A Brilliant Plan, Except the Part Where I Wore Heels in NYC

Brilliant plans are often a collaborative effort. Ours began with a realization. Several months ago I was reading about a friend going to see Wicked. I thought it sounded like fun and left it at that, until one day it hit me that, living only a couple hours from Broadway, there really wasn’t anything keeping me from going. All I needed was a reason to be in NYC without kids.

(A side note/paragraph: in most things pop culture I am an idiot. I wanted to see this play simply because everyone kept saying how good it was. I went into it having never heard any of the music and knowing only the vaguest of plotlines, which mostly came from reading the first part of the book before I put it down because it was so filthy. I apologize for this shocking revelation, continue with the story.)

The second part to our plan came only a couple days later when Peter called me with a suggestion. His company had planned 2 recruiting dinners in NYC on my birthday and the following night. Since he has to attend a couple dinners every year, why not fly my mom out to watch the kids and make it an extended date/birthday present. Desire to be in NYC kids free plus a reasonable excuse to do so (with the bonus that Wicked has matinees on Wednesdays) meant the birth of a workable plan.

When I mentioned our idea to a couple of friends, they graciously offered to split my kids between them and save us my mom’s airfare for another day. I decided to cut my stay by a night, go to only one of the dinners, the matinee the next day, and then go home. It was a perfect plan.

(Another side note: it turns out that my sister already had tickets to fly out to visit my mom that week so she wouldn’t have been able to fly out to watch my kids anyway. So don’t feel gypped Mom!)

The weekend before my birthday I began to wonder what exactly one would wear to Broadway (and to a professional recruiting dinner). Can you believe that business casual does not make up a large part of my wardrobe? Then I remembered that it this was all my birthday present so I went shopping. Sometime during the shopping spree I decided it would be fun to try the whole jeans with high heels look. A new pair of jeans and shoes were added to list.

So the kids were successfully handed off to friends, the dinner was kind of fun, I like my new outfits, and my very first Broadway play was fantastic!! It was great to have some time alone with Peter and just talk. The only flaw was deciding to wear heels when I know our favorite thing to do in any city is walk around. Aimlessly. For hours. For miles. My feet are less than happy (turns out the prefer comfort over style). But every silver lining has to have a cloud, right?

Extra thanks to my friends for watching the kids- that deserves (and will get) a post in itself! As does the adventures of walking around NYC for a day and a half. As does the conversation at a dinner table full of emergency room doctors.

9/11 Changed My Life. Twice.

Matthew is three. Somehow I'd forgotten how exciting the third birthday can be. He knew it was coming and he anticipated this day for at least the last week. Every time someone told him, "Happy Birthday!" today he would run to his cake and ask for us to "put the lighter on it, so we can sing." He sat completely still beside his pile of wrapped presents for 15 minutes, waiting for his siblings' arrival home from school. He couldn't contain his excitement as each gift was finally unwrapped. In short, it was joyfully adorable.

And yet, hanging over it all was the day. My youngest was born exactly 5 years after the 9/11 attacks. The overwhelming sadness that accompanies remembering that day was always present, looming over everything we did and said. I can't avoid it, I don't want to avoid it. I feel strongly my responsibility to NOT forget.

Until now I've been able to compartmentalize the day. Give Matthew some festivity and take time for solemn reflection. But this year, now that he knows what a birthday means, it was much more difficult. How do you celebrate while mourning or mourn while celebrating?

I think it must be similar (and probably even easier) than those who lose a loved one on a holiday.

It didn't help that he choose a firetruck birthday cake. If I had realized the irony before this morning, I might have encouraged a different choice. As it was, as I passed the cake sitting on the counter all day, I was reminded of my torn emotions. My heart swelled at the gift of my son and his sweet innocence. Yet, my heart sank as I thought of those that lost their life and a national loss of innocence. How is it a heart can do both? How do you survive a day when you're torn into two? (And, do you think it will affect him, that his mother grieves on his birthday?)

Today was a very strange day for me.

A Short Post Announcing the End of Diapers in Our House

I have tried 3 times to write a post about how wonderful it is that my youngest potty trained himself and had only a handful of accidents before getting it. Unfortunately, I can't get around my propensity to share too much information and my comfortableness (after 12 years of changing diapers and potty training 6 kids) in using potty words. In short, I'd read the post I was in the middle of writing and think, "If I'm worried it might be too crass, then it must of really crossed the line." So I kept erasing the posts.

Let's just leave it at this:

• he has not had any accidents for over a week,


• he decided to wear underwear a whole 2 weeks before he turned 3 (when I would have pressed the issue),


• he refuses to sit down to pee but has been finally convinced it is necessary when in the women's public restroom,


• he keeps going outside wearing only underwear


• (and for a brief moment today I worried he may have snuck out wearing even less).

And I didn't even have to try to think of a nice word for bowel movement. So there you have it: until I become incontinent myself, I am officially finished with diapers. For 7 years I was changing a child in diapers and for 5 years I was changing two. A dozen years and I am done!! I am one happy, happy mother.

(P.S.- I wait until they're three because I had a horrible, terrible, excruciating experience potty training my oldest. You'd think she would have been ready when she kept trying to change her own poopy diapers, but you'd be wrong. It was horrible enough that I would rather change diapers an extra year and wait till the kids are old enough to be trained in a couple days. This was the first time I learned that it is far better to wait till a child is old enough to learn something rather than to beat us both up trying to do it before they're ready. That lesson was ALMOST worth the terrible experience)

This Playroom Will Self-Destruct in 5 Seconds

Unlike my husband and children, I have long since outgrown my youthful belief in the housekeeping fairy. However, I absolutely believe, and live in fear, of the housekeeping goblin. The facts are overwhelming: he attacks my home daily.

At times you may see me prancing through the house and wonder if I've joined some new age, abstract dance group. The answer, of course, is No. I am procrastinating a trip to the restroom. But Charlotte, you may ask, don't you have 5 restrooms in that house you're leasing? Surly they aren't all out of order again? Yes, I do, and they're all working (and actually clean right now). The problem is I know as soon as I shut the bathroom door, the housecleaning goblin will strike, destroying my house. It is uncanny! It doesn't matter if I take 1 second or 10 minutes- that goblin is fast. One instant is all he needs.

Sometimes, when the kids come home from school, all I have to do is blink and that goblin has worked its evil magic. Papers strewn across the room, backpacks flung to high heaven, lunch bags freeing their lingering crumbs. Not to mention the shoes and socks decorating any and every flat surface not already taken by art projects and $1 toys from the prize box.

If there is a housekeeping goblin, as I firmly believe, I know where its lair can be found: the playroom. That is the only explanation for the conditions in that room. It doesn't matter how often I clean, organize, and threaten the children to only take out one toy at a time, that room is determined to stay a mess. I finish cleaning, get a drink of water, and come up to grab the broom to find every toy in that room dumped. I've even tried weeding out the toys- it didn't help. Obviously the goblin feeds on a mother's sweat and tears.

So, anyway, in my continued goal to deep clean my house in the first 3 weeks of school, I entered the goblin's hideout today. I dumped and reorganized all those toys. I gathered the discarded dishes and cups, swept the crumbs and took out the garbage. It took 4 hours. While I was gone the goblin made a weak counterattack on my living room (apparently the goblin is greatly inhibited during school hours), but I won the battle today.

Or so I thought until I checked while tucking in the kids. He is already rearranging that room, preparing to redecorate in a manner more suited to his personal tastes; toys and garbage and dishes had already found their way back inside. I would raise a white flag, but that would involve finishing my laundry. And believe me, the laundry fairy is in cahoots with the goblin.

*OK, honestly, the top picture is the "after" of the below "before" one and these pictures are really from a couple months ago (and are the reason I did my great toy reduction), but they convey the idea perfectly so I added them.*

Reclaiming my House in this Post-Summer Era

This is my first experience with half day kindergarten. In preparation to have all my days nicely cleaved in 2 distinct parts, I've been trying to decide how to schedule my days. Do I run errands with my youngest 2 in the morning so the afternoon can be spent with my quiet, little trouble producing preschooler? Or do I spend my mornings at home and enjoy errands more by cutting the kid count in half?

After several weeks of summer my house has settled into complete chaos. Frightened I may have lost something important in the disorganized mess (like a few library books, all my bowls, or maybe even a neighborhood child), I decided to spend the first three weeks of child reduced bliss deep cleaning my house. I divided it up and every morning I let Phineas and Ferb watch the boys while I tackle yet another room. Then, after I send Joseph off to school, I recover from my cleaning blitzes.

This has been an adventure. Wrought with games like "That is where my masking tape/mascara/camera case have been all summer?" and "What kind of food was that originally, and how long does it take to grow that sort of fuzz." Not to mention the ever entertaining "Why would anyone even think to stuff underwear there? I would rather throw it away than check for cleanliness."

Knowing my cleaning drive would begin strong and quickly diminish, I started with the worst areas and am working toward the easier ones. That means I've cleaned, in my first 3 days of school: the girls' room, the 2 boys' rooms, and all the bathrooms. You read that right, by virtue of the order I listed, the girls' and boys' rooms ranked above the bathrooms in nastiness.

It's been a blast, I tell you. Or rather, my house looked like it had been blasted and I am in the process of post-war reconstruction.

For your reading enjoyment here are some of my finds so far (enjoyment may not be the best choice of words here):

• I couldn't figure out why there was a can opener in the boys' room. Until I started finding the empty cans of olives in there bathroom. If memory serves there were at least 6 cans (and one in the girls' room).
  
• No wonder I kept having to buy more printer paper over the weeks, there must have been 200 folded airplanes stuck in my boys' closets. And another 200 stuffed on a shelf in their bathroom.
  
• Couldn't figure out what that was, stuck to the bottom inside corner of my daughters' bed stand, till I realized it was an old spider nest. Explains all the webs full of dead flies I found in every corner of their room and bathroom.
  
• Took a while to place the odd smell permeating the girls' room: it was coming from their carpet. Carpet removed, their room no longer smells like a mold fest. (I've told them not to bring water in their rooms at night!)
  
• Completely unrelated? 3 huge cups (1 still full of water), 4 water bottles, and 3 small cups in the girls' room.
  
• The new trash can I bought for the boys' bathroom: the good news was they had filled in partway with garbage, the bad news was they had also filled it with something else (use your imagination- but in case you have boys and therefore a vivid imagination- it was liquid something not solid).
  
• I was able to fill an entire (small) rubbermaid container with the pens I found in the girls' room while I found the smallest K-nexs pieces along the border of both boys' rooms. Also under every bed, chair, toy, piece of trash, and laundry.
  
• Enough garbage to fill an X-large U-Haul packing box (that had been "borrowed" and covered in fabric to create a Webkinz home to match their virtual one). I am not kidding, when I was done the box was FULL and I threw it out before Elise saw because I'm sure she would disagree with me on what qualified as garbage in her room.

Everything has been cleaned out, disinfected, and made to look neat. Today we are having a combined youth activity at our house, so I am suspending the worst to best order for a day to concentrate on bookshelves and countertops. You know, things people are actually going to see if they come into the house. As long as I don't add anything to my list, my reclaim-the-house-daily-in-the-4-hours-before-afternoon-kindergarten-starts project should last 3 weeks (Yes, I actually wrote down a list and cross it out with a note of how long it took to clean. Underneath the chaotic outer layer of a mother of 6 children was once a list-making, organized freak.)

I bet you'll enjoy your housecleaning a little more today knowing what it could be like...

A Child That Makes You Go, "Hmmm."

I have certain expectations from my children- having nurtured them for the first 5 years of life I believe it is perfectly acceptable, if not their responsibility, for them to be nervous when leaving home on their own for the first time. Especially if their only prior regular time away from me was a 1 hour twice a week preschool.



A few days before school started I realized that Joseph was probably a little frightened about attending kindergarten. (It didn't help that I accidentally mixed up the timing of the "Meet the Teacher" Day and arrived as everyone was leaving, so we never entered the building and he had never seen his teacher.) I asked him if he would like me to drive him the first day, wisely, I felt, emphasizing it would be a one time deal so he wouldn't come to expect it all the time. He told me in no uncertain terms that he was riding the bus and never wanted me to drive him. EVER.





Still, I knew that he must have some trepidation ... leaving home for the first time ... riding to school without any idea what to expect ... surrounded by complete strangers. So the next day I asked if he wanted me to follow behind the bus, to make sure he got to the right class. The thought of him exiting the bus so small and alone made my heart ache, while the "my mother is such a dork" look he shot me made my head ache. (Seriously, he should have to be at least 13 before he perfects that look. That's the 5th child for you.)




So the first day of school unfolded. I dispatched the first shift to ride the bus to middle school

and then, later, the second group to the elementary school.

A very long 4 hours later we headed outside to wait for the afternoon kindergarten bus. Actually I headed outside, Joseph and Matthew had been out there with Peter for a couple hours already. Being the first day, the bus was running late. So we waited, and waited, and waited. About 5 minutes into the wait Joseph turns to look at Peter and I, informing us that we can go inside, he's got this covered. Seriously? I'm sure he is just trying to cover for tummy butterflies, but he did sound pretty nonchalant. Not to mention, he rolled his eyes at us when we told him we preferred to wait.




Finally the bus turned the corner. Joseph stood up and calmly brushed the dust off himself. He waited for the doors to open as if it were an old routine, then he climbed inside and found a seat. Not a nervous twitch, a jittery tremble, or even subconscious tick. Peter and I waved as the bus pulled away from the curb, but Joseph didn't see. He didn't look back. Not even once.









*I apolgize for the quality of the photos. While my real camera is in the shop I am stuck with my first digital camera. All 4 megapixels of it. I did remember to eliminate the bus number from the side of the bus, though.*

Speaking of Random

I am blogging tonight for a reason. It isn't to preserve my family history, tell a funny story, vent a difficult day, or philosophize about motherhood. It is to avoid folding laundry. Because really, I rather like huge piles of laundry sitting in the middle of my bedroom floor. If anyone sees them I can claim "abstract art sculpture." I mean folded in the drawer is only the temporary step between pile on my bedroom floor and pile on the kids' bedroom floor and I am all about cutting out the middle man.

Speaking of middle men, my middle son (Ethan) cleared the table, washed the cupboards, and cleaned up the front and living room yesterday for no reason at all. Without being asked. Seriously it was the sweetest thing ever. Today he was in time out for slapping his little brother on the back, but, hey, nobody's perfect.

Speaking of perfection, have I mentioned before how much I enjoy living on the beach? Today was rather hot and after finishing cleaning up the kitchen (every pot and pan I owned may have been dirty) I let the kids go cool off in the water while I sat in the shade of my backyard and read a book. It was lovely and refreshing. I wonder what we are going to do when our house in North Carolina finally sells and we no longer have to rent and so must leave this house for one we own.

Speaking of North Carolina, someone did a pre-offer inspection on the house today. Keep your fingers crossed that they will decide to put down a real life offer! Two years is a long time to wait for your house to sell.

Speaking of 2 years, when my two year old turns 3 next month I am going to begin potty training. Every time I change his diaper I remind him that his birthday signifies the end of diapers and the beginning of underwear. Now he randomly shouts out that he is about to be a big boy and pee in the toilet and wear underwear. This can get awkward in public.

Speaking of underwear, if I don't tackle that laundry tonight, the kids will be forced to claw through it tomorrow in search of their underwear and I might as well transfer the clean laundry directly into the dirty laundry pile. So good night.

Missing Hairbrushes, Ill-timed Cookies, and a Crazy Woman

My children are always wandering off with my hairbrush. Today I finished my makeup and pulled my hair out of a pony so I could attempt to tame it before book club. Finding all hairbrushes vanquished from my bathroom, I curled and sprayed my bangs and went downstairs in search of one. I seriously have at least 50 hairbrushes hiding in my house by now. Perhaps they're hanging out somewhere with all my pens, socks, and spoons?


Once downstairs I saw my cookie recipe book sitting on the table and realized my intended cookies for book club would only become a reality if I started them right away. Skimming the recipe chosen earlier in the week, the one I had already bought all the supplies for, I realized that it required 2 hours chilling time, which was approximately 3 hours longer than I had available. Thinking it would have something quick in it, I pulled out a Jello and Pudding recipe book and started looking. Of course, I didn't have any pudding in the house so I grabbed my keys and ran to the store.

As I circled the store I tried to convince myself that buying a candy bar would be alright since I missed lunch (while simultaneously trying to convince myself that the plate of macaroni and cheese I ate didn't actually count as lunch). Somewhere between the peppermint extract and Cool Whip isle I was stopped short when a deeper thought worked its way through: I had never found the hairbrush I went downstairs to find.


For several minutes I'd wandered the grocery store (the one nearest my house instead of my regular one, so I really was wandering quite lost looking) with my poor unruly hair completely untamed. I may or may not have been muttering under my breath about the store's layout and poor signage. I may or may not have stopped and stared at the candy isle longer than an adult woman should. I may or may not have started break dancing in the middle of the isle (okay, that one is a NOT, but did you enjoy the mental picture?) I may or may not be the local crazy woman, I'll leave it up to you to decide.

It had its Ups, it had its Downs, it had its Corkscrews: 6 Flags

I almost felt like I was attending a confessional as I stood in line for the roller coaster. "Forgive me, it has been 14 years since my last ride." My last time I was 18. It was (at the time) the longest drop in a roller coaster and could be found in Nevada, where friends and I visited to attend our friend's missionary farewell. At the time I was unaware that it was also my roller coasting farewell. I had recently started dating my husband and the next several summers I would be too broke, pregnant, or busy (often all 3) to go to an amusement park.

A couple weeks ago our friends invited us to 6 Flags. When I called Peter to ask if he'd like to go, he dropped what he was doing to pick up discount tickets offered to the hospital staff. (Don't worry, it was office work he dropped, not a patient.) He called to tell me the price was $26/ticket. I was much relieved that he would get a discount from such a ridiculous price, until he informed me that WAS the discounted price. My cheapness, however, was overcome by the guilt of not attended an amusement park for so long. Unfortunately, that evening, after coming home from out latest misadventure, Peter found that the night shift doctor had called in sick. Guess who filled the shift? Guess who wasn't going to waste the $200 of tickets we just bought?

Despite the under 2 hours of sleep on Peter's part, we were able to have a great time (red bull and an IV of diet coke helped). My youngest rode every ride available to him without breaking a sweat. He didn't even break into a adrenaline boosted frightened face. I mean isn't that why I payed the big bucks, to watch my kids be terrified? The other kids were a little more cautious (although Ryan rode the biggest, baddest roller coaster with his dad).

After much goading (at least my oldest allowed me some parental pleasure) Elise agreed to ride a roller coaster with my friend and me- and Ryan, who was an expert rider after riding with his dad and wanted to ride as many of the scary coasters as possible. We wanted to ride the biggest one, but didn't want to wait 2.5 hours in line, so settled for 2nd best. It was great! After Elise worried all through the line, all through the loading and strapping, and all through the initial slow ride upward, she laughed hysterically the rest of the way through. We've cured her of her fear of amusement park rides. I was also greatly relieved to end my roller coaster dry streak.

We had a blast. I didn't even throw a tantrum at the price of the food we bought. I did make the 8 of us split 4 combo meals, though, so I felt a little better. It was a lot of fun to attend with friends so there were more adults to watch the kids and still an option for adult conversation while waiting in the long lines. I think we have a new summer tradition. Next year Ethan will be tall enough to ride the big coasters and I'm hoping Matthew grows up enough to know he should be scared of large drops and heights while Elise and Ryan grow up enough to remember they shouldn't.

Could I Possibly be Enjoying my Summer? Shhh, It's a Secret

You want to know a secret? I'm reluctant to tell, as it will probably damage my street credz (even more than using the term "street credz" does), but I can't hold it in any longer, I am bursting to confess: I am enjoying my summer with my children.

There, I said it. I will take whatever punishment deemed worthy by my peers. I know, I know. I'm supposed to be counting down the days till school starts. I'm supposed to be locking myself in the bathroom or desperately hunting for any last minute openings in day long camps. But I am not; I am enjoying (almost) every moment.

We didn't go on any vacations, no overnights in hotels, but we have attended the zoo, museums, forts, amusement parks (post still to come, I promise), fire works, bowling, free movies, parks, libraries, friends' houses, & swimming pool. We've braved injuries, hunted bathrooms, and survived broken appliances.

More importantly, we've cuddled on the couch with a book (cuddle may not be the right word for 4 children trying to see the pictures). We've gone on the beach almost every day. We've sang silly songs, explored our backyard, and tried to make ourselves crack up with ridiculous jokes. Summer has filled with the magic of these things, I can feel it permeating our days, forming marvelous out of ordinary.

If you ask me later, I will tell you the kids are driving me crazy. I can't wait to have more peace in my day and reorganize my summer-disastered house. And I won't be lying. I do desperately need a day to myself. Besides, I know the proper way to talk about being a mother of young children, I will not fail. These things are also true, and it is the face often put before the world.

But the magical part- the kisses on my cheek, heart stealing smiles, discreet looks to see if I'm watching performances of feats, contended sighs and exhausted relaxation- I treasure. And, being so precious, I often keep them for myself, to ponder in my heart alone. Throwing out to the public the lesser parts- the stress, craziness, bickering, exhaustion, worry, insanity. I feel no need to describe to my friends the magic of motherhood: it is mine to keep, as I assume it is theirs.

I wonder if there are people who somehow misunderstand motherhood. Do they only see the surface complaints, not understanding the depths underneath? In keeping it unstated, I wonder if it somehow remains hidden to some. I hope not. It just isn't always easily spoken, these memories gathered moment by moment. They mostly remain unconfessed, stored in a mother's heart. If you listen carefully you can often hear it in the undercurrent when mothers converse.

Not all summers have been as wonderful as this one. Every year I look forward its ending with varying degrees of anticipation, dependant on various factors. But this summer has happened to contain more enchantment than usual. I am enjoying my summer with my children.

If you tell anyone, I'll break your pinkie toes.