Snowdays

This morning my daughters were finally going to school after many days off to the record setting snowstorm of last weekend. I knocked on on of the twins' doors to see if she was ready.

She was giving herself a pedicure, complete with a massage, foot soak and lotion. 

4th grade has become a lot more difficult than I remember...

Double Trouble Education

Double Trouble Education

                Sometimes the universe plays tricks on me. Like the day I found out my youngest daughter had lice. There’s no time for the hell that ensued following that phone call, instead I’m going to focus on the opportunities that lie ahead when you have hours of nitpicking each evening.

                Basically, the best (and in my educated opinion, only) way to eradicate lice is to pick them out. Daily, then periodically check until you can declare the home lice free. In order to effectively do this I used a headlamp purchased for camping. It was the perfect tool. The best position for nitpicking is with the child facing away from you and you standing behind. Now that I offered the visual, here’s the opportunity. It is an invitation for your tweens to talk to you. I have twin girls who are ten, and they used this opportunity to divulge all kinds of secrets without having to look me in the eye. It was wonderful, I almost wished I had a reason to keep checking them, but alas, they were not the source of the lice.

                The first question I was prepared for and knew it was coming; they wanted to know about having their periods. I breezed through this like I had been training for it for years. I talked about puberty, bras, boobs and vaginas. I explained the cycle, the timing and that yes; you can still play sports during this time. I was Mom of the Year, upfront and honest like I had promised myself I would be!

                Then, my oldest twin asked me how the egg (which I mentioned in the previous discussion) was fertilized. Bam! Easy, they knew about the plant life cycle, so I told her it was fertilized with sperm. Again, I was winning. However, the next question knocked me off my pedestal and back into my room. She asked how the sperm got into the woman. And I froze. My initial thought had something to do with explaining sex to someone who still believed in Santa. I just spilled it. My daughter is a technical thinker, so I kept it mechanical, slipped in a reference about marriage, and gave it to her straight. I know for a fact she was mortified. But her only question was “so, daddy has seen you naked?”

                As a mother of 3 girls I know that timing is everything. If I told one twin, I must tell the other, and soon. I had the next child assume the position, I grabbed my comb and turned on my headlamp and started talking. As with before I covered periods with little issues, I’m guess she already had a hunch about that, as she’s a little more socially savvy than her sister and would ask one of her friends for information. I launched into my technical explanation of egg fertilization. Complete with a marital reference. Her first question stumped me and it was “who gets to plan the wedding?” What? It took me a bit to figure out why that was even on her radar. I guess it was because my insinuation is that sex happens after marriage. I mentioned earlier that her sister was more mechanical, so it never occurred to me that she might ask me some other questions. And they were very legitimate questions; however they required a glass of wine.

                After some Pinot I was able to say that yes, sex happens in the house. Where else? Well, mostly in the house. What room? Our bedroom. So, you only did it 2 times? No, you don’t always get pregnant right away. Why would you do it again? Does it feel good? And on and on we went. After what seemed like an hour we walked downstairs, my husband, who was oh so clueless, was approaching us and both kids gave a once over, looked him up and down and smirked.

                He glanced up at me; I just smiled and mumbled something about the birds and the bees while trying not to seem like I was in a huge hurry to exit stage left. Overall, I think I handled it like I wanted to, upfront and honestly. I’m sure there will be more questions, and I hope the girls know they can come to me, even if they don’t have lice. 

The Finer Things

     When I was 25 the finer things were usually "things" out of my reach. Leather shoes, fancy clothes and real diamonds come to mind. I remember my apartment in college, my roommates and I were searching for the finer things. We decided painting the wood paneled walls white and drinking Absolute Vodka were the finer things. Later, the finer things included becoming a flight attendant. Now, in the late 90's that was glamorous! It was a different world, so much freedom, definitely a finer thing.

    I just had a birthday, I'm no longer in my late 30's or even 40. I'm IN my 40's. This whole concept of the finer things has taken on new meaning. I have a permanent sore muscle in my back that reminds me daily of the life that I have led so far and the life that is yet to come. For some reason that made me think about what the finer things in life are, obviously is it subjective to each person. Clearly there are people that need to have things, fancy cars that valet services are proud to park, large pieces of antique jewelry or a simple birthday cake baked by their children. NONE of this is wrong. Instead it is a snapshot of what makes each person special. And in my examples, each of these examples represents something that was worked for and earned. In one way or another.
 
     Anyway, getting back to my finer things; what are they? Are they tangible? Are they expensive? Can they be purchased? Lately I've realized I'm a late bloomer. I'm not really sure why, but I missed that whole "getting to know yourself" step in my 20's. Instead I've spent 40 odd years compiling experiences, and now I feel like I have finally figured me out. I am so different than the person I think my parents intended me to be. I'm just a figment of the girl who my husband married 15 years ago. A lot of days I feel like my experiences kicked the shit out of me, and other times I feel like a butterfly emerging from a chrysalis. On this day, I feel like the butterfly, I know I've just emerged from a long year, one that I wasn't sure my marriage would survive. Last night, over a glass of wine, my husband and I talked, didn't yell, plan or solve. We talked. We also laughed, at each other, at the kids and at life. We are on the same page, finally. And that is definitely at the top of my list of finer things. I think over time I might feel like some of the undeniably bad experiences were also part of the finer things, at least I know they will always be a contributing factor.

    On New Year's Eve we had a party. Our normal party for parents with children. However, this year was different. Our children are older now, we can let loose a little bit more. I found myself surrounded by my friends singing a Pink duet. It was awesome! There is nothing better than a bunch of moms singing and laughing while their husband's stand around a laugh. To me, that's a finer thing.

   As I move through my life, raising my children, I get to see two views, theirs and mine. I see how what appeals to them as children starts as a tangible thing while I am looking at things that are intangible, things that are the experiences that define and shape you. Those things are the outcomes of hard work and dedication. I can see now that their Ipod and their love of Minecraft is as important to them as my New Year's experience or my moment last evening with my husband. As I mentioned, I'm a late bloomer, I'm guessing my 40 something friends already got this concept probably years ago. I'm just glad I stumbled onto this now, so I have the other half of my life to enjoy it!

Every Mom's Nightmare!

I packed him a “lunch” just like his cousins. He was so excited to meet his new baby sister; he just could not wait to go to the hospital. Frankly, neither could I. My niece had been a long time coming and I was bursting with joy at the prospect of a day off, nephew in tow, lunch with the parents and holding sweet, sweet, baby Emma.  We watched my kids get on the bus, waved frantically, and piled into the car. The short drive to the hospital was filled with expectant chatter about baby sister (which from him sounds like baby seester).

It was a perfect south central Pennsylvania September day. Bright blue skies, sunshine and no humidity, for once! Upon our arrival I received the first pictures via text, I was excited now, just a few more moments and I would be holding her! In the waiting room we had snacks with my parents and talked tractors and trucks, normal three year old stuff. New dad came out to say hello to his son, missing him since he was staying with my family for the week. It was almost time to go back; we could see the baby once my sister was out of recovery from her C-section.

A few trips to the bathroom later Dad came out to tell us it was time! I gathered up my stuff, noticing that I had missed a phone call. And then a voice message popped up. I paused, looked at my mom and told her I’d be back in a few, but the school had just called. I wanted to check the message. The school nurse, who I’ve become very friendly with over the years, left a message saying I needed to call her back as soon as possible. Uh oh. So I dial the phone, did not even consider my perfect day was in jeopardy. She quickly assured me that my youngest was fine, but I needed to pick her up.

Pick her up? Why? Well according to the nurse, she had head lice. LICE. What. The. Fresh. Hell? LICE? I had absolutely NO experience with lice, and I knew next to nothing about it. I knew for damn sure that I never wanted it anywhere near my kids or my house. With three girls, the nightmare of nit picking, stuffed animal cleansing and laundry was what I immediately envisioned. While this was running through my head the nurse was calmly reassuring me that this was normal, it happens, and she’ll send Maggie home with a coupon and a pamphlet. A coupon?  I hung up the phone. I was standing alone in a corridor wondering what had just happened. I have three girls. We live in a relatively small home. The child in question was just IN MY BED THE OTHER DAY. My older girls were being pulled from class and checked right now.

I walked slowly to my sister’s room. My mom pokes her head out, asks what took me so long. So I whisper “Maggie has lice”. And in that one statement a lot of things rushed through our collective minds. First of all, my nephew slept over last night. Secondly my mom was due to stay with us for the next week so she could help my sister with the new baby. Lastly, did I have lice? After a quick snapshot of me and baby Emma I make a hasty retreat to my house, where my daughter awaits my return. I’m very lucky; I had a family member close by that was willing to get Maggie so I could steal a few moments with my niece. 

If you have never dealt with a lice outbreak you cannot appreciate how much of a nightmare this actually is in real life. Sure, there’s the treatment, which is a pesticide, for your head. And then picking out the lice and nits…it’s as every bit as gross as can be imagined. However, the part that is akin to a Mom Fight Club is the laundry. Five beds, including mattress pads and pillows, every throw blanket, every throw pillow, EVER GODFORSAKEN STUFF ANIMAL had to be washed in hot, dried in hot.  For me that was about 362 loads of laundry. I took the large stuff to the laundromat. I hauled everything else that may harbor a bug to the basement. I even threw old bedding away and bought new. And then I started to clean. I mean, I am an educated woman, and I know that lice cannot live on surfaces, but that didn’t stop me.

I vacuumed everything, including baseboards, trim and corners. I had lice spray; I treated every piece of furniture. I had sweat dripping off the end of my nose. But I wasn’t done. I made a bleach solution and sprayed it on all the mattresses then flipped them over. I had superhuman strength and one little bug was not escaping my wrath! Obviously I was so mad; I should have been lunching and holding babies. I should have been visiting with my parents and making sure my sister had everything she needed. I should have taken her son to the park for a nice afternoon diversion. Nope, I was delousing my house.

Then, around 1:00 pm it occurred to me. I had not done my due diligence. I had not done the Mom Walk of Shame. I hadn’t called the people my daughter had come in contact with recently. I poured myself a beer. I mean, why the hell not? And I made a list. There was the soccer car pool, the soccer game where she sat in someone’s chair, the sitter and, her best friend. Maggie’s best friend’s mom had just had a baby herself, two weeks prior. And I really liked them, and at 40 it’s hard to find moms who get you. So I had to now call my daughter’s best friend’s mom, my new friend with her two week old baby, and tell her my daughter had lice. The beer helped this seem less of a really bad thing and more of a “you cannot make this up” type of incident.

Since I had hosted her daughter for four days when her baby sister was born, I was fairly certain Maggie had shared with her friend. And I was correct. Just when I thought my house’s delousing process was hell on earth, the thought of doing all that with an infant? Needless to say, it was a rough day for everyone. I never did get lunch, to the park or to see baby Emma again that day.

As the situation unfolded it turned out to be nice to have another nit picking friend to text our lice woes to. We will never know who shared first, and that’s ok. We also will never speak of the sign on the wall at the after school program warning parents about the lice outbreak. We share a sideways glance when someone talks about lice as though it’s a “dirty” disease. It’s neither dirty nor a disease. Lice prefer clean hair. We are triumphant in this hurdle, and we wear it like an invisible badge. And luckily the lice stayed with a few, and not the whole family. Yet.