Gracias, mine interpeeps

How much do I love the internet today?

So, so much.

You sure do know how to make a girl feel good. Even you lurkers that decided to come out and play. I thank you. From the bottom of my very short-haired heart. I think next time I'm feeling bad about myself, I will whine about it here, and wait for you all to make me feel pretty again. Seriously, thank you. Your kind words meant a lot to me. I am just blown away by all of it.

Now onto other non-hair related things (you mean the world doesn't revolve around my hair? Shocking, but true).

Yesterday was the first day of school. A buzz of energy, the kids got all ready in about six minutes, and then sat around waiting until it was time to go. When the time finally arrived, there was some moaning as they lugged their school supplies to the bus stop, which I was absolutely no help with. I mean, someone had to be snapping pictures, right? Who else will document these milestones?

Once at the bus stop, I forced them to endure the gratuitous, cheesy smile pose that moms everywhere are snapping this time of year. Backpacks on, freshly scrubbed faces, new clothes. Note to self: Must get more creative for next year. I'm thinking headstands on backpacks, human pyramid, flame-thrower in the background. Something.

McKay had a lot more anxiety and nervousness about this year, which surprised me. Poor kid could hardly eat anything for breakfast because his stomach was all in knots. Lucky for him, I ate enough for the two of us. Just trying to keep the universe balanced and all that (or so I'm trying to tell my thighs).


Hannah was definitely the most excited, "Aboutstartingfirstgrade! Ohmygoodness!! I'minfirstgradenow!! I can'tbelieveI'mfinallysogrownup!! I'minfirstgrade!!!" And that's exactly how it sounded all morning, I kid you not.
Chase was hardly nervous at all - telling his usual round of jokes, searching the ground for frogs, and asking how soon it was until lunchtime.

But in the end, only my baby girl looked back.


But only for a second, and then she was gone. Leaving me, my checkbook, my novels, and daytime movies all alone.

Whatever shall I do?

The last week of summer

I am starting to think that I just might miss these little friends when they go back to school in nine days, 16 hours, and four minutes.



But who's counting, anyway?

A sign they're returning to life

Look what I found on the kitchen table this morning:

It leads me to wonder just what the poor little thing could have done to make the soldiers so angry? Probably had the audacity to exist, that's what. You know how princesses are always flagrantly committing that crime.

Luckily, I dismantled the firing squad before Hannah was aware of the harm being done to her beloved Princess Polly Pocket.

I am considering showing her the picture and then helping her dress all their toy soldiers up in Barbie clothes.

Think it's too much for a Monday morning?

Little boy heaven

Well, I survived cub scout day camp. Or what I will now refer to as the long-lost-wannabe-branch-of-the-military-camp.

Have you ever met a professional scouter?

This is one hard-core group of men who take their jobs at scout camp very seriously. They run a pretty tight ship. They are in favor of sharp commands and crisp salutes.

They will definitely yell when necessary.


They are very pro-NRA and did not stop short of recruiting me and my absent husband to sign ourselves right up.

They do not like you to refer to a BB gun as a weapon. It is a firearm, thankyouverymuch. [Won't make that mistake again. No, siree.]

And they are unaware that they are not actually generals in the Army. Believe me when I tell you, I so wanted to be the person to tell them.

But I didn't. I behaved and followed the rules.

I asked for permission to enter the range (where we shot beans from sling shots). I wore my large, ugly protective eye wear to prevent any stray beans from causing me blindness. I was absolutely still and silent during the BB gun shooting so as not to distract the cub scout shooters who were engaging their wimpy powerful firearms.

Yes, because when holding a firearm, all an eight-year-old boy really wants to focus on is his mother. Not the fact that he has an actual gun in his hands that he has been given permission to use.

Whatever.

And I even stood a safe distance outside of the live missile zone in the archery area. Unlike Mr. Scouting General, Sir! that you see in the background here:

But the boys? Best week of their lives (their words, not mine). All of the guys in our group had a good time. No one died on my watch. No one shot their eye out. No one was kicked out or had their firearm taken away.

And no one joined the NRA that I am aware of.

I'd say that makes it a roaring success. Hoo-rah!

To my three babies

Here we are, in the second full week of our summer vacation. The first few days were a little rough on me, I'll admit. I have been so used to spending several hours a day all by myself - doing what I wanted, when I wanted. And then suddenly, here are you three little people.

Here. In my clean house.

And you are always hungry. ALWAYS leaving things out. And not the least bit concerned with the trail of crumbs behind you.

But in spite of this, I think we've found our rhythm, you and I. I'm looking at your cheerful faces across the table, listening to your chatter, and I find that my heart is full.

With each various stage of life that we've gone through together, it seemed to me that I would always remember. I'll be honest - sometimes, it felt like your less-desirable phases would never end. I can definitely think of at least one that is irrevocably seared into the recesses of my mind.

But there are so many more that I know I have forgotten.

Long ago, as I held your baby selves, smelling your sweet little necks, I promised myself I would never forget. That these moments, like the thousands of photos I've taken of you, would always be permanently etched in my mind. But now that a little time has passed, I find that I just can't quite recall your baby smells. I have all but forgotten the sounds of your newborn cries. And it hurts my heart to think that I won't ever again hear your bubbly toddler voices.

Only when I creep to your bedside at night do I see traces of the babies you once were. Even you, McKay, still sometimes purse your little lips together, making that all-too familiar puckered face. It's when you're in that angelic, dreamy state that it all comes back to me. And it brings a smile to my face every time.

Right now though, I want to freeze this. I don't want these days, and these people you are today, to be only a memory.

I want to remember how Hannah's voice sounds when she's just woken up and has a head full of morning hair. I want to remember the way Chase lights up when he talks about conservation or a new story he's written. I want to always see McKay's crooked smile, and feel the swell of pride when walking by him curled up, reading a book. Because I just love that he's a reader. Like me.

I am in love with the phase that you're all in. You've suddenly, and without warning, become very interesting people to be around. You're growing more independent every day. Your opinions are all your own, and not reflections of what you hear your dad and I say. You see that your life will not always be dictated by me, and you really like the idea of that.

You are doing what children should. You are doing what I want you to do. You are growing up.

I am just so afraid that I will forget.

And I probably will.

But if I've learned nothing else as a mother, it's this: I will always mourn each phase as it passes me by, leaving me standing on the sidelines. And although it leaves my arms a little more empty each time, it leaves my heart a whole lot more full.

And I wouldn't have it any other way.

Proving the nut and the tree theory

This morning, I stumbled upon a little list.

A Monday morning to-do list.

Written, unbeknownst to me, by my eight-year-old, Chase.

He had carefully laid out his plans and must-do tasks for the day. They are:

1. Wake up (already done and crossed off)
2. Eat breakfast
3. Do jobs
4. Do mathsheets
5. Read Chet Gecko #3
6. Play with McKay and Hannah?
7. Eat lunch
8. Specile [special] family outing
9. Come home
10. Eat dinner
11. Read the Little House in the Big Woods?
12. Go to sleep

What I love more than just the fact that he's actually written this list himself (which, I'll be honest, does make my heart go all a flutter), is that he put a question mark on playing with his brother and sister, and reading a book before bed.

Because one certainly cannot count on later wanting to do these items.

One must always leave room for changing one's mind.

I think we definitely got the right baby at the hospital. No doubt in my mind.