If Your Eyeballs are Bleeding from Stress, Press 2.

And then a flare was sent up through the boxes, followed by a weak, paint splattered hand shakily poking up through the ruins.

She was alive.

Barely.

This move has nearly killed me.
The next moving truck I go in will be run by a company called the "County Coroner" and the only thing they will be moving is my cold, lifeless body.

I guess it would have been easier if I were the type to be happy with stark white walls and no thought towards aesthetics, but I'm not.
I must paint.
I must create balance.
It's in my DNA.

I have taped off and painted and touched up and found studs until I collapse into the bed at night only to have nightmares of non leveled pictures after hours of striving.

Trying to get the girls settled in here has been a feat.
For the first two weeks, Chloe kept asking,
"Mama, when we're done here, can we go home?" - Which broke my heart.
Tessa cried a lot.
That's not like her at all.

It's hard explaining moving to children.

It's also hard explaining moving to OCD husbands.
"Sweetheart, it's very difficult to dust the frames if they're packed away in a box. I'm sure it can wait."

Justin spent the first couple of weeks here storming around with his nostrils flared.
He doesn't do well in chaos.
He doesn't do well with wall to wall boxes labeled
"Crap that was just left over."

Between the kids falling apart and his plummeting mood, I had
about had it.

Sure!
Let's just have pregnant, exhausted Mama be in charge of it all.
Let's have her make all major decisions. It's OK that her pregnant brain doesn't even remember how to make coffee correctly.
Who cares if she's dizzy?
Send her up the ladder to cut in the paint edges.
And go ahead and ask her if she got anything at all unpacked today while you were at work and she did daycare and made lunches. Surely she must have had a FEW spare minutes.
Just ask.

The doctor prescribed blood pressure medication for me.

And good thing,
because getting the AT&T Uverse hooked up here ALONE has been enough to send me to a five story ledge and question leaping.
It was like a two day repeat of "Who's on First" just trying to work that phone system.

I have now spoken to approximately 30 AT&T workers in 15 different countries.
I can sing 15 Muzak songs.
I have chatted online with 2 technicians.
I have a new friend named Shelly and a new enemy named Baharat.

At least that's what I THINK he said.
Who can tell with all that background noise of the Indian marketplace?

I maybe even heard a chicken.

It has taken a week of waiting and 5 hours of hold and department transfer time to get a technician out here to simply run a cable to one of our TVs.
First they only had our old address.
The technician complained he was knocking and knocking and no one was home.
No one was home somewhere else, if you know what I mean.

I won't go into full detail to save you all from pulling out your OWN eyelashes and eating them out of anxiety, (as I have) but let's just say I could have gone to school to become a technician and run my OWN cable in a quicker and more painless time than this all took.

AT&T will not be receiving any Valentines from me.
They're lucky I'm a good Christian woman.

But as of this very moment - between the last sentence and this one, it is fixed.
Problem solved.
No more bulging carotid arteries for me.

Well, at least not from THAT.

And I do believe I deserve a medal, as I, Kerri Green, have not taken one single day of daycare off throughout our move.
I have made snacks and fed them from my cupped, clasped fingers when I couldn't find bowls.
I have wiped faces with my bare hands because the towels were packed.
I have caught kids just in time as they almost ingested handfuls of
"WHAT THE HECK IS THAT" that they found as credenzas were carried out and bare carpet was exposed.

There were north of 16 Cheese-Its found behind our entertainment cabinet when it was taken.
I have no idea how that even happened.
Especially since Tessa never usually lets a Cheese-It slip by unnoticed.

But now things are looking more like a home.
Most rooms are painted.
Things are hung up.
I'm in LOVE with our bedroom.
Next stop is curtains because I really can't handle the 6:00 am Chloe and Tessa alarm clock I have because their room is full of light.

It's almost like the sun is actually IN there with them.

All that's gone on in the last few months have made the idea of a new baby take a backseat. Poor thing. They way things are going, we may need to just save one of the empty boxes to use as a crib.
I still can't believe it's real.

My best friend Lisa asked me yesterday if I was SURE I was done this time and I probably scared her with how emphatically I answered yes.

Four is going to put me on the brink of insanity.
Five would have me so far past that, that the brink would look like an ant.
From a plane.

I already worry about making sure Tessa's never left alone with it.
Ever.
I can't even imagine how fast it would be covered head to toe in sharpie tattoos.

But what's one more set of hands prying my eyelids open at ungodly hours?

But also one more fresh-after-bath baby head to sniff......
How could I resist THAT?

I can handle it.

It can't be as bad as the last 2 days with AT&T.

If I can survive that, I can survive anything.

Movin' on up

To appease the masses, I will blog.

Though the water is just about boiling and I can hear the kids upstairs fighting through Alena's open window. I'm sure it's nothing to climb the stairs over.

I'll let her deal with that.

SO much has gone on since I last wrote.
People keep asking when I'll write another blog and I tell them I will - Just as soon as I'm done breathing into my paper bag.

First of all - I'm pregnant again.

Holy God in Heaven help me.

It wasn't a complete surprise.
We were semi-trying, I guess. I had known I wanted another one and Justin - well - He didn't argue TOO much.

Even still, it was a shocker to go in to the doctor thinking I most certainly had a UTI then to come out with a slip for the OB.

I wasn't even late.

The girls are super excited.
Chloe pretty much thinks it's her baby and I'm just a surrogate.
She keeps telling me what it should be named.
Emily, Vine, Angelina and Milo have been suggested.
Today she actually cried real tears when I told her what we really would be naming it if it's a boy.

She wants Arthur.
I want NOT.

I don't know why we even gave it a second thought, though.
We all know it'll be another girl.
I have a theory that all my miscarriages were male babies. That my body actually physically rejects boys.

Poor Justin.
Set adrift in a sea of emotional imbalance and tearful mascara run stains on the pillowcases he's washing.

We have had moments of "Oh crap. Where are we PUTTING this kid."
But - not to fear - that concept was taken care of for us when we got news that the house we have been renting and have loved like our own is now in foreclosure.
We have to move.

Perfect.

Just what I want to do.
Dry heaving while doing actual heaving.

My first panic attack came when realizing that since Justin had to work and my mom is out of town all week long, the majority of the packing would lie on me. Irritable, allergic to dust mites me.
My packing strategy has bordered on throwing every single item away and starting completely from scratch.

After all, Who doesn't want to feel that they will throw up just from brushing their teeth in the mornings and then have to clean out a 12 year old's hoarded room complete with tins of dust and hair covered gummy eyeballs?

"But Mama! I was SAVING THOSE!"

True story.

On top of all this I've been doing daycare for an adorable little boy named Jaxson.
I love him completely. He's an angel. But even angels have to be kept out of boxes of the aforementioned hoarded pre-teen room.

I was already exhausted just from the hormones.
I now feel on the brink of death daily.
The bags under my eyes have bags of their own.

Even when I try to sleep at night, my mind goes a million miles an hour with thoughts of paint palettes and furniture arrangement, baby names and wondering if I could possibly LOOK as horrible as I feel.

I almost had a nervous breakdown last weekend.
I came about one "She hit me!" away from needing medical assistance.
Justin just kept blinking at me as the veins burst from my neck.
I had been on an emotional roller coaster for days over looking at places and thinking about moving, then not sleeping and all the mood swings. Not to mention the nausea which wasn't just in the morning. It was all day.
It got the best of me.

I did an actual fetal position on the futon for a bit and then felt better.
It really is a "thing."
My family was wild eyed from having their heads bit off all day, but I felt better.

But, now we have a place.



It's great.
We're excited.
It's not tan with brown trim. (gag)
Bonus.
The kitchen is bigger than that of a motor home.
The downstairs bathroom does not require a daily juice fast to get into.
And I am permitted to PAINT.
Glorious.

My mom had so lovingly reminded
- approximately 100 times -
that I may not be permitted to paint in a new place as I had been here.
I responded as any grown woman would by placing my hands over my ears and yelling,
"Lalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalala" until she stopped talking.

I claimed The Secret and ignored all that negative talk.
I just can't handle white walls.
When I'm in a white room I feel like I need to be in khakis and a white button up shirt. Tucked in. With Mom hair.
What could be worse than THAT?!
Perhaps because I feel that I will be surrounded by them in the future,
So let's not jump the gun.

And maybe The Secret worked.
I am now ankle deep in wall to wall Behr paint samples.
I find a reason to go back to Home Depot almost every day for more.
It's almost an addiction.
(I don't know WHERE on EARTH Alena gets the hoarding from..........)

And poor Justin.
That guy is managing the stress as best he can, Bless his heart.
He's actually doing amazingly.

There have only been brief moments of corner rocking and so far
I've been able to talk him down from jumping from a high ledge over all the mounds of stuff in the garage.

Progress.

I do feel sad about leaving here in some ways.
I brought my babies home here.
We've had family holidays and birthday parties here.
There are tons of great memories.
I know where the creaky floor boards are. I can find my way around in the dark.

I've chosen to leave the little girls' room put together until we leave.
To not throw them off too much.
Chloe doesn't even handle moving her lunch time out 15 minutes - I can't imagine she'd do well sleeping on a plain mattress on the floor for a week.

I'm not so worried about Tessa. She'll be fine as long as the Cheese-It's are unpacked first.

I'm thankful we've gotten past the girls asking me, "Mama, why are you taking THAT down?" over every. single. item I took off the walls.
They have the memories of goldfish -
unless they are required to remember something like that I said maybe we'd get frozen yogurt tomorrow.
THAT they can remember.
Over and over and over.

I know that wherever we go, life will go on.
New memories will be made and thankfully they will NOT be memories of a kitchen so small you practically WEAR anyone else who is cooking with you. No one is ever a stranger in there for long.

And then there will be a new Green.

I'm scared of what THIS one could possibly be like.
When my mom asks me to imagine him or her, all I can do is practice my controlled breathing.
I am comforted only by the promise that God does not give us more than we can handle.

God must think I'm Superwoman.

But, what's one more patch of hair pulled out from stress?
What's one more worry line?
Why not add another scream to the choir?
What's the difference, really?
When you're crazy - You're crazy.

There's no insane-ER.

Might as well hold a newborn as I rock back and forth in the corner.

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?"