new plans.

The plan to buy her convertible.
The plan to sell her convertible.
The plan to get a dog.
The plan to get rid of the dog after it leaped from the aforementioned convertible onto a freeway overpass while she was driving.
The plan to drive across country with a boyfriend to live at a skydiving school in New York in a commune style tent and sky dive all the livelong day.

That one didn't last long.

It was a great couple of years.
Both of us single and carefree.
Years full of rap music and emailing back and forth when we should have been working.
We pierced our noses together.
She was the church secretary - which was hilarious in itself.

We used to barbecue every other day and stay out all night.
We once totally swept a contest on the radio for concert tickets by writing the most fabulous rap, ourselves, about why we should win.
We went out dancing.
We camped.

It was basically completely awesome.

...........And that's what we were both thinking as we sat there holding the babies.

Remember the days.....

They are days that are still in us, though.
We could never be the type to completely let that go in exchange for bouncy seats, sippies and bibs.

She even said to me,
"Ker, in your expert opinion..."
and then I held my breath for what she thought I was an expert in.
Sweat pants?
Banging one's head against the wall?
Best possible stain remover for dog vomit?

"Did my hair look better with highlights or how it is now - solid color?"

Oh thank GOD.
I have not lost it completely.
She is actually CURRENTLY looking at me and STILL values my opinion on hair.
All is not lost.

I'm glad, because there is a list of things that we vowed to never give up:
1) Good haircuts
2) Fashionable dress - at least 70% of the time.
3) Making SOME time for who we are. As women. Not just as moms.

Maybe it's something simple, like keeping a copy of Lucky magazine in the bathroom for you to thumb through while you wait for you toddler to finally go poop instead of just sitting there playing with the toilet paper roll.
"That's enough. I SAID that's enough."

Maybe it's just making sure the spit up is at the very least BLENDED into your hair so that the line of stiffness because of wax vs. stiffness because of vomit is too blurred to tell.

Maybe it's STILL doing cat eyes even if you ARE only going to Pinercrest Park for the 40th time this month. Even if you are also wearing yoga pants.

The Kerri I am now with my three kids and husband and spinning dog is my best Kerri.

It's the one I've wanted to be since the time I was old enough to talk and tell people what I wanted to be when I grew up.
This has always been it. I wouldn't trade it for anything.

But I'm also Kerri who likes Hip Hop.
Kerri who likes driving with the windows down at night with my music turned up.
I'm Kerri who doesn't want to come in when the sun goes down.
Who likes black nail polish and girl time and not being beckoned before I'm good and ready.
I sometimes want a hoop where my nose stud is.
I like 8 Mile.
A LOT.
I like pool parties, and a good glass of red.

Today, bathed in children and burp cloths and memories,
Beth reminded me again of who I am, and that me is more than just one thing.

I'm a great mom - (Despite what Alena may have thought at the park on Saturday.)

But sometimes even moms need a good bass beat.

Just Keep Spinning

Today was Family Fun Day.
A title SOME members of our family feel is a loose term.
The sun was shining. We were all home. We had even woken up early - And if you know us, that is no small feat.

The plan was to go shopping at the outlet malls and then stop off at Leghorn Park in Petaluma.
The greatest park ever. State of the art. Fun for all ages.
At least, I marketed it as such.

The outlets were successful for the most part.
Alena needed new shoes for running.
Not that she normally DOES a lot of running, but it's something I'm trying to encourage.
Activity for more than just her thumbs, and the like.

She, Justin, my Mom and even Tessa found shoes.
Of course, Tessa ALWAYS finds shoes. They may not be in her size and they may look like they belong on a hooker, but she finds them and parades around expressing how beautiful she is.
She had three boxes strewn out at Nike.
One was a Men's 11.

I found sunglasses to replace the ones that Tessa had stretched so far beyond recognition that they almost made a straight line when you opened them up.
The ones that fall off my head every time I bend over.

We enjoyed the sun and almost pierced Tessa's ears, until I started thinking that I really didn't want the 14 year old girl at Claire's who was manning the registers alone to do it.
She looked busy enough with her gum.

So far so good.
I had remembered snacks and water and Tessa's pull up was still dry.
Overall good.

Our day was working out. No one was screaming. Tessa and Chloe were getting along. All beginnings of meltdowns were quickly stifled with bribes of the lollipops I had in the car if the girls were good.

I know. I know.
Questionable Parenting 101.

Then we loaded up our treasures and went to the park.

And that's where it all unraveled.

Within 2 minutes of being there, Tessa was crying. She had hit her head on the way down the slide, which was no wonder, being that it was shaped like a twirly straw and very very steep.

Alena handed me the coffee my mom had just bought me from the Starbucks on the corner and I promptly spilled it down her shirt.
Mortifying for any pre teen.

As I comforted Tessa and dabbed Alena, I looked closely at Chloe who'd been super moody all day to notice that yes. I DO believe she has pink eye.
Diagnosis confirmed by oozy bright red puffy eye.
Fabulous.
"Chloe. Don't rub it."
"I'm not." As she stood there - RUBBING IT.
"You are. You are right now, actually."
"No I'm not!" Then she started crying.

During all of this, Alena stood quietly by. All was fairly well until she spotted the spinning cup and decided to try it out while we all had our backs turned.
After all, the child in it before her was only roughly 8 months old and THEY seemed to like it.

Hindsight is 20/20, Alena.

She got in and got it going and couldn't get it to stop.
Around and around and around she went.
I actually don't know how long she was going before I saw her there, but when I went over with my mom all we could do was laugh at her when she said,
"Mama! Help! I can't stop it." as she went around over and over again.

I dug for my camera.

SHE says I then said, "I'll help you, but I want to shoot a video first."

Something which I will neither confirm nor deny.
I did end up with a video, though.

I was laughing so hard at the whole scene that I didn't want it to stop.
Something in me wanted to spin it MORE.
I didn't, but I wanted to.

My mom and I were both crying we were laughing so hard.
My mom was doubled over.
I thought the rise in the tone in Alena's voice meant SHE was laughing, too, maybe.

No?
I couldn't really tell.
Her face was so blurry because of all the spinning.
It makes emotion recognition hard.

When I finally did stop her, I realized she was crying and even then I could not stop laughing.
It was sort of laughing because she was crying over spinning in a baby spin cup. Then it was laughing because I was laughing.

She was so embarrassed and mad at me that she kept crying, but she wanted to hide her face so she kept going behind me to try to bury her face in the back of my neck, I guess, but I kept turning to talk to her and she kept still trying to remain behind me, so she was, in essence STILL spinning, which made me laugh again.

She was saying between sobs, "I asked you to help me and you just laughed at me."

I couldn't tell a this point if the other families at the park were staring because they thought it was funny and Alena was overreacting, too, or if they thought I was the worst mother in the world and they were contemplating calling CPS.

Probably the latter, but I'm comfortable with my decisions.
She was literally falling apart.
So angry that she wouldn't look at me.

And maybe that was a GOOD thing for her because I did NOT look good. Multiple days of rain and then a sunny windy day make a perfect allergy storm. I had already sneezed about 400 times - and that's not even an exaggeration - and my eyes now looked somewhat like the Elephant Man from all the allergies and, well, LAUGHING.

To a random onlooker, we were probably both a sight.
We probably both looked like we'd been sitting on the park bench sobbing together. Add my mom bent over trying to catch her breath and Chloe's big swollen red eye and we must have looking like we walked right out of a Normal Rockwell.

The only way I got Alena to smile again was to sit on the bench with her, and tightly bear hug her, while I did the most loud and exaggerated sneezes on her possible.
Open mouthed sneezes.
All the other kids were staring with big wide eyes.
I finally saw a smile. A very short one.

When she was calmed, I called and unsuspecting Justin over to the spin cup and told him to sit in it and try it out.
Oh man. I wish I had gotten a video of THAT one because he almost had the same reaction as Alena.
I think he even tried to kick at me once as he yelled for help.

Later, he and Alena sat on a bench together looking like they'd both throw up.

My mom and I sat on another bench trying not to let them see we were still laughing.

Maybe I AM the meanest mom in the world. But why even HAVE kids if you can't laugh at them sometimes?
There have been TONS of times I've laughed at the kids' misfortune.
I'm just not one of those moms that swoops in every single time there's the slightest issue asking, "Oh, Honey! Are you OK?!"

I think our society is already full of complainers and the overly entitled and sometimes it's just reality that things aren't always perfect.

Sometimes you can't stop spinning.
Life lessons, by Kerri Green.

Alena thinks I just laugh at her, but she's completely forgetting that I laughed at Chloe the other day as she walked right into a glass door while we were all on the other side because she was looking to her left instead of in front of her.

Or the time Phoebe threw up and Tessa stepped right in it with bare feet and came hopping to me with her foot held up because it "had yuckies."

All good for a laugh.

I tried telling Alena that you HAVE to learn to laugh at yourself.
It's CRUCIAL in life.
You have to have a sense of humor or your insides dry out.
Why else would I have posted my own personal tale of thinking the doctor's office urine cabinet was a high tech automatic hand dryer and how I waved my hands under it for a full minute thinking it was broken before I saw the "Place urine samples here" sign?

Maybe it's genetic.
My Aunt Toni is known for laughing if she sees someone get hurt.
My mom still needs to see a counselor for her emotional wounds over Aunt Toni dying laughing as my mom cut her food on some metal and bled all over the basement.
She tells the story often as she stares off into the distance.

I'm not alone, though.
It's the whole reason America's Funniest Home Videos has existed for so long.

Sometimes it's just FUNNY.
I guess I just don't get it.

Maybe I'm too far removed from my pre-teen years to remember the agony.

The same way I don't get how Chloe, upon getting home from the park, cried actual tears when she flushed the potty and the
water didn't refill all the way like it should have.

CRIED.
She said she was scared of it.
What?!
Upon further review, I realized she's been scared of the toilet and flushing issues ever since I read her a children's book we have about a boy who puts too much water in the bathtub and then floats through his town, with his tub as a boat. There's something about fire and a police officer, too, but I don't remember...

I assured her she was not going to set sail in toilet water and told her to stop her fit.

Maybe I am just the meanest mom in the whole world. Maybe I've damaged her for life. I'm quite positive it's something that she'll always hold on to and will bring up one day when she's 25 and in therapy for all the other things I've done to her. Isn't that how we ALL are?
I remember things from my childhood that were probably equally as life altering to me at the time.
Forever changed my course and all that.

Later, after we got home and the girls napped, My mom and I drove to Target.
We rounded the off ramp and my mom said,

"Is it still in your purse?"
"Yep."

I pulled out the camera and we watched it again.
Four times.
I'm sure she'll hate me forever, but MAN that is funny stuff.

The Graduate

It's official.
I am the mother of a Jr. higher.

I may look calm and collected, but believe me,
I'm scared.

It really set in when we arrived at Hessel Church for the actual graduation and I laid eyes on all the girls graduating 6th grade.
What had happened to them?
They all looked like Amazons.
Well, awkwardish, giggly, eye-rolling Amazons.
Which was funny because all the BOYS in the class looked like they'd just come from the Shire.



We sat up close for optimal photographic documentation.

That, and I wanted to be sure Greg Dabel, the World's Tallest Man, didn't sit in front of me again this year.

Chloe sat with anticipation at seeing Alena up front and at hearing the songs.
Her hands in her lap. Her eyes sparkling as she recognized other kids.

Tessa - not so much.
Tessa found a hymnal and rifled through the pages. LOUDLY.
Tessa climbed on the backs of the pews like she was on a rock climbing wall.
Tessa pulled her pants legs up to her thighs.
Tessa drew on my skin and cheek with a pencil.
I never thought I'd hear myself say, "We don't draw on Mommy with pencils."



The program began in its usual way.
With the Pleasant Hill Christian School hand bell recital. Gloves and all.
And Yes.
Hand bells still exist in this century.

This particular hand bell recital was even MORE special, however, because it required audience involvement to "imagine" the F sharp.
That particular bell had somehow gone missing;
An event that caused a 5 minute delay and awkward facial exchange between the teacher and the smallest student.
(Who happened to look strikingly like one of the Sister Wives - but that is a whole other story.)

Through the whole recital, Justin kept drawing large imaginary question mark symbols on my back with his finger - Something we do when one of us doesn't understand what on earth is going on and we aren't in a place to vocalize it.
I kept wiggling free and telling him to stop.
That people behind us could see him doing that and "What if that's THEIR child you're question marking about?!"
He question marked the boy in chest high pants.
He question marked the hand bell teacher's homemade music note vest.
He question marked various odd parents.

The graduation followed suit with the standard collection of songs and dances.
If you can call what Jr. highers do singing and dancing.
It's more blushing, looking at their peers and hair flipping.

I was beginning to think the wad of toilet paper I'd grabbed in the bathroom before hand when I couldn't find a box of tissue wasn't going to be necessary.

But then the real stuff started.
PHCS always gives kids awards for academic achievement and for character trait.
This year Alena got an award for reading and for encouragement. I was very proud.

Then the teacher announced that they would now be giving out the President's Award for Academic Excellence - an award that required an A average for the previous 3 years straight.
The award would only be going to two, and those kids were.......
Nathan Flood and ALENA SANTORINEOS!

Whistle.
Scream.
THAT'S MY DAUGHTER!



I pulled out the toilet paper.
Good thing I hadn't lined my lower eyelids.

That was my kid.
I had bred genius!

At least ONE of them was safe, I thought, as I looked over at Tessa who was now trying to eat an offering envelope.

Then when I looked at Chloe she leaned to me and whispered,
"I farted. Can you smell it?"

Oh well.

One at a time.

Next they showed the slide show of pictures spanning from when the kids were in kindergarten to sixth grade.
More tears.
That was my baby up there with her chin length A-line and excited brown eyes.

Justin leaned over to me to whisper, "Are you CRYING?!" and when I looked at him to shoot him a dirty look, I realized he was smiling and crying, too.

So now she passes from child to pre-teen.
From a world of fun and fancy-free to boy drama and frustrations.
If she's anything like me, learning the various rock formations will take backseat to things like if no one commented on her new outfit or making sure every.single.hair. in her bangs is perfectly side swept.

It doesn't matter if her fingers constantly on them make them look like an oil slick - At least they're all to the right.

I just can't believe I'm old enough to have a Jr. higher.

True, I did start earlier than most of my peers, but still - I feel like I'm just NOW getting the hang of the adulthood stuff and even THAT is hit and miss.
I have no earthly clue how I'm supposed to guide a young mind solidly through the mires.

Most of the time the instructions I'm giving were pulled out of you-know-where and I just say them in a way that make me SOUND like I know what I'm talking about.

The lower and firmer the tone, the more you know.

Most of the time I have to google her homework questions.

Basically - It's a crap shoot.

But apparently, my aim is good, because she's turning out rather well.
She is beautiful, helpful, caring, and respectful.

The other two - Well - That remains to be seen.

We'll have to wait to see if Chloe can make it through school without falling apart over every imperfect grade or if, heaven forbid, someone else gets to take the class pet home for the summer. I can just see her lunch sack doubling as an anti-hyperventilation tool.

We'll have to hold our breath and just HOPE Tessa doesn't get expelled for reckless endangerment of other students or graffiti and arson.
How many notes will get sent home?
How many teachers will seek early retirement?

I just know, as I've said before, I'm getting what I deserve, as most all my report cards said something along the lines of:
"Kerri is a very good student, but needs to work harder to stop bothering other students during class time. Likes to talk a little too much."

But what did they know.
They weren't so great.
What kind of REAL teachers suspend a second grader for "witchcraft" because she tells some kids on the playground that she has a secret potion that can make you shrink back at home?
Isn't that just a KID thing?
Pshhh.

In our house mischief equals spirit and spirit equals endless possibility.

So reach for the stars, girls.

We Greens are bred for greatness.

Even if greatness is picking its nose.

To See or Not To See

It's amazing to me how two children with the exact same parents -
Exact same genetics -
can be so vastly different.

This was already obvious to me with Chloe and Tessa.

Chloe - The princess. Hesitant. Skeptical. Moody.
Tessa - The biker chick. Adventurous. Independent. Comical.

But what has made it the most obvious is something I never would have expected.

Owls.

Right now there is a family of Great Horned Owls nesting in a tree located beside the swimming hole at Spring Lake. It's been newsworthy. In the paper. People are talking.

My friend Wendy told me about it and I thought it would be cool to take the girls to see them.
I pushed past my own personal and possibly irrational fear of birds and thought that it would be good for them to experience nature up close.

Two days ago I announced my plan of owl adventure to them and the reaction I got was completely unexpected.

Chloe's expression went from calm to terrorized in 3 seconds.
Her knuckles were white.
Her skin was clammy.
She pressed her body deep into her chair almost as if she was hoping it would open up and swallow her whole and she would never have to discuss an owl ever again.


"Chloe. What's the matter?"
"I don't want to see those owls."
"Why not?"
"I don't like them. I don't want them to fly out in the air and come by me."

I decided to drop the conversation, until Tessa came screeching into the room shouting,
"I want to thee them! I want to thee those owls! I'll come with Mama!"
and then started for her shoes.

I explained that we were not going right that very SECOND, and she started to cry. She really really wanted to go.
I stifled her with some watermelon.

I thought it was sort of over for the day until five seconds later when Chloe said,
"Mama, when you go see the owls can I stay with Daddy?"
"Mama, I don't want to see owls at night."
"Mama, I don't want to see owls in the morning."
"Mama, Who else will go with you to see the owls?"
"Tessa, you and Mommy are going. I'm staying with Daddy."
"I don't like the owls."

When we left our friend's house later that night, as I buckled her into her car seat she said with sleepy half opened eyes,
"Mama, NOW are you going to see the owls while I stay at home with Daddy?" This was hours and hours after the initial conversation.
Enough with the owls.
I wish I never mentioned it.

That night, before bed, we said her usual prayers with a special request that I pray that no owls would enter her room, or her dreams. That God would miraculously erase all owl awareness from Chloe completely.

To no avail.

She spent the entire night in our bed from 2:30 on because she was having
"owl dreams" and didn't want to stay in her bed.

I couldn't figure out what the problem was until I realized that to a four year old the name Great Horned Owl could actually sound pretty frightening.
Her little mind imagining some 30 foot monster with horns and a sharp beak coming at her in the dark and swooping her up then coughing out her skeleton.

I wouldn't want to go see that either.

Tessa, however, was the exact opposite.

When people would call on the phone, she'd ask to talk and one of the first things she'd mention were the owls she was going to see.

"Hi Auntie Witha. We going to thee owls."

Basically, Chloe wanted to picket for complete eradication of all owls worldwide and Tessa wanted to change her name to Owl Green.
That's how different they are.

I have illustrated this difference.
This is what Chloe thinks when she hears Great Horned Owl:



And this is what Tessa thinks:



I guess it's the same in many families. I just think it's so funny.

My brother and I were no different.
He was smart and sciency, drawing blueprints for inventions on napkins at restaurants and I was doing, well, COOL things.
Fun things.
Things that didn't get me thrown in school trash cans by thugs named Branch.

But really, I wouldn't want them to be the same.
Two Chloe's would be more mood swings than one family could handle.
Two Tessa's and no man would be left standing.

Our differences are what make us unique.
Special.

Today we drove to the Lake.
I got the girls out of the car while Chloe yammered off questions.
"Where are we going?"
"Have we been here before?"
"What's that big hole?"

I told her we were going to look at the lake.
When we got close to the lake, I told her we were going to look at a tree.
When we got by the tree I told her that we were actually CURRENTLY seeing the owls and "See - That's not scary."

I held my breath.

Then she smiled at me and said,

"I wasn't scared. I was just kidding. When can we come back?"

Bloodhound Retirement

I have figured out that it is a reoccurring theme in my life to be forced to look for something that someone else lost.

Today, It was Justin's wedding band.
This morning he came downstairs with a worried expression saying that he had just realized that after he (and this is where my confusion started)
"let Tessa play with his wedding ring last night"
he never got it back.

I stood there for a second soaking it in.
Trying to work out in my mind why on earth you would give a two year old something that cost $500, is a symbol of your vows, and is also the size of a quarter.
I don't even give her more than 20 raisins at a time because I don't trust what she'll do with them.

I flashed to the Everybody Loves Raymond where Ray loses his ring in a motel room because he took it off to spin it. Yeah. Spin it.
But I don't want to be Deborah, so I told him we'd find it, that it couldn't have gone far, etc. and promised to help.

He was clearly frazzled.
A fact that was not aided any by him following this confession of loss with an attempt to make a smoothie and having the blender blink "error" repeatedly after one pulse.
He unplugged it. Plugged it back in. Unplugged it. Plugged it back in.
He then pushed 18 buttons at once like a crazy person and then
he gave up and decided to drink it half blended with big chunks of ice still in it. This is when he found that he had forgotten to add the protein powder.
Gag.
It was just milk, ice, bananas and a glob of half mixed peanut butter.
Justin doesn't do well with things like this.
This "ring/smoothie incident" could possess the power to ruin his entire day, which would then ruin MY entire day.

He was storming around the kitchen randomly opening drawers for no reason, and when he gets like that I take it upon myself to bear the burden of coming to the rescue.
I tie on my cape, put all half smoothies in airtight containers and freeze them, and then I make it my mission to find the ring and save the day like Wonder Wife.

I searched all morning to no avail. I mean SEARCHED.

I then got the brilliant idea to just ask Tessa.
This would have been genius if she were three or four, but she's two and asking a two year old to remember that a booger is not a suitable snack is next to impossible, so asking them to remember the occurrences of the previous day is a fool's game.

"Tessa, do you remember when you had Daddy's ring yesterday?"
"Yeth."
"Where did you take Daddy's ring? We really need it back."

Then she shrugged.

"Did you put it somewhere?"
"I put it on Phoebe's eye." Phoebe is our dog.
"No. That's not it. Where did you set it?"
"I put it under my bed."

This sent me on a wild goose chaise because she had, in fact, NOT put it under her bed at all.
I only found that out after practically turning the crib on its end and shaking it with the strength of the Incredible Hulk.
Wow. I'm strong when I'm on a mission.

"Tessa, It's not under your bed. Can you remember where you put Daddy's ring?"
"It's ..........around."

And then she stuck her finger in her nose, asked for grape juice, and walked away.

As I scoured mixing bowls and dog dishes and crawled on my knees through the entire downstairs looking at toddler level while I prayed that no one was looking into my house through the outside, I thought again about why you would give a toddler a wedding band.

But then I moved on.

I checked the couch cushions. Something that I will never do again without proper hand protection.

It's like a sheep dog did a science experiment in there.

On the up side I DID find the other Snow White figurine that has been the cause for many a battle and now the girls can stop fighting over the one we DID have. I hope.
I felt along blindly.
Is that it? No. That's a bobby pin. Is that it? No. That's some popcorn kernels.
Is that it? No. That's a....um...a....what IS that?!

I had just gone through this a couple months before when my mom took off her watch to wash the dishes and then couldn't find it after that.
We looked everywhere and my mom was on repeat with the same phrase over and over daily said in a wistful voice while she gazed off into the distance.
"What do you think became of my watch?........"
Daily.
Same phrasing.
I was so glad when we could put that behind us.

REALLY glad we found it.
Or, Chloe did, actually, in the entertainment cabinet with the Wii remotes.
Where all watches should go.
I'm sure Tessa was responsible for that one, too.
That, or we need to have my mom tested for Alzheimer's....

And Alena is also CONSTANTLY losing stuff.
Her issue is more because she has mounds of stuff everywhere like a hoarder and it IS kind of hard to find a small hoop earring in piles of paper and silly bands and happy meal toys from 6 years ago.
I'm forever hearing, "Mama, have you seen my __________________." To which I reply,
"Have you checked the bottom of your level 5 hoard?"

My search help even goes back to childhood when it was a regular almost weekly event for my dad to misplace his checkbook.
The whole family would have to drop everything they were doing because undoubtedly he had an appointment somewhere in 5 minutes, stop and look for it like some sad Easter egg hunt where all you get are some grass allergy welts from wading around the field in chest-high grass looking for a wallet that MAY have been dropped while on a horse-back ride.
Only to find it after you give up and it's getting dark somewhere in the house.

I just don't personally lose things very often.
I have a place for things and that's where I put them.

This afternoon we still hadn't found the ring.
I looked through my jewelry box for a makeshift one for now for him to wear for when he goes to the gym.
I like him to have a "hands off" symbol, at least, even if I have to draw one on with Sharpie.
I've seen the way some of those girls at the gym parade about.
I don't trust anyone who comes in full makeup and leaves with it still in tact.
I'll take them out ninja style.
Anyone who knows me knows this is truth.

I didn't find one, though.
I didn't think he'd want to wear one made of abalone shells or a 3 inch turquoise stone.
That might be hands off for the girls but you never know what that might do for some of the MEN there....
Justin has been known to attract his fair share.

I got the kids down for their nap and I resumed my looking. Driving myself CRAZY trying to find it, all the while getting more and more upset that he'd given it to her in the first place.
Meanwhile he slept on the couch as I broke into a sweat scouring, dumping, sorting through bins and bins of tiny plastic toys and figurines.

Both of our mouths were open.
Mine because I was panting,
his because - well - that's how he sleeps.

WHERE COULD IT BE?!

The doorbell rang. A daycare mom to pick up her child.
I let her in and then he appeared with sleepy glazed eyes holding up - HIS RING!

Wait. What?
I had looked everywhere.

"Where on EARTH did you find it?!"
"When I woke up from my nap and stood up, I stepped on it."

Standard.

Standard of me to spend almost my entire day looking for that thing making myself crazy over it while he practically finds it in his sleep.
The next time that ring leaves his finger his flesh better have decayed to just bone.

I am glad he found it, but I have also penned a poem:



Here is a compass.
Here is a map.
Mama's done looking.
Find your own crap.

I crawl my knees bloody while you lay there sleeping
all because you lost something and started moaning and weeping.

I felt bad for you and made your pain my own.
You counted sheep.
I went into "The Zone."

Dumping and rifling, I made myself dizzy
while you didn't even TRY to remotely look busy.

I was just short of descending from the chimney covered in soot
then you just stood up and it stuck to your foot?!

I'm over.
I'm done.
Put things where they go.
Because then when you need them, their location - You'll know!

It's a novel idea. I'm glad your ring's found.
But it's retirement time for Mama Bloodhound.

The Appropriate Way to Pet a Chicken

Oh good. I have a few minutes.

The kids are laying around the livingroom rug in a pre-diabetic coma from all the sugar over the weekend, and I realize that's at least good for something.

Yesterday was Easter.
The weekend was full of fun and fatigue.

It kicked off Saturday with the church's annual Easter egg hunt.
Every year it's the same with us bustling around the house in a frenzy, hoarfing down scrambled eggs and combing the girls' hair while walking out to the garage in order to get there on time.
It always starts at 10:00, and anyone who knows my family knows that us getting anywhere earlier than 11:00 might as well be getting there at 5 a.m.
Nearly impossible.
We rushed to get there as it started, only to have the entire thing be basically over in 3 minutes.

I think they make the eggs too visible.

There's not much "hunt" involved when there's a 10 egg maximum and you basically step on and crush 6 upon opening the door to the room.

I could find 10 if I was blindfolded.

Parents everywhere can be spotted slyly taking the eggs their toddlers find and re-destributing them around the room so the kids don't go over the limit.

I guess it IS easier to just fling eggs willie nillie than to actually HIDE them anywhere...

It always seems like the kids don't even care that much about finding the eggs anyway. In my experience it's the parents saying, "Look up here! What is this?! Can you see it? Get it! Get it!" while the kid eats plastic grass or cries because they're overstimulated.

At the end of the egg hunt there's always a pen of some sort of animal, be it chicken or duck or bunny.

That's always a favorite.

There's always a brief discussion with our girls about what is and is not the appropriate way to pet said animal.
Tessa has been pulled aside for refresher courses every year so far.

Because chickens' eyes aren't supposed to do that when you touch their heads.

The girls seemed bored through the actual hunt. They put up with the picture taking by the giant carrots and trees with dangly eggs.
But once they caught sight of the bounce house and craft table they ran to get through, taking out several poofy dressed toddlers.

Big burly Joe sat at the exit like a bouncer waiting to count the eggs and remove any extras that were trying to be smuggled.

Of course Tessa had too many.
When he took her 11th egg, I saw a look pass that I thought nothing of, really, until later when I couldn't find her and realized what she'd been thinking.
Where was she?...........

Then I caught of glimpse of her yellow dress.....

from under Joe's chair.

That little sneak had formed a plan in 2 minutes that belonged in a spy movie.

No one had seen her slip under his chair.
No one was really watching as she grabbed the eggs he discarded before they even landed, opened them like a Capuchen, ate the candy out, then replaced the eggs into the basket.
Sneaky, yet BRILLIANT.

She'll show THEM an egg limit.

And I guess it makes me a bad parent that that kind of action, rather than send me over to scold, only made me smile.
I have to feel SOMEWHAT happy to know that should the world be one day, as my reoccurring dreams make me fear, be taken over by a zombie envasion, my children will have skills to survive.
Nothing if not resourceful.
My little Mini-Me.

I did feel bad, though, when my friend Brian came over to his wife Katie and requested she discipline their daughter because
"she's been grabbing the discarded eggs and eating the candy out."

Tessa had created a prodigy.

I apologized and told them not to go too hard on her. That it was Tessa that had taught her.
Brian just said, "I know." and walked away.

And it is just an approximation, but I would have to guess that Tessa ate about 14 pounds of candy that day.
Again, Bad parent.
FUN parent, but also somewhat questionable on that day.

That sum total was second only to what would be the sum total of the NEXT day.

They bounced, they made crafts, they ate hardboiled eggs in between chocolate ones.

A thought that makes me throw up in my mouth a little.

And while they did that, Alena sat on the stairs to the stage with her head in her hands and made that face.
That pre-teen one.
I knew without asking she was feeling depressed about the fact that she was deemed too old to hunt eggs this year by the youth leaders.
Too old for 10 eggs.
As if she needed the candy with the bucket o' Nutella she eats nightly...

And, we had guests this weekend.
They showed up Saturday afternoon after the egg hunt as the sugar highs faded and craziness ensued. Perfect timing.
Welcome to our home.
Please don't call the authorities.

They are college students from my mom's choir in Oakland.
They came all fresh faced with their texty thumbs and cute clothes.

I felt like I had friends over and tried not to ingest a bottle of pills when I realized, no, I was actually 10-15 years older than they were and in some countries I could be their mother.
A fact that I later bemoaned to Lisa about over the phone.

They were the best kind of guests, too.
Clean, quiet, helpful.

The girls' pupils were the shapes of hearts all weekend.
Well, the little girls over THEM, and Alena's over their i-phones.
She said that's what she decided she wanted for her birthday.
I told her she'd better also ask for a JOB for her birthday, too, then, because
until Mama has more than a $70 pay-as-you-go phone, Alena will not have a phone capable of being one's life partner.

I was just surprised we didn't scare the girls off.

They may never want children after that.
I'm sure they were a bit surprised at the game of Run Around Buck Naked that the girls played before bath time.
The scary part was it wasn't a special show for the guests, it is just a thing we do.
Every bath night.
1) Take off clothes
2) Run in circles naked
3) Bath
4) Bed

Too bad they didn't also get to witness the new favorite game of
Step on Eachother.
We actually could have played that as a group.

They were also brave guests, as they are from Georgia and are die hard Braves fans.

They just happened to be here the weekend the Braves had a series against the Giants and ended up completely sweeping the Giants.
They knew to keep their mouths shut as Justin dove into depression and cried into his ham.
I almost expected him to bring out his grass skirt and cannibal pot to make Georgian Soup, but he was on good behavior.

Easter morning was hectic as well with a repeat of the previous morning.
All that extra hair curling and pinning.
Dusting off the iron and remembering how to turn it on. It probably hadn't been used since last Easter.
Yet another plus of yoga pants and layered tank tops. No ironing necessary.

Posing the girls for a picture where they're all three looking at the camera takes a good 20 minutes in itself and I have even then given up having one where Tessa is doing a normal smile.






I was surprised we got to church on time.
Actually, I always am when it happens.

The service was great.
As was the baby holding and the chatting with friends that feel like family.

We took pictures at church. Justin got razzed about his purple shirt.

And then I proved my theory about tights having the same life cycle as a fly as Chloe ripped holes in the knee of hers when she biffed it chasing bubbles and Tessa came around the corner looking like she'd changed the oil in the van in hers

(It's still a mystery what happened there.)

We had a great lunch that included my famed creamy polenta with mushrooms and mascarpone cheese. My brother called me "Rude" on the phone for making it at a holiday where he wasn't here.
Even the Georgians ate it. I was afraid they'd think I desacrated their beloved grits with the addition of Californian hippie food.

We hid eggs in the front yard and laughed as Tessa repeatedly dropped them on the concrete until they were completely smashed and the air was wafting of boiled egg.
I told Justin his egg salad was going to be full of grass and snails. He gagged with flashbacks of the year he ate 4 giant egg salad sandwiches in a row and swore off egg salad forever while he did those weird puffs of exhaled air he does when he's too full.

We found out Chloe doesn't like the smell, I guess, as we brought out the eggs and she kept saying, "EW! Phoebe!" because she thought the dog had bad gas. Again.

All in all. Great weekend. And now we're back to the daily routine with the addition of telling Tessa she actually can NOT have chocolate with her breakfast.