Vacation? I had a vacation?

Sooo, my husband, his mother and our oldest just spent nine days visiting relatives in Panama, where my mother-in-law is from. And I spent nine days with the three younger children -- my daughters were off from school -- trying to get my house in order. I felt kind of bad ... I did set up some play dates for the kids, but my goal for the week was primarily spring cleaning. All my other vacation time during the year ends up being centered on kids' stuff, this time I needed to purge the house of clutter.
So ... I spent a full day cleaning the little kids' rooms.
I spent a full day cleaning the teen's room alone ... yuck!
I cleaned the first floor.
I cleaned the second floor.
I cleaned the fridge and the kitchen cabinets.
I emptied out and organized the closets.
I got rid of at least a dozen bags of garbage, plus loaded the broken toys, some beyond-its-time furniture and debris from the yard down for bulk pickup, and took a fully loaded pickup truck-bed filled with good-but-unused stuff -- I was tempted to do a yard sale, but remembered the last time I sat through one of those and decided against it -- and donated it all to charity.
Then ... I went outside.
I dragged all the wood cuttings from a tree we cut down out to the street.
I took old asbestos shingles to the reclamation center.
I limed, aerated and fertilized the front lawn.
I stripped and refinished the wood on the rear deck.
And ...
I got my car tuned up, washed and vacuumed.
I bribed my 4-year-old with a Hershey bar so he'd sit still for a much-needed haircut.
Plus I did all the usual running to kids' activities, grocery shopping, laundry -- plus extra trips to Home Depot for the lawn and the deck -- and had my girls each have a friend over for a day, one an overnight slumber party.
What I didn't do much of was cook. It was a lot of easy spaghetti or nuked-chicken nugget meals, pizza, McDonalds and a few dinners out. So Sunday night I cooked. Then when the Traveling Three arrived home from the airport, I looked around.
Except for the deck and the miracle that occurred in the teenager's now-clean room, nothing really looked any different. Although deep down, I know it is so much cleaner. For at least a week, anyway.

Blasts from the past

When my husband and I were looking at houses, I wanted to move to a town with a K-8 school. Reason is, I can run into pretty much an of those former classmates and it's a joy to spend a few minutes catching up. I was in school with those kids for nine years, and even those kids you weren't best friends with -- although in the small school, you were good friends with almost every one of them at one time or another -- you still have a bond from growing up together.
Last year, when Avon Grammar School had a celebration for its 100th anniversary (No, I wasn't in that first graduating class!) I ran into people who I haven't seen in decades. It was great, and I spoke with some classmates about doing a reunion of our class and everybody was into the idea. I collected a few business cards and was going to set it up last year. When my uncle was sick, and after he passed away, I lost all motivation to do anything like that, so it fell by the wayside.
This weekend, on a girls' night out to celebrate my birthday a little early, I was reminded of that again. We all went to Kelly's after dinner where I ran into Jerry, one of my classmates from grammar school with absolutely the weirdest talent I've ever heard of: He can remember everybody's birthdays. He knew mine was coming up, and what day it was. I thought maybe he overheard, so I quizzed him on a few other kids we grew up with whose birthdays I know, and he knew them all. Strange stuff!
Then he pointed at a woman at the end of the room. "That's Sheryl," he said. I haven't seen her in decades ... so Jerry and I went over and we had a mini reunion. Again, it was great. We caught up, filled each other in on who is where and doing what, it was a lot of fun. Originally my friends and I were going to see a band, then couldn't figure out who we wanted to go see, so we figured we'd just stop at Kelly's, and I'm so glad we did.
Now I have to find those business cards I collected at the school's centennial, I'm determined to set up an informal reunion now. Anybody from my class in grade school, give me a call!

The things we miss out on ...

I was bummed out yesterday afternoon, knowing I would be missing the looks on my daughters' faces when they found out their New Hampshire cousins were in town. I particularly wanted to see my 8-year-old's reaction. The oldest of their three cousins is just a little younger than she is, and they just adore each other -- they both enjoy the same type of stuff. When they were younger, the cousin followed my older daughter around, much to my younger daughter's chagrin. But as they spent more time together, the two realized they had so much more in common -- both are the more doll-playing, dressing up girls while my older daughter is a more tomboyish, give-me-a-good-book-over-a-doll-anytime type of kid.
Last month, the cousins were supposed to come down and we made the mistake of alerting our children. Then a snowstorm hit on the day they planned to drive, so they wound up canceling. Good thing -- they all got sick shortly after, and so did we. It would have been an awful time for all. But my 8-year-old was devastated, and kept asking me, "Can't they just come down for a day?" Not with that drive.
So when they planned to come this week, we didn't tell them, just in case. Then Thursday, my parents picked the girls up from school and brought them to their house where, SURPRISE! -- the cousins had arrived.
My older daughter told me how her sister was so excited she practically jumped out of her skin. But one of the drawbacks of working moms is we miss some of that stuff. And although I know my daughter, and her funny, happy ways and mannerisms when she's really excited, I still wish I could have been there.

Little miss forgetful

What can you do to help a child remember things better? My older daughter, who is 10, has chronic forgetfulness. She's very conscientious, very hard-working and very motivated. She's also very forgetful about things. If she's asked to give me a message, she'll forget. If she didn't finish her homework right after school and left something until the evening, I'll find her downstairs in a panic in the morning.
I've even started sending in school paperwork -- the stuff where they ask you to send only one copy of something back per family and recommend the oldest child in the school -- with her 8-year-old sister. It's got a better chance of making it to the teacher rather than getting pushed to the bottom of the backpack.
I'll ask her to do something, and on her way to do it, she'll get distracted by something, then will come back to where I am. "Did you do what I asked?" "Ohhhhh! No, I'll go now." This may happen again before she gets to the original task at hand.
So today I heard from her teacher. Seems Miss Forgetful has two schoolbooks at home that she's supposed to bring back in, and has had them for weeks since they were sent home when she was ill for a week. Her teacher figured out she hadn't told me and e-mailed me so we won't be charged for them. Thank goodness, but she's had my daughter in class since September, I'm sure she recognizes the forgetful gene is prominent.
But I'm sure my daughter feels terrible every day when she's asked where the books are. She gets this crestfallen look that almost makes you want to apologize to her! And I'm sure she's as eager to return them ... it's just that after she's at the sitter's for two hours after school, the thought is long gone when we arrive to pick her up.
And I'm sure those books are in "storage" underneath her bed -- the black hole for toys, clothes and heaven knows what else. Good timing for vacation week -- it's also house cleaning work, and black-hole emptying week. And textbook-locating-so-we-don't-get-charged week.

A little quid pro quo from mom and dad

For my dad's last birthday, my sister and brother and I pitched in to get him and my mom tickets to "Jersey Boys" on Broadway. It was something we knew they wouldn't get for themselves -- they went last month and absolutely loved it.
So they got us back last night, with tickets for me and my girls and my brother and his boys to see the Harlem Globetrotters at Brookdale. Left up to my own efforts, I probably wouldn't have thought to get the tickets. But I can't wait till they're back in the area. So much fun!
Their antics are hysterical, their plays are amazing and they fit in just the right amount of basketball with audience participation and gags. They really know how to keep the crowd interested. My 10-year-old was thrilled. My 8-year-old was more into the snacks and potential souvenirs: "Can you buy me a $25 basketball or subscribe to another newspaper to get me a 'free' basketball?" Sorry, kiddo. We've got enough basketballs already. She loved Globie the mascot, though, and was aflutter all the way home after getting Globie's autograph.
So all morning, I've heard the whistling of "Sweet Georgia Brown" in my head. And like mom and dad, I probably wouldn't have run out to get those tickets myself to go to a show in the middle of an already busy week on a school night, but now I'm so glad someone else did for me.

It's scary out there

I'm often struck by the differences between the childhood I led and the childhood my children lead. We're much more protective of our kids -- we have to be. There's so much insanity out there. I'm sure it was there when we were kids -- reading stories like the Zarinsky and Biegenwald murders that happened in Monmouth County is proof of that.
I can remember being in my early grade school years and walking on my own to my friends Shawn and Shelby's house. Said Bye to Mom and walked around the corner then down the lane to their house on the opposite corner of our block. We thought nothing of it. These days, if my 8-year-old brings something to a neighbor's house, I stand at the door and watch her.
The news update I just saw shows me why -- and why I feel even more guilty about being late to pick my daughter up from band practice yesterday. I usually set my cell phone alarm to remind me about 15 minutes before she's done, but I forgot my cell phone yesterday -- something I never do -- I would've thought I'd forget my pants before I'd forget my cell phone. I looked at my watch and gasped -- she was getting out in one minute and I'm a 10-minute drive away. I flew out the door but I didn't get to the school until more than 10 minutes after her lesson was over. She was outside, tears welling up because I wasn't there. I apologized profusely -- she had just borrowed another kid's cell phone and tried to call me, and again, I didn't have it. Fortunately there was another parent there keeping watch -- I'm grateful -- it's something I've done before after spotting a "leftover" kid at the end of a school or sports event when a parent ran late -- staying those extra few minutes is worth the delay. Takes a village sometimes, right?

I talked to her about not leaving the school until she saw my car outside, that I always park where she can see me, but if she wants to check, she should have another student hold the door for her so she can come back inside if I'm not there.



Then this morning, I read that some guy (that's the composite photo on the right) tried to lure a 9-year-old girl in Neptune around 3 p.m. yesterday. Pulled up in a van and tried to get her to come over to him. That sent a knot right to my stomach. The girl kept walking -- smart kid -- another sign that we're much more protective of our kids these days -- we always give them those reminders about stranger danger, much more so than when we were kids.

It's a crazy world out there sometimes. And we don't want that craziness to touch our kids.
And you can be damn sure I won't ever be late for band practice again.

What a character!

My 4-year-old son doesn't like characters -- cartoon, Disney, anything like that. He loves them when they're on TV or video, but as soon as he sees someone dressed up, he's outta here. Those character breakfasts/dinners usually send him under the table until the character has moved along.
Take the Easter Bunny. No way would my son go pose next to him. (Or is it a her?) At the egg hunt we went to this weekend, as my friend Erika's girls were posing with the Bunny with their baskets filled with eggs, I asked my little guy, "Do you want to go see the Easter Bunny?" I barely got the words out when he yelled, "No!" and ran back to the safety of Grandma and Grandpa.
I shouldn't have even bothered asking. The only person he'll sit with is Santa Claus, and even then, he usually does so with a wary look in his eye. But he's into the idea of presents, and Santa's a pretty amiable-looking guy. Plus, he's human. He's not wearing a big mask or costume other than his red attire. Put a big bunny head on top of your shoulders and you'll send my boy flying in the opposite direction.
My three older children were never afraid of characters like this. I'm not sure when it started with my youngest, but I do recall a trip to Florida when he was less than 2 years old, and he started getting antsy when the characters came into the breakfast we were attending at one of the Disney resort hotels. He looked frightened when he saw Mickey and Goofy down at the other end, but Chip and Dale came to us first. Who could be afraid of a couple of cute chipmunks. They warmed him up, and he smiled with Mickey and Goofy too.
But when we returned to Disney last year, he would wave, poker-faced, but would not go near any of the characters, even if his siblings were up hugging them. Strange phobia. Except now, he's heard that Spongebob Squarepants will be the guest character at a restaurant soon. And he wants to go.
What a little character.

Not eggsactly a chicken

I picked up my son from school this morning and he was happily showing me the Easter Egg he had colored. Trouble is, he brought the egg in the same day that the chicks the preschoolers were watching hatched.
So even though his egg came home multicolored, he figured it was the next to hatch. "Look Mommy, a chick is gonna come out of my egg!" No, honey, that's not a chick-egg. It's an egg-egg.
"No ... see, it's tapping. It's breaking the egg and it's gonna come out." If a chick popped out of that egg I would've driven off the road. But the only thing tapping on the eggshell was my son, from the outside, trying to rouse a fuzzy little bundle of joy that wasn't there.
After plenty of tapping, he finally realized I was right. It was an egg-egg, not a chick-egg. It didn't stop his exploration, though, and when we got home, I opened up the back door to find a few dozen itty bitty pieces of eggshell all over the car floor.
And my little guy had sliced hard-boiled egg with his lunch, the chick that could have been was forgotten.

How our sense of humor changes!

My friend Nancy, also mom of a teen, e-mailed me a copy of a poster that made me laugh out loud. In the center is a group of five teens, none is smiling, and the girl in the center has her arms crossed and her head cocked to the side in that ""Whatever!'' type of pose teenagers can strike. At the top, it says, "TEENAGERS" then, "Tired of Being Harassed by Your Stupid Parents?"
Below the picture, it reads:
"ACT NOW!
Move out ...
Get a job ...
Pay your own bills.
Do it while you still know everything."

I had to forward it to my friends with teens. Debbie, whose oldest of two just became a teen, said "God help me." Pj said her two teen daughters weren't amused by the poster. Carole, mom of one former and two future teens, asked "Who sells these? I need 3!" and Mary, with three teens, said, "Funny ... my kids didn’t laugh! I thought it was hilarious!"
I tried it out on my teen, giving him a printout of the poster. I asked, "What do you think?"
"I don't get it," was the answer.
Someday, when karma evens things out, he will.

Mommy's Play Date

So Friday night I volunteered at "Fun Night" for grades 3 and 4 at our local school. I have a child in each of those grades, so it made sense to volunteer, right? I flew there after work on Friday to help with set-up, then I helped run with the games and refreshments, then I helped with cleanup. On Saturday, I volunteered to drive and be a chaperone for a trip to visit the Eastern Star retirement and nursing home for my daughters' Rainbow Girls group. Sunday, on our way back from CCD, my younger daughter said she wanted a play date.
"Not today, it's mommy's turn for a play date," I said. And that's exactly what I did. Grandma babysat for the day, and my husband I went up to Newark for lunch at Scully's tavern, then headed to the Seton Hall-Rutgers game at the new arena. In January, I ordered 26 tickets, knowing I'd have no problem finding people to take them, and most of them were my former roommates and other former school buddies (I originally wrote "old buddies," but that words starting to make me cringe this many years out of school) from the mid 1980s.
What a blast. We had snacks and drinks (a much better quality of beer than we drank back in our school days -- I can recall us pooling our money for Hamms or Meister Brau -- as I recall it was less expensive for a six-pack than soda), went to the game, then back to Scullys for a little more visiting before heading back home. The only downside of the day was the buzzer shot that netted Rutgers a heartbreaking victory over Seton Hall, augh! Out of our group of 26, only four were cheering for Rutgers. Right after that shot I couldn't help but glance at my RU buddy -- I probably shot her a look, blaming her for our loss! She had a priceless look on her face, showing that she was torn between cheering that her team won, some pity for the rest of us, and even a little hesitancy about yelling too loud in front of so many Pirate fans! Oh well, we beat Rutgers at the RAC this year after they defeated some top teams on their home turf, so I guess they get this one. And neither team will be heading to the Big Dance this year. And a great time was had by all.
When we got home, I had a mini play date with the kids. We ordered pizza then curled up in my room and watched "The Sandlot" before making it an early night for all, as we get used to Daylight Savings Time.
So I'm gonna have to get tickets again next year, for another Play Date, so we can be there when my beloved Pirates avenge the loss against their state foe!

Now what'll I train for?

I'm so, so, so, so bummed out! Last year, my friend Mary and I participated in the New York Metro Area Danskin Triathlon. We had such a blast, and this year, a bunch more women wanted to sign up with us. I'm going to see most of them over the month, and was going to encourage them to sign up early. Last year, it filled around the first week of May. The year before, it was in June -- the first year it filled up, by the way.
This year, it closed on March 6. I believe it only opened on March 5. The thing that kills me is, I opened up the Web site yesterday morning and started to sign up, then realized I wanted to use a different credit card. Thought I had at the very least another month!
Oh well. I'm no speed demon, I'll never win any trophies or break any records, but it was so much fun last year, and I was looking forward to it this year. If anyone who was planning to join up with me this year happens to read this: Sorry guys! I don't know what happened! Augh.

Hail to the chief!

OK, I know Barack Obama got grief when he claimed he never had aspirations for the Oval Office, then a kindergarten paper surfaced with his "When I grow up I want to be president" ambition. Puhleeze.
Well, my third-grade daughter has a similar career goal, apparently. Going through her school papers, I found her Presidents Day essay. In its entirety, it reads (with my own comments added in parentheses) as follows:

"If I was President I would put a recycling and garbage can on every street." (That's my wonderful, green-minded gal!)
"I would also try to make friends with everyone in England and stop the war." (I'm guessing they're studying the Revolutionary War era right now.)
"I'd check every building and make sure it's safe. I know I will make a good President."

She's got my vote.

Throw away the key

Hinting at a "mental state" defense, the lawyer for Clement Bilski Jr., accused of sexually assaulting a girl starting from when she was 2 years old, admitted the videos in evidence were going to show Bilski having sex with the young child, and that they were "horrific." "How long did it take before someone commented, 'This guy is sick'?" the lawyer asked an investigator. "Not very long," was the answer.

This guy should be locked up. He targeted a little girl too young to understand what was happening to her and too young to tell anyone what was going on. It went on for years.

I hope the "mental state" defense doesn't fly. He knew what he was doing. He was manipulative, deliberate, secretive, he planned this stuff out. This isn't a case of someone going off their meds. His intent was clear. He knew it was wrong. Yet he continued, he didn't try to get "help."

Lock him up with the general population, let him learn what a little of what that little girl and her family went through. If you haven't read the story yet, and you have the stomach for it, here's the link:
Girl's dad confronts sex assault suspect

Taxes, Schmaxes

I'm in charge of the annual tax returns in our household. I've become pretty organized over the years ... I have a file that I keep tossing everything I need into during the year -- charitable donations and the like. Then it's just a matter of sitting down -- in peace -- and getting it all organized. Since we need the return soon so we can pay for summer camp, I'm down to the wire. Last night was my "tax night." I sat at the computer and told my three younger ones, "You have to leave Mommy alone tonight. If you need anything, ask Daddy. But please, I need peace and quiet to get through this tonight."
They must have thought it was "Opposite Day." Immediately, my 10-year-old hopped up on our bed -- a half dozen feet from where I was trying to work, and started reading a book to her little brother. Now, it's hard to get raucous when you're reading a book, but somehow they managed.
"Please? Take that into your room?" I asked. You don't have to ask her twice, she caught on and gave me space for the rest of the evening. The 8-year-old and 4-year-old, however, didn't catch on to the concept that "Not Tonight" meant for the rest of the evening.
"Is she done yet?" I heard my daughter ask my husband that quite a few times over the next two hours. Then shortly after we sent them to bed, I reached a point where I had to sift through a whole bunch of statements, so I spread them out on the floor. But I kept seeing "The Shadow." My 4-year-old would stand just beyond where I could see him outside the door, but his shadow betrayed him. "Go to BED!" "I want a hug and kiss!" "Ok." Then, two minutes later, The Shadow was back. "GO TO BED!" "But I want two hugs and two kisses." Augh. Fine. Then another two minutes, The Return of the Shadow. "Would you carry me to bed?" .... "NOOOOOOO!" My husband kept shooing him back to his bedroom. Then the final Shadow appearance, "Get in BED!!!!!!!!!!!!" "Would you put my blankie on me?"
Taxes can be torture. But it's not as bad as the torture you feel, knowing your baby just wants some last minute attention. In retrospect, I realized that had I simply read him a book and sang a song, I would have saved both of us that extra 15 minutes of delayed bedtime. Ooops. Who knew?
I guess The Shadow Knows.

Swearin' o' the Green

When kids are little, I cringe when I hear adults swear in front of them. My teenager and a friend of his were shocked, back when they were 15, when I missed a turn we were supposed to take and I blurted out, "Oh bleep," (except I didn't say bleep). I took it as a compliment that neither had heard me swear before. But when you have little kids in the house, you learn to watch your language. I can always tell which of my teen's friends have younger siblings ... I had to ask him to remind one of them that there are three little ones in the house recently, after overhearing their chatter in which she used a few colorful nouns and adjectives that I'd really prefer my younger ones not hear so openly.
On Sunday, my friend Erika and I were walking back to the car with her two young daughters and my 8-year-old after the Belmar St. Patty's Day Parade. Heading toward us were three 20-somethings -- two girls and a guy, who had obviously been partying. The girl walking in the center was loudly going on about something and her language was, well, apparently peppered with curses. We hadn't heard too much, and inward I was beginning to cringe, when the guy looked ahead at us approaching, heard a curse come from his friend and he stopped, turned and told the girls to watch their language while the little kids were nearby. "Sorry!" called out the girl who had been doing most of the talking. "I'm just really drunk!" Well, the kids could have done without that knowledge, but it seemed to go over their heads since they weren't paying her much attention anyway.
"Kudos to him for telling the others to watch their language," said Erika as we got to the car. I agreed. I don't know if he has little siblings or cousins, but two moms who were doing their best to shield their kids from post-parade-party language appreciated his efforts.