Thank You Honey!

Did you know that pharmacies close at 6:00 p.m. on Sunday nights?

I think I knew that, but it just didn’t register.

It didn’t sink in until last night at 6:08 p.m. when I drove up to the Walgreen pharmacy window and instead of seeing a pleasant, helpful pharmacist, I saw a big metal curtain and a padlock.

Oh *&%^$#!

My three year old Ryan and I had just left after hours urgent care where he was diagnosed with a mean case of strep throat. The little man needed his medicine and he needed it now!

Considering the fact that we are well into the 21^st century, I figured I would find a nearby 24-hour pharmacy. There have to be many of those, right?

WRONG.

The closest one, I discovered was 20 miles away.

I debated.

It was almost bedtime. Could we get away with waiting and filling the prescription in the morning?

CRY CRY CRY

No! My baby needed medicine now.

Preparing to embark on the 20 mile journey the phone rings.

“Brendan is sick now too,” Jeff informs me.

Trying my best to remain calm, I figure that I had better take him to urgent care first, get the inevitable strep diagnosis, and then make the 20 mile trek.

Two hours and two diagnoses’ later, I ask my patient and loving husband if he will make the trip to the pharmacy. Thankfully, he agrees.

An hour comes and goes ….. No Jeff. No medicine.

Another hour comes and goes…..

Apparently quite a few people need prescriptions filled on Sunday night.

By the time Jeff finally arrives home with the medicine it is almost dawn.

I resist every urge to say to my poor, exhausted husband, “Maybe we should have waited until the morning.”

Instead I climb the stairs, wake up my two sick sons and proceed to dose out their penicillin. In less than 20 seconds, Ryan throws his up.

I try again.

He resists.

Oh no, I think. I can’t let Jeff see what’s going on. The poor guy spent the entire Pro-Bowl waiting at the 24-CVS with half the local population.

I plead with Ryan to take his medicine.

“You don’t want the doctor to give you the medicine in a shot, do you?” I ask.

(Do they even do that?)

Sensing the lameness of my threats, Ryan ignores me.

It is not until I offer him both Root Beer and chocolate that he even tries to swallow the medicine again.

One hour later he is in bed with at least ½ of the recommended dose.

With a few hours of sleep under my belt, the whole process starts over again.

One sip + root beer + chocolate + one more sip = exhaustion.

Around noon, I call my sister the pediatrician, who unfortunately lives in NY and can only offer me her advice.

When I tell her about our woes she replies:

“I don’t know what kind of urgent care place you went to, but I would never prescribe penicillin for strep. It tastes awful. Kids throw it up all the time!”

Oh great. Just great

She obviously does not appreciate the lengths we went to – to unintentionally make our kids puke.

However, she does advise me to call my pediatrician and explain the situation.

I take her sage advice and after what I am sure is waaaay too much information, the boy’s doctor calls in a new, non-vomit inducing medicine.

Time for one more phone call.

“Hi honey,” I say. “Could you please pick up something at the pharmacy on your way home?”

The Sick Day Paradox

Today is a sick day in our house. It appears that the evil Strep monster has decided to pay a second visit this winter.

And while I absolutely, positively HATE when one of my children is sick, I have to admit that sick days make me feel like a good mom.

Because on sick days I know EXACTLY what my child WANTS and NEEDS from me. And it is ALL within my power to provide.

Sick days are days when I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that everything I do for my sick child will make them feel better and feel loved.

The mystery of how to make my child happy --- has been temporarily answered.

I don’t have to wonder if they will like what I packed in their lunchbox because I KNOW they will appreciate every last spoonful of chicken soup that we share together on the couch before a nap.

I don’t have to worry that they will pull away from a hug for fear that their friends might see because I KNOW they will spend the day curled up in my lap, enjoying the attention.

And I don’t have to find the perfect activity to fill their free time because they will enjoy the small, often forgotten, activities like puzzles and card games that we will play together.

It is also a day when it is o.k. to eat popsicles for breakfast and watch cartoons for hours. It’s o.k. to build a fort out of sheets in the living room with little to no regard for time and schedules.

But most importantly sick days make me thankful – thankful for the fact that my child is only temporarily ill and will be back to his fun loving self very soon. Because, while I enjoy babying my baby for a day or two --- it is the HEALTHY, picky-lunch-eating, hug-dodging, whirling dervish that I thank God for each and every day.

The homework surprise

I have done a lot of homework in my life - twelve years of Catholic school, followed by four years of college, and two years of graduate school. When I received my last degree I foolishly thought that I could throw off the shackles of homework forever.

I was wrong.

I had children.

And while I do NOT do their homework for them – making sure it gets done, and done well, is a daunting task.

I firmly believe, unless my mind is failing me, that even now – in 1^st and 3^rd grades - they are required to do much more homework than I was expected to complete when I was their age.

Their homework exhausts me.  

The first problem is that homework needs to be completed at a time of day when we are usually running from one after school activity to another. Or the boys (and I) are exhausted by the day’s events.

It’s like limping across the finish line of a marathon and discovering that you have to ride your bike home.

The second problem is that I don’t really WANT to do homework with the boys. I have spent the entire day away from them, and to be perfectly honest, I’d rather just have fun. The boys love to come home and play kickball, basketball, or go for a bike ride. So whenever we can, we do.

I should be accustomed to helping the boys with their homework by now.

In our public school system, homework begins in Kindergarten, cleverly disguised as “enrichment.” At the end of each month the students are required to submit a stack of assignments.

How many 5 year olds do you know who are motivated and/or willing to sit down and do their homework on their own?

My favorite Kindergarten “enrichment” projects were innocently sent home as:

“MONTHLY FAMILY PROJECTS!”

Aka, time consuming, “pain-in-my-you-know-what” assignments.

Do you know how long it takes to do a 5-person family hand collage – at Christmas time no less!?

Or a leprechaun trap with at least one moving part?

(I’m not kidding!)

Or a “this is your life” poster board display with at least 10 photographs?

Well let me tell you ---

MORE TIME THAN I WOULD LIKE TO SPEND!

And being the Type-A person that I am, it is unacceptable to throw together just any ole thing for these projects. I want them to be amazing!

As a result, I repeatedly have to stop myself from saying, “Let Mommy do it!” and remember that this is THEIR homework.

Making matters worse is the fact that the homework assignments do not change in kindergarten from year to year – so after making something fabulous with Brendan, I have to turn around two years later and do something equally fabulous, but different with Colin. And in two more years, I’m sure I’ll be facing the same projects a third time with Ryan.

For Brendan and Colin, now that kindergarten has passed and they are “graders,” homework is a nightly ritual, and an interesting thing has begun to happen…..

Both boys are becoming very good at completing their assignments. My role now is to answer questions and to review their work. If I allow myself to see past the chaos that is competing for my attention (dinner, Ryan, work, blog) I actually enjoy spending this time with the boys.

I enjoy watching them learn and grow.

I enjoy witnessing their “a-ha” moments.

And I enjoy watching them get excited about a certain subject/topic/lesson.

Homework is still difficult to “fit in” to our hectic lives, but I am learning to appreciate it for the gift it is giving me ---

The opportunity to watch my boys grow into bigger boys, and ultimately into men.

And I am thankful for that gift.

And the fact that they are no longer required to create moving leprechaun traps!!

Hey kids – why don’t you go play with the kitchen knives?

Crazy, right?

Yet, yesterday, during a temporary lapse in judgment, I decided it was a good idea to take the boys, by myself, ice skating for the very first time

As I stood inside the Ice House lacing up my boys skates, I realized that, in essence, I was strapping kitchen knives to their feet and sending them out on a solid sheet of ice on which they had no hope of staying upright.

I then noticed that all the other children, who were about to skate rings around us, were all wearing helmets.

Huh?

In all fairness it has been approximately 20 years since I last wore skates. But I guess I should have seen the whole helmet thing coming.

Bad mom!

Truth be told our skating adventure had been a spur-of-the-moment decision made by a harried mom – me! in the middle of a “teacher work day.”

For those of you unfamiliar with teacher work days – they are days in which teachers need their students to stay at home so that they can work on report cards and end of quarter teacherly duties.

In mom-speak, teacher work days are “oh-my-God-another-weekday-off-while-my-husband-works-what-on-earth-are-we-going-to-do” days.

So after making homemade pancakes for breakfast, hosting a play date, breaking up a fight, meeting dad out for lunch, and ending at least 17 arguments, I was out of options --- so ice skating seemed like a pretty reasonable idea.

It was not until I had the boys laced into their skates that I considered the fact that I only had two hands for my three kids. Oh and did I mention I am as coordinated as a rhinoceros on skates?

But I took a deep breath, made sure my iPhone was in my pocket (we needed pictures of this event!), decided to give 3-year old Ryan the “benefit” of holding my shaky hand, and instructed Brendan and Colin to follow us while holding on to the sides of the rink.

You know, I kinda forgot just how slippery ice can be!  

As the expert skaters, some of whom were no more than 5, whizzed by us, Ryan began to lose his footing. With typical “momma bear” strength I caught hold of him and balanced myself against the wall. I then instructed Brendan and Colin to smile for a picture. (as if I could ever forget this day)!

With sweat beads forming along the bridge of my nose, I decided our human train would continue to limp along until we made it ALL AROUND THE RINK!

After we passed the last “exit” Ryan began crying. “I don’t want to do this anymore!”

“Honey, we just got here,” I say, trying my best to put on my old Girl Scout smile.

“It’s cold, my feet hurt, it’s slippery!”

His crying gets LOUDER.

AND LOUDER.

Now the sweat beads have moved from my nose to my back.

My ankles start to hurt.

“Hey, mom if I fell and someone skated over my finger, do you think it would be cut off,” says Brendan in the middle of the melee.

WHAT?

OH MY GOD! MAYBE!

WE HAVE GOT TO GET OFF THIS ICE!

Approximately five minutes later we have made our way around the rink and reach the exit.

Brendan and Colin want to keep skating.

But I just can’t see sending them out alone wearing their knife shoes and facing the whizzing finger cutting expert skaters.

Ryan, on the other hand, has had enough. We narrowly escape a trip to the ER when I turn around and find him trying to take off his own knife shoes.

Finally, with Ryan safely in his sneakers, I instruct Colin to sit with him while I take Brendan around the ice. Next it’s Colin’s turn.

By the time we finish our once-around, I am ready for a nap and an ankle transplant.

But the boys love it!

They are getting bolder!

So, I decide to sit with Ryan, allowing Brendan and Colin to skate by themselves, as long as they stay close to the exit door.

With one eye on the ice and the other on my phone, I begin texting the few photos I took of our escapade.

In fact, I’m feeling pretty proud of myself for pulling off this skating feat.

And then the phone rings.

It’s my sister, who in addition to parenting three boys, is also a pediatrician.

I know exactly why she is calling.

She saw my text and my cute pictures and she thinks I’m an amazing mom!

“Hi,” I say. “We are still at the rink.”

“Why aren’t your boys wearing helmets,” she scolds.

“Because at the 0.000001 miles per hour that they were traveling, falling on their heads, is the least of my concerns,” I say defensively.

A half an hour later, we are in the car with all our fingers, sans head injuries, and big smiles on our faces.

Despite the dangers we faced, we tried out best, stuck together, and had fun. And isn’t that what life is all about?

- But next time I’ll bring the helmets!

MOM! There is NOTHING to do!

Really? With a house full of toys, games, books, puzzles, art supplies, and a host of chores, this is the last thing I should expect to hear from the kids.

Yet, this is how my eight year old son Brendan greeted me this morning.

Just one of Brendan's many toys!

My inside voice was screaming, “ARE YOU KIDDING ME! DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH MONEY YOUR FATHER AND I HAVE SPENT ON PLAY THINGS FOR YOU!!!”

“DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH SPACE IN MY HOUSE I HAVE SACRAFICED FOR YOUR TOYS!!”

Luckily, my calmer self triumphed and I heard myself rationally running down the list of activities that I thought he would enjoy.

“I don’t feel like doing any of those things,” he says. “I want to go somewhere fun. Can we go to the movies?”

Ah ha!

Now that is a different story entirely.

It’s the age old battle between needs and wants.

“So, what you are saying Brendan is that you are not in NEED of something to do. You just WANT to do something other than what I have offered you,” I say.

Now I am excited! I have been handed, on a shiny, silver platter, the opportunity to teach my son an important GROWN UP, REAL LIFE lesson.

Grabbing some coffee, I ask my son to sit down at the kitchen table with me.

“I understand how you feel,” I begin. “Everyone, at one time or another WANTS something they do NOT NEED. However, what makes you extremely fortunate is that you do not WANT something that you really and truly NEED. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” he says.

“Can you think of an example,” I ask?

“Starving people want food because they need food to live,” he says.

Now I begin to smile --- he IS listening to me.

“And you tell Daddy you want granite in the kitchen, but you don’t need that!”

BUSTED!

Seems my son has learned a lesson.

And so have I.

I’m NOT getting granite any time soon!

******

Enjoy your day!

Schooled by the student

Henry Ford once said, “Anyone who stops learning is old, whether at twenty or eighty.” If he was correct, I most certainly am not old – yeah!

Because ever since becoming a parent almost nine years ago, I most certainly learn something new every, single day.

Usually my lessons learned come from interactions with my three boys. What I’ve discovered could fill a book – or this blog.

Did you know that milk, when spilled on the floor, actually makes hardwood floors appear shinier? Or that blue, gloopy, children’s toothpaste never, truly comes off bathroom rugs?

And did you know that county-fair-won-goldfish will die if put directly in a bowl full of tap water? Or that when thrown from the upstairs balcony a lightweight Hot Wheels car will, in fact, leave a dent in your floors?

All of these lessons are, in their own way, useful. They are the boys’ way of paying us, their loving parents, back for the important life lessons we teach.

However, this morning, when the five of us sat around the kitchen table playing the game of “Life,” I discovered a third type of lesson and it is the variety that I like the best --- The lessons my sons teach each other.

At the end of a hard-fought, two hour game, my youngest, three year old Ryan began to cry – and then scream – because he did not win. (Although he did beat both of his parents who have quite a bit more experience in this whole “life” thing – I’m just saying).

My six year old Colin won and he was thrilled.

But Ryan kept screaming.

“NO, I WIN!”

I tried to explain over the sobs and screams that this was just a game, that he did well, and maybe he’d win next time.

Did he listen?

NO.

So I tried again.

More screams.

And then the lesson came.

Colin, without being asked, went over to his hyperventilating younger brother, put his arm around his shoulder, and said this:

“It’s ok Ryan. When I was three I didn’t win either. So you’ll win when you are six.”

Is it true?

Maybe, but it’s the six-year old logic and the way in which it was delivered that was today’s biggest, and most delightful lesson.

Colin did succeed in getting Ryan to stop crying. He also taught his baby brother that he understands why he is upset and someday the outcome will be better.

Colin also taught me.

Today, I learned that my boys truly care about each other. Sometimes they don’t need mom or dad to make it all better. Sometimes they just need each other’s shoulders to cry on. Because no matter how hard Jeff and I try, they will understand each other better than we will. They are navigating childhood side by side with us as their well-meaning but flawed parents. And because of this, they will need each other the most. And I am thrilled, that without being asked, they are stepping up to the challenge.

Today I learned that we must be doing something right.

******

Have a great weekend!

My Little Hawaii

I would love to go to Hawaii. I have never been, but I hear it is nice.

I also hear that it takes a lot of time and money to get there. With three children I can think of about one million better ways to spend our hard-earned cash.

Much better ways.

Like on dental work.

Yeah. Not my first choice.

As a child my parents put their money into the care of my teeth. I had it all – twice yearly dental cleanings, and much to my chagrin – braces.  Funny thing is that as a child, I never really thought about going to the dentist as something my parents were doing for me in lieu of taking trips to exotic locations.

And since what goes around comes around, I am sure that at least one, if not all, of our three children’s teeth will cost us a pretty penny.

Problem is --- we are still spending money on MY TEETH!

Actually one tooth – one I now call “Little Hawaii.” I call “her” “Little Hawaii” because with the money I have spent on her, the whole family could have enjoyed an entire week in the Hawaiian Islands.

It all began when I was 8 months pregnant with my first son, Brendan. “Little Hawaii”- a molar on my lower right – BROKE. “She” decided to crack while chewing on a cheese cracker. Not sticky toffee. Not hard candy. A cracker!

“Whoa! That’s weird,” I thought.

I’d read everything I could get my hands on regarding pregnancy. Tooth cracking was not high on the list of side effects.

But with less than a month to go before entering the world of parenthood, I didn’t give “Little Hawaii” much thought.

Four weeks later Brendan was born and I was thrown into a world so full of love, diapers, and sleep deprivation, that not only did I forget about the small crack in my tooth, I forgot about the dentist all together.

I mean who needs a dentist, when, on most days, you only remember to brush your teeth somewhere between 3 and 5 a.m.?

In fact, I didn’t think about “Little Hawaii” again until 18 months later when I was pregnant with my son Colin.

This time “Little Hawaii” made herself known much earlier. I was only 6 weeks pregnant, when what I can only assume was jealousy; “Little Hawaii” began throbbing painfully.

OH MY GOD! THIS HURTS!

Two days and a few shots of Novocain later, the pain subsided. But the panic set in.

“You need a root canal,” said my friend-turned-enemy dentist.

I informed him that he’d have to perform this lovely procedure without the use of x-rays, which I was convinced, would hurt my baby.

He agreed, and two weeks and a significant outlay of cash later, “Little Hawaii” was on the mend.

Again, I went through my pregnancy and Colin’s first year of life paying little attention to the state of my teeth.

But then, at a routine cleaning, my dentist informed me that it was now time to cap “Little Hawaii.”

All I heard was ….

“THIS *&%$# TOOTH IS GOING TO COST YOU MORE MONEY, blah, blah, blah.”

But in the name of oral care, I spent the money and “Little Hawaii” was looking pretty good…

Until

Yep.

My third pregnancy.

My expensive cap cracked and needed to be replaced.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?

So the pattern repeated….new cap, more money, nice smile.

Until…

NOPE

NOT

PREGNANT!

But just last week, with a glint of sadness (or was that dollar signs?) in his eyes, my dentist informed me that “Little Hawaii” had to come out. She had put up a good fight, but she was just too weak to go on.

I looked at my dentist like he was crazy.

He then went on to explain all the miracles of modern dentistry that would allow him to extract “Little Hawaii” and implant a new-and-improved tooth into my mouth.

“So what you are trying to say is that this will be the most expensive tooth I’ll never have??,” I ask.

He smiles sadly.

Well, at least someone will go to Hawaii.

Aloha Dr. Dentist!!

Open Mouth - Insert Well-Worn Sneaker!

Like most people still tied to their New Year’s resolutions, I went to the gym yesterday morning, a place I either love or hate.  Some days the gym is like a comforting friend, encouraging me to be the best me I can be. Other days it’s a sadist inflicting all sorts of bodily torture on my poor, tired body. 

Yesterday, the gym was acting like a good ole friend. I hadn’t been for a visit all weekend and it felt good to step up and on to the elliptical. Over the course of the next 60 minutes I lost myself in the music and the sweat…..but mostly in my daydream.

The daydream goes like this:

I am not just some 30-something mom trying to regain the body of her 20’s in Target workout capris and Nikes. Oh no! I am an elliptical instructor leading a class full of enthusiastic 30-something workout capri wearers in an hour long elliptical aerobics class.

First, of all. I’m not even sure that elliptical aerobic classes even exist. But in my mind they are very much like spin/cycle classes. In an effort to keep myself engaged in my hour long workout, I change up my routine with each new song. Maybe it will be a really intense, high resistance song. Next, maybe I’ll go for a lower resistance sprint. I carefully pick songs to complement each “routine.”

And in my mind --- I’m a chipper, smiling, tight-bodied instructor encouraging her class with such well known, obnoxious phrases as “you can do anything for a minute,” “breathe through your nose,” and “feel the burn!”

It’s great! My class loves me. They feel the burn and they will look great because of me.

Of course the reality is that I am sweating like the 30-something workout capri wearer that I am. 18 year old Skipper is to my right, sans sweat, smiling, and reading Cosmopolitan while she “works out.” To my left is a MAM (middle aged man) sweating so profusely that I seriously think he may slip off his machine.

So, I take a deep breath (in through my nose, of course) and get back to my imaginary class. With only 10 minutes left in my workout, I find my legs getting tired and my will getting weak. So, I scan through my iPhone for a pick-me up song.

Ah! Ha!

I found the perfect tune - an obscene song by Buckcherry. Something about a Crazy *itch.

But it works! This song kicks my butt into gear. I increase my resistance. I increase my incline. And I go, go, go!

About two minutes later I notice sweaty MAM staring at me.

Hum, I think.

He must assume I’m some sort of fitness expert – just look at me go!

I smile to myself.

Oh. He’s still looking at me. And is that a smirk on his face?

Wait! He’s motioning me to take off my headphones.

Doesn’t he see my wedding band?

“You are singing out loud,” he says with an unmistakable smirk.

“What,” I say.

OH.

OH NO!

The only words I know in this song are those in the chorus.

OH NO!

They are NOT nice words. Not nice at all.

Is it hot in here?

I smile demurely, quietly removing my headphones. Without looking up to see if anyone else in the gym has heard my karaoke, I step off the elliptical.

Gym – 1

Kelly – 0

I high-tail it out to my car, thinking that there must be at least half a dozen other local gyms still advertising New Years’ specials – maybe even one in search of an imaginary elliptical instructor.

Chaos+Chaos=Peace?

It’s a miracle. I real-life, true-blue miracle. I realized today that by adding more chaos to my already chaotic life I succeeded in doing the impossible – I’ve found a small bit of peace. It comes in fits and spurts but it is peace nonetheless.

How did I pull off this miracle of miracles?

By welcoming a new family member – our puppy Roxie – into our lives.

Jeff and I realized that adding a dog to our family was inevitable. We love dogs and so do our boys. We knew it was just a matter of timing. There were so many things to consider: When did we want to welcome a furry friend? What type of furry friend did we want? Were any of our children ready to shoulder some of the responsibility that comes with having a furry friend?

Turns out we didn’t have a chance to answer these questions. On October 22, 2010 Roxie came bounding into our lives with her big eyes and affectionate face licks. I think my Aunt Jan said it best, “You didn’t find Roxie. Roxie found you.”

Roxie -- 8 weeks old!

Roxie found us via my friend Dorey whose brother first rescued her. He found this tiny, four pound, six week old pup abandoned underneath the deck of a nearby home. So, Roxie needed a family to love her. Dorey asked me if we were willing.

Um, yeah!

That’s exactly what I said.

I didn’t think about it.

The words just came falling out.

I was looking at that cute little face. I was watching my three boys giggle as she licked their precious cheeks. We were captivated.

Now we just had to convince my husband Jeff.

So, here’s the thing.

At the time I was asked whether or not we would give Roxie a home, we were at my six year old son Colin’s little league game. Jeff is his coach. As I was handed the wiggling pup, he was on the field with his team – oblivious.

He was missing the transformation - the transformation of his family from a family without a dog, to a family in love with THEIR dog.

The poor guy didn’t know what was about to hit him.

And as much as we were spellbound, so were the 24 other families in attendance at the game. As Jeff came off the field he was met with a flurry of high-fives.

He looked bewildered.

I held up Roxie.

He shook his head with a smirk.

The deal was done.

Over the next few weeks we acclimated ourselves to life with a puppy while Roxie basked in our outpouring of love and affection.

I also quickly recalled that having a puppy is very much like having a baby. Roxie was waking us up at all hours of the night. She slept peacefully during the day. And instead of a diaper, she constantly needed to go outside and unleash.

Roxie caught "Red-Handed" chewing on a pair of Uggs.



I have to admit there were more than a few moments when I thought….

OH MY GOD! WHAT HAVE I DONE?

But those thoughts were fleeting. Because, despite the extra work, I gradually began to realize that by adding more chaos (Roxie) to our lives, we were experiencing more peace.

Instead of coming home and arguing over what television show to watch, the boys laugh together as they play in the yard with Roxie.

Instead of grumbling about doing homework, the boys finish as quickly as they can so that they can be the first to take Roxie for a walk.

And in the evenings, after dinner, rather than fight over bedtime, one or two of the boys now choose to accompany me on a walk around the neighborhood with our pup.

I am so grateful to Roxie for these little gems of peace. She has given us moments of time when we all take a moment to breathe in the fresh air feeling happy just for the time spent together.

And then life returns to normal.

We bring Roxie inside. She chews my new shoes. The boys voice the 52 reasons why they don’t need to do their homework/brush their teeth/go to bed. But that’s ok. We had fun today!

Thanks Roxie!

Christmas Roxie