My ill-fitted bikini

We are packing, or supposed to be packing, for our summer vacation.


Packing to me is like studying for a test.  Worrying about it is easier.  I think I have uttered the phrase "I have so much to do" more than 5,000 times in the past three days.  And then I don't do anything very productive.


I went bathing suit shopping today.  That was totally not productive.  It is cliche.  Grumpy mom eats five (okay 10) Hershey Kisses before going bathing suit shopping and then gets pissed when nothing looks good.


My daughter, who has accompanied me on my shopping escapade, lovingly says, "Mommy you are not fat, you're just mushy."  Just what I want to be at the beach...mushy.


I am careful what I say in front of Lucy, my daughter.  She is 7 and already told me she feels fat.  Lucy is the pickiest eater and survives on peas, carrots and apples.  She is in no danger of becoming one of the many obese children of our country.

Lucy at the very impressionable age of 7.

But as I frown at my mushy body in the mirror I am very aware of what my beloved television  has done and can do to impressionable minds.  Remember I am the girl who wrote Daisy Duke a fan letter in first grade.


Lucy stands up next to me in the dressing room and says "my legs are fat."  (This isn't the first time she has said this.)


Trying not to overreact I say, "Your legs look great.  Isn't the body amazing.  Look at my legs, they are very strong and help me run my races."  I smile while flexing like a body-builder.  


She looks at me, suddenly seeming like a 16-year-old, and she is not buying it.


"I mean it, my legs look good," I say with a pathetic smile.  Am I telling her or asking her?


Lucy's eyes pan down and she says "Really?"
 
Ouch.


I change out of the ill-fitting bikini, embarrassed, questioning my body and thinking she's right, I am mushy and my legs are huge.  It is amazing how much power a 7-year-old girl can have!


But wait, I am in charge.  I am shaping her future.  She will remember this day, maybe. I can change this from being about me looking bad in a bathing suit to something inspiring.


In the car we have a talk about civil rights.  She knows a little about it from some of the library books we got out last week.  And every MLK day we do a play about civil injustice in our living room.  (It sounds big and fancy, but it really is my 15 minute lesson on equality and we make a fun video.)  So today I take the opportunity to broaden the discussion and talk about women's rights.  The struggle for equal pay, the right to vote and more.


When we pull in the driveway I ask her how she feels.
"I sure am glad I'm not a woman," she responds.


Okay, so today might not be the day she remembers or that shapes her future.  But at least I distracted her from thinking her legs were fat.


And I didn't have to pack.  
But now I have so much to do.

JT's apron says A Woman's place is in the house....and senate. 

I am not funny

I just got around to looking through the huge pile of papers the kids brought home when they cleaned out their desks when school ended.  In it I found a paper that my then third grader filled out about....me.  It had a checklist of character traits such as cute, cuddly, sweet, etc.  And I got high marks.  My heart began to swell a little until I looked a little closer and saw one box that wasn't checked off...funny.  The only empty box was funny.


I was sure he forgot.


I asked him about it.  Thanking him first for the kind comments and then smiling I said "I see you forgot to check off funny."

"No I left it blank on purpose," was his reply.
Snorting my response, I said "Well, why?"
"Because I don't think you are particularly funny," he said.


Well, I'll be damned.


I think of myself in a certain way and yes, one of my fallbacks is funny.  I wasn't the pretty girl in the room, my whole life I was the one telling the joke.  I was the one making the funny faces, breakdancing at the prom (and my own wedding) and cracking jokes to help people laugh during uncomfortable life moments.  I have never been afraid to be the punchline.


Now my own kid doesn't think I am funny?


I polled the other kids and the two that can talk in the house said that I am funny "sometimes."


Even my husband said "Yeah, I think you are funny...in your own way."  What does that mean?

Maybe I am not particularly funny.  Who am I?

Growing up I was a talker.  The kid in class that teachers had to separate from people because of too much "socializing."  My own brother compared me to John Candy in a classic scene from the movie "Planes, Trains & Automobiles."  Steve Martin's character says that Candy's character is like a Chatty Cathy doll who pulls his own string and won't stop talking.


At first I was offended, but then I just embraced it.  And I have to admit I have always loved John Candy.  "Uncle Buck." "Spaceballs." Funny stuff.  So I was okay with the comparison.


But lately I have felt more like the cranky Steve Martin character.  Maybe that is why my kids don't think I am so funny.


It is a tough to figure out how to be the rule maker in the house and also be liked.  As my kids get older, I find it exhausting to always be molding them and teaching them.  I want to be the goofy character who is funny and lovable, and never saying no.


Then I look back at the list Peyton made in school.  He checked off a lot of other things like brilliant, brave, kind, thoughtful.  And I now know he put a lot of thought into the list.


I would rather my kids think I am brilliant and brave over funny. That damn big picture thing again.


And maybe I can try to be somewhere in between the Steve Martin and John Candy characters.

Chatty Cathy




Planes, Trains & Automobiles

— MOVIECLIPS.com

Bonus fabulous clip from one of the best movies ever, Planes, Trains & Automobiles.

Going the Wrong Way




Planes, Trains & Automobiles

— MOVIECLIPS.com

Celebrating the fourth and family

We just got back from a quick trip to my in-laws' cottage on a lake to celebrate the fourth of July.


The night before we left the kids couldn't sleep and my stomach was in knots.  We were cooking, baking, packing candy bars along with our beach towels and swimsuits.  You see the fourth of July is not just about sparklers and barbecues in my husband's family.   It is so much more.


It is a family reunion extravaganza.  Campers, kids, grills, pop-up tents, face-painting, potlucks, candy bar bingo, baseball games and more.



Every year over 50 family members gather at my in-laws' cottage.  A few stay in hotels, but most of the people stay on the property either in the cottage or in their campers and tents.  I will be honest, as my family grows I stress about our sleeping arrangements.  I also stress out about my passing dish, the lack of air conditioning, bug bites and water safety on the lake.


Sometimes I pretend to be laid back, but it is weekends like these that I realize I am so not.  My facade comes crashing down.  


The morning we left for the cottage we were all running around like the scene in "Home Alone" when they are leaving for the airport, and I was in deed worried we would leave someone behind.  The thing about traveling with a ton of kids is that it doesn't matter if you are going away for one night or a month, you have to pack pretty much the same amount. A lot. Just in case of course.


Once we got to the cottage, everything looked as it should.  The campers were lined up, the flags were hanging and people were ready to celebrate.


Ready to celebrate the fourth, family and tradition.  


This family might just be the most patriotic family I have ever met.   Who else do you know that has a parade through their own campsite while singing "Yankee Doodle Dandee?"


They also may be one of the most joyful families I have ever met.  Walking through the campground, I see generations of families sitting together truly enjoying each other's company.  Really laughing--heads thrown back, holding stomachs kind of laughing.  


Now there is almost always somebody that drinks too much, says too much or gets in a fight with their spouse.  I said they were a joyful, patriotic family, not perfect.  And yes at one time or another, I have been in one or all of those above categories in my 13 years of coming to this celebration.


But people, even those that made mistakes, come back to the party every year.  This family forgives, understands, supports and accepts.  
Even though I stress about the little things, the big picture is what it is all about. 
And I love the fact that my kids think every family celebrates the fourth with their own parade!

Recharging my Batteries

The baby, Wade, just started a fun phase. Temper tantrums.  He flails his body on the ground, screams and cries.  I vaguely remember these with the older kids.  I think our brains block out fun phases like these...like they block out how horrible pregnancy is and how painful labor is.


Today was very full.  The weather was finally summery and hot.  We had playdates, bike rides, sprinkler/hose fun and more.  And we had our first summer trip to the emergency room.


Lucy + trampoline = severely sprained ankle.  The hospital gave her a gel cast, which was much better than the thing we rigged up. (It was held together with duct tape.)

In the middle of all of this, Wade was often found wailing or whimpering in a corner.

You would think after four kids I would know what to do or I would have tricks of the trade, but nope, not me.  When I was pregnant with Wade and trying to figure out if I was in labor and berating myself for not knowing what that felt like, I took comfort from TLC.  I was flipping channels and happened upon that show where the couple from Arkansas has 25 kids or something insane like that.  Anyway, they were showing a scene where she was pregnant and not sure if she was in labor or not.  Even after 25 kids!


Not knowing what to do with Wade's fits, I opened up my old trusty "What To Expect the Toddler Years"(which I bought 10 years ago and haven't really looked at since) and read about tantrums.  The advice wasn't groundbreaking and I pretty much was doing everything the "right way" already.  The book gave some insight into why toddlers have tantrums like they feel a lack of control over their lives and their emotions, they need to release frustration and may have a genetic predisposition.  Hmmmmmm.


As the day went on, it got hotter and hotter.  By dinner I was melting and realized the air conditioner wasn't working.  I slid to the floor, buried my head into the kitchen cabinets and started wailing "why god, why?"


My kids looked annoyed with me.  Except for Wade, who just sat down next to me crying and looked at me like "now you get it lady, we have no control!" Waaaaaaaaa!


My husband Tim, shook his head and changed the dead batteries in the thermostat controller thingy.  And presto, the cool air started blasting out of the vents again.


Looks like the controller thingy isn't the only thing that needs to have their batteries recharged.


I need to rest up because the book also said basically you could just have a demanding, crying toddler who turns into a demanding, crying kid.  Waaaaaaaaa!

Don't mean to sound like I am complaining, just trying to keep it real.  I think it helps.

The Value of TV?

I have loved television my whole life.  TV was my babysitter before it was the cool thing to do.


But even from a young age I was a sophisticated television lover.  While my friends were enjoying "Captain Kangaroo," I was tuned into really cutting edge shows like "One Life To Live" and "All My Children" and prime time dramas such as "The Dukes of Hazzard" and "Dallas." 


I wasn't alone, although they may not admit how much they loved 80s television.  My sister and I would create elaborate Barbie storylines based on shows we saw.  For example, Barbie was moonlighting as a hooker and her john (a generic un-Ken, sometimes played by the Donny Osmond doll) was helping her keep her secret from Ken (loosely based on the Karen/Marco/Dr. Larry storyline on One Life To Live circa maybe 1979?).  And in first grade when we were learning how to write letters (an ancient art form) my best friend and I wrote and mailed letters to Katherine Bach, the talented actress who played Daisy Duke on "The Dukes of Hazzard."

• Is it wrong that while other kids were wondering what summer camp they were going to, I was wondering who really did shoot JR on Dallas?

• Is it wrong that I dreamed of one day living at Southfork and having a family barbecue like the Ewings?

• Is it wrong that I used to pretend I was the raunchy dancer on Solid Gold?

Ok, maybe that last one is wrong.

Maybe all of it is wrong.  As I hover over my children, I try to "protect" them from all of the junk on tv.  I won't let them watch what we call "teenager shows."  Those shows consist of "Wizards of Waverly Place" on Disney and mostly anything on Nickelodeon.  


Not sure why I am so strict.  I think mostly it is because my kids are total jerks to me after they watch those shows.


I don't know if I was ever a jerk to my parents after watching, what I like to call, the sophisticated shows of the eighties.  I mean I never thought my parents were stupid like Hannah Montana does.  I wasn't thinking about my parents at all.  I was practicing what my over-the-shoulder intro look would be if I was ever on "The Love Boat."  Remember those?  I mean who hasn't practiced their show intro look? Right?


As soap operas are beginning to phase out I am really nervous.  Television is changing.  I learned so much about life from soaps.  Lessons like lying is never a good idea...the truth always comes out; characters, I mean people, are very forgiving; there ARE super couples; and you may be recast, but it is never as good as the original.


There is still good TV out there and I am still watching the sophisticated programming.  Now I am into "The Real Housewives" of anywhere, because I believe editing IS storytelling.  And I am anxiously awaiting the premiere of "The Closer."  


And of course I will be so missing "Mad Men" this summer.  


TV was my babysitter and maybe sadly my best friend for a lot of my growing up.  As television changes, so am I.  But I believe there is value, even in some of the not-so-sophisticated programming.  


I just have to figure out what value there is for my kids and how sophisticated I want them to be.

You can't tell me there is no value in the brilliantly written show Mad Men.  For adults of course.

Classic Clips:

The Good Life

This pretty much sums up week 2 of our summer.

Don't over think it

"Get off your brother." 
10 times
"Stop hitting."  
15 times
"1,2.......3."    
5 times
"Get down, that's not a jungle gym."     
4 times
"You are all going to have to take a nap."
8 times
"Be nice."   
20 times
"I don't know."    
50 times
"No."    
572,345 times


I started counting yesterday.  Counting how many times I said certain phrases.  Pretty interesting results.  As I reflect on the results I wonder why do I even say "jungle gym?"  I don't think the kids know what I am talking about.  And I think "be nice" loses its effect when I yell it through gritted teeth and clenched jaws.

Digging a little deeper I realize that I need to quit saying "no" so much.  When Peyton was 2 years old I stopped working full-time.  I had never really raised my voice or had to discipline him much.  But the longer I stayed home with him, that changed.  At one point I was saying "no" so much and raising my voice I realized I would've requested to have me fired if it was a day care.  I vowed to change and as you can tell by my informal study above, I hold true to my vows.


Another thing that struck me with this counting exercise was how many times I say "I don't know."  I don't claim to know a lot, but 50 seems high even for me.  I believe it has to do more with what types of questions and how many a mother gets in any given day.  Yesterday while dealing with a situation with one of the kids I hear this...."where's my water bottle?," "what time is it?," why are their clouds?," "does Jesus have a dad?" and "why do we have eyebrows?"  All in a matter of 2 minutes.  I think I yelled "be nice, I don't know and stop hitting" in response.  See how the numbers may be off?


In the middle of all that, there are the moments when we do have important talks and connections.  Talks about faith, values and how the world works.  And sometimes I do have a few answers.

I may not know a lot, but I do know about food, especially sweet food.  They all seem to be catching on to that.

And in the words of the great Tina Fey, don't over think it!

  

My Crappy Garden

"When you have a Garden, you have a Future and when you have a Future, you are Alive," Frances Hodgson Burnett.


Now you know I am a quote person.  I have been collecting them for years, stashing them in drawers and books.  Creating walls to display my favorites.  When I read the quote above I felt inspired and hopeful...it is finally time to grow a garden I told myself.


Sadly, I have been telling myself that same thing over and over.  I enthusiastically plant flowers every year and even some vegetable plants.  But by July almost everything is dead or eaten by wild animals.  And living across the street from a busy park, we have some very aggressive wild animals. 


I always thought gardening was like cooking, if you can read a recipe you can cook, bake, whatever.  

But I now believe, it is a gift.  

One that I do not possess.  

This year's vegetable garden, looking like it has for the last five years.

My mother is completely crazy, but she has the gift.  She forgets to take care of herself, but yet amazingly she has the most beautiful flowers.  The haze from her constant smoking makes me feel like I should put an oxygen mask on when I visit.  But yet, she can make plants grow inside!  That is another topic, well, both are--the crazy mother and indoor plants--but I thought they were worth mentioning.


Watching my mother continually have beautiful flowers year after year since I was little, I just assumed I would inherit that gardening gift.  But no, I got her depression and anxiety.  


So, here I am depressed with a crappy garden.  But wait, I know another quote (one of my favorites on my bathroom wall of words) that inspires me.


"I think it pisses God off if you walk by the color purple in a field somewhere and don't notice it." 
-Shug Avery, in "The Color Purple" by Alice Walker

Notice? Appreciate? Be aware of the true beauty of the world?  
I can do THAT!

Even if it is a farmer's market and not a field.  

Play ball

We are obsessed with baseball.  

I am a sports fan and a competitive person by nature, but Tim and I really started caring about baseball after our oldest son began playing tee ball.  Peyton was a serious, quiet boy (still is).  Being a person who is overemotional and lacks control, no one usually has to guess how I am feeling.  Peyton on the other hand is stoic, serious, thoughtful and reserved, I am often unsure what he is feeling.  

Peyton's first team, 2007

That first season of tee-ball Peyton didn't talk to anyone--he seriously sat on the bench and didn't speak while the other kids where dumping water bottles, climbing the fence and goofing around.  I felt bad for him and even encouraged climbing on the fence.  After I asked him if he was happy I expected him to tell me that he was miserable.  He looked at me with his very serious face and said, "I love it."  Really?  Okay.


When the season was done I thought well, that's it, onto try the next sport.  But Peyton didn't move on.  He was in the backyard hitting balls everyday.  He began following the Detroit Tigers and knew the stats like he was preparing for an anchor job at ESPN.  He and his dad went to his first Tigers game and he refused to leave until the game was over.  Sat in his seat and watched every pitch.


His love was and is intense.

For a the next couple of seasons I would complain to friends that he just didn't seem joyful.  I asked for advice about how to get him to talk more, laugh more, be goofier.  One friend asked me, "is it bothering him?"  I hadn't really thought about that....I just thought about how I felt.  


His lack of jumping up and down and yelling "I am so loving this!" still makes me uncomfortable.  But it doesn't mean he isn't happy, it just means he is different than me.  It has been a real lesson in parenting, and just basic human nature, about accepting how people express themselves.


Baseball taught me that.  

Baseball also taught me that playing catch with my kids is a great way to connect and talk.  

Baseball gave me a tool to reach my kids, understand them better and even get to play with them more.

This year Peyton started a travel baseball team, which is a whole other beast, but again he is loving it.  Peyton is not jumping around, giggling and roughhousing with his teammates.  He still doesn't talk that much, but he is happy.  

So that is how it started, but of course we took it to a ridiculous level.  

This is our backyard, which is now all baseball diamond.

And watching his games I feel like Steve Martin in Parenthood.  Bottom line because it matters so much to him, it matters so much to me.

Kevin's Game Winning Catch




Parenthood

— MOVIECLIPS.com

A storm is coming

But here is the rest of the story....


One week into summer and we are surviving, but some of us are going crazy.  Guess who?


Today was a long day that involved lots of downtime (not always my favorite kind of day). The kids played outside and the boys wrestled, they watched a couple shows and the boys wrestled, they read their library books and the boys wrestled.  Are you getting the theme?  What is so great about wrestling, boys?  


Their father taught them to tap out, I guess it is some sort of wrestling move like a surrender.  So they will hold each other down until they tag out.  My boys will beat the crap out of each other and then get mad at me for separating them.  Telling me, "he didn't tap out!"  This is something I do not understand at all.  I found myself yelling "I will not feel sorry for you when you get hurt."  That doesn't seem like something the person in charge is supposed to say.  


Lucy, the only other girl in the house stays out of the fray for the most part.  But every now and then she can't help herself and will pile on with the boys.

Today she and JT spent a lot of time playing make believe.  

(One of the good things about having a lot of kids is that when two aren't getting along you can switch them up.  Peyton and JT are sick of each other, I just tell JT and Lucy to go play.  It works out quite nicely.  My friends who have two children and say they fight all the time, I tell them the answer is to have another child!)  


All this downtime was good for the kids, but it made me crazy.  As we were hurrying to get ready for a baseball game there was a storm brewing....and not just outside.  I could feel myself starting to lose it.  I fed the kids dinner, got everyone ready, checked weather.com a thousand times hoping the game would be canceled due to the impending storms.  No call.  So, I crammed the kids in the minivan and headed to the game.  


The air was unstable.  The traffic was bad.  The kids were picking on each other.  A storm was coming.


As soon as we pulled into the parking lot of the field it started to rain a bit.  I was meeting my husband at the field and he wasn't there yet.  Did I mention the minivan's air conditioning is broken?  The rain was starting to come in the windows so put them up.  It was hot and getting hotter.  The air was heavy.  The baby started to cry.  Lucy had to go to the bathroom.  JT was worried about the possible lightning.  My pulse was getting faster and faster.  A storm was coming.


I sent my son off to sit with his team and wait for further instructions from the coach.  The rain came down harder.  Just then I see a white Knight pulling into the parking lot...I had never been so glad to see the custom van until it passed us.  As much as that mini-bus can zip it did right on past us.  I called my husband and asked why he wasn't parking by us and he said "you parked too far away."  I hung up.  Not mature, but necessary.  


It had been 20 minutes, but I felt like I had been on a tarmac in one of those planes with no air, no food and screaming babies!  I couldn't take it anymore!


I cursed my husband.  I cursed baseball.  I cursed the fact that someone's ego was a little too big to drive the air conditioned custom van.  


I was tapping out.  I was surrendering.  Giving up.  Crying uncle.  I was done.


The game was finally cancelled due to weather.  We all went home and I put on a movie for the kids gave them loads of popcorn and lemonade and checked out.


One week in and we are surviving.

Words matter damn it

I believe words matter.  
As a parent I strive to use good, reinforcing words.  Encouraging words.  Sweet words.  Of course I strive to do that, but sometimes get off track. My five-year-old didn't really talk until he was 3 and has had almost three years of speech therapy.  But wouldn't you know he could clearly say "damn it" before he could say most other words.


My kids love it when I say bad words.  We are pretty strict at my house and the bad word list includes words like stupid, hate, of course the obvious ultra bad swear words and even words that I just don't like, such as, butt.  When I slip up and say a bad word like "hate" they giggle with glee and the little ones will repeat it at least 25 times in a row for fun.

Feeling all the pressure, I went for back up with the words.     We headed on a bike ride to the library yesterday to get some books with lots of good words.

The kids made their selections which included a wide variety of interests.

I love that Peyton got out a book about The Who.  Too funny.


But because it seems lately they only listen when I do say a bad word, I have more back up.  I started what I call my Wall of Words which includes words I love.  And it is in the bathroom where all the kids will read it and the words will make an imprint on their little brains.

This is just a part of the wall.

Some of the quotes I typed, other quotes I just held onto from places like a church service in Pittsburgh or a ditto from college.  That's right because copies were called dittos way back when I was in college.  Not only do these words make me happy, but I truly hope they are expressing my thoughts on life without me having to sit my kids down and tell them. 


Included in the quotes are words of wisdom from "The Color Purple," Walt Disney, Ozzy Osbourne and the Bible.
One of my favorites was hanging on the wall of my grandmother's house it says:
"Happiness is not having everything you want, it is wanting everything you have."
It stuck with me.


This was printed on our program at our wedding:

I am hopeful this effort will make an impact on my kids and make up for when I, for lack of better words, f#*k up.

This is how we roll...

You know you are big family when this is your ride.

Never really in a million years did I picture myself tooling around town in what my kids lovingly call our "custom van."  My in-laws sold it to us last week and gave us a beyond generous deal.  It actually works out really nicely--all the baseball equipment fits in the back, the kids can spread out and the kids fighting in the back are so FAR back I can't hear them.


It is strange that my minivan is now our small family car.  It is strange to be driving a vehicle that seems just a bit smaller than my house.  Seriously.  But it works.


When we decided to have our third child people raised their eyebrows and said "oh, good for you" or "you're brave."  Followed by laughter.  We didn't know that many people with three kids.  


When we decided to have our fourth child people raised their eyebrows and didn't say anything.  Maybe it was because as I mentioned our house isn't much bigger than a custom van.  Maybe it was because it was at the height of the recession.  Maybe it was because Octo-mom was all over the news.  But people didn't say anything.


Now when I go out with all the kids people say "you're a saint" which I believe is code for "you're crazy."  I hear "are they all yours?" and "you've got your hands full" at least twice a day.  


Sometimes I feel like I am crazy, but it works.  Tim and I said we wanted 10 years of toddlers in the house and we have had that.  But honestly we didn't really think about what all those years of teenagers would look like.


Our little house is jam packed full of lots of noise, it is never clean, toys are everywhere.  It is also jam packed with so much music, laughter and love.  It works.
And way in the back of the van they aren't always fighting.