Blaming Grandpa

This morning, at the unholy hour of five-thirty a.m., the phone next to my bed rings. It startles me from a deep and peaceful sleep. My heart jumps, knowing if the phone rings that early, the news can only be bad.

I stumble for the phone to see who is calling.

Without my contacts or glasses, I am essentially blind, and the most I can make out is our last name.

In a panic, I answer the phone, praying that the Husband (who is traveling as usual this week) is not in some dire situation requiring either bail money or an E.R. visit.

The squeaky, giggling voice of my oldest son says, "APRIL FOOL'S, MOM!"

Then I hear him fall down in a fit of hysterical laughter.

He had used my cell phone to call our house.

At five-freaking-thirty in the morning.

I lay my head back on the pillow, exasperated, and try to find a reason not to take him out of this world (after all, I did bring him into it, or so the saying goes). Unable to go back to sleep, and struggling for patience, I head downstairs and begin the breakfast preparations for my early risers.

It turns out that I was not the only victim of McKay's pranks. He had switched everyone's coats and backpacks around in the mudroom lockers. He filled a squirt bottle with water and secretly squirted his sister in the back of the head. He left crazy notes. He slipped contraband items into his brother's school backpack.

He was a troll. And all before the sun was even up.

Watching him run around pulling all these stunts, I realized something. He is a miniature version of his Grandpa.
My Dad is the king of April Fool's Day. All through my childhood, he was the master prankster. Every year, you never knew what to expect. He knew just how to catch you by surprise and do something you could not have imagined.

Like the time he nailed all my shoes to the floor.

Yes, to the carpet. In our house.

Or when he woke me up in the middle of the night and told me I had missed the bus and was late for school, but waited until I was showered and getting ready to mention his little joke.

And his pranks were not merely reserved for April Fool's Day. Ice cold water was routinely dumped over the top of the shower curtain. Waking up to colored milk was a disturbingly-common occurrence in my youth. And I will never forget the time my Mom put hair dye in my Dad's hair and shut off all the water in the house so he would be unable to wash it out.

Let's just say that I learned at a very early age to never be surprised at anything.

And so I will humor the little boy in this house. I will smile, and laugh, and tell him that he got me good. But he should know this:

REVENGE WILL BE MINE.

That five-thirty wake-up call will one day return to haunt him, probably about the time he turns 16, and longs to sleep until noon.

And if he gets mad?

Well, I'll just tell him to blame it all on Grandpa.

Vacation Survival Guide

Oh, the pains of crawling out from under a sugar hangover this morning. Why must the Reeses Peanut Butter eggs tempt me so?

And why must I see the need to eat my weight in them, year after year?

But the headache and sugar withdrawals were miraculously cured the minute that I saw this beautiful sight lumbering down the street, carrying my children:

So our little mini-spring break vacation.

What to say?

Well, we took the kids up to Chicago Wednesday night. Left behind the five-day rainstorms that had plagued our town, hoping for sunshine and blue skies.

Which we got.

Until the six inches of snow blew in. And suddenly we found ourselves pining for the wet rains of St. Louis. My life is absolute living proof that the grass IS NOT GREENER. Punch anyone in the kidneys who tries to tell you that it is. It's not.

We did have a great time, but I learned a few things on this trip. Thought I'd share my them with you, my interpeeps, in case you ever find yourself trapped in a tiny hotel room with three children over spring break.

Stie's Spring Break Survival Guide: What Not to Do Edition

When passing through a town with this sign, know immediately that you do not now, nor will you ever, belong here. Accept the fact that everyone you know would immediately laugh at your return address because they know you.

And you are anything but normal.

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When staying at a hotel with your children, never assume there is going to be a pool. Sometimes at big, fancy, downtown hotels, they don't have pools.

But they do have gyms, and you will gladly remember your sudden, extreme need to exercise for the chance of a few minutes to yourself. Even if that means you actually will have to, you know, exercise.

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Hotel beds are perfect for doing things that are not allowed at home. Like jumping or simultaneously falling flat on your face to see who gets there first.


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The Children's Museum at Navy Pier is the absolute coolest museum ever. Plan on opening and closing the place down, with only a brief intermission for lunch. Your kids will not want to leave thanks to the endless hours of learning, entertainment, and play.

And the best part? There are benches and chairs everywhere so you can sit and watch the learning, entertainment, and play. Without having to learn, entertain, or play.


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Standing in front of a fun house mirror will give you insecurities all day that you really might look like this:

Or worse, this:

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Sharpay is fully to blame for the slightly awkward, very diva-like pose that your daughter will strike every time a camera is near. When asked about it, she will proudly say that she looks like Sharpay, but sings like Gabriella.

WhatEVER.

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And when returning eagerly to your non-snowy state, try not to drown yourself in a bowl of cereal when you look outside to see snow falling in droves on Easter morning.


Monday WILL come, and they WILL return to school.

And you might just find that you miss them a little.

These kids, they are a superstitious lot

Yesterday, I felt sorry for the elementary school teachers. The electricity in the air was palpable. Kids were going beserk. They all had theories. They all were hatching plans. Everyone was claiming to be an expert.

Why the non-Halloween-candy-induced-mania, you ask?

Because we were supposed to get 6 to 10 inches of snow yesterday.

And every child within ten miles of our city was fervently praying for a snow day.

My three became fast believers; born-again Snow Dayers. They decided to adopt any and all good luck charms they heard throughout the day. They believed in any theory that anyone said would guarantee no school. Joined all the religions, so to speak. In covering all their bases, they did some very strange rituals last night.

For instance, each of my children went to bed with a spoon under their pillow:

They put an orange in the fridge:

They slept with their pajamas inside out and backwards:

And just to make sure, they even resorted to a little bit of this:

When we woke up this morning, [much to my dismay] their voodoo spells and good luck charms had worked.

School was cancelled. [You could almost hear parents everywhere crying. At least, the bad parents like me].

And by seven a.m., they were found doing this:

While I won't lie, I was found doing this:

And who says there's no religion in the schools anymore?

Sometimes, the morning gods smile upon me

The alarm clock goes off, rousing me from a disturbingly-realistic dream in which I own two pet tigers that I am terrified will eat me (thank you, Celia and Paige. I blame you for all the tiger talk). I look around and remember that I don't really have any tigers. I lay my head back on the pillow and sigh in relief.

I stumble for my glasses and peek to see if the sun is out. It is starting to rise over the rooftops and slant across the yard in sharp angles. The frost on the grass glitters like diamonds. It looks beautiful. It looks cold.

I struggle to remember what day the Husband gets back this week. I don't think it's today.

I put my hair in a ponytail and stand on the scale. I curse. I sigh.

I move on.

I stretch and try to rub the sleep out of my eyes. I walk down the dark and silent hall to start rousing the troops. Two of the three are tired and cranky, and do not want to get out of bed. Chase wants desperately to be sick today. I refuse to allow this. The princess has 80s rock star hair. I remind her that she needs a bath before school, and silently pray there is enough time for it.

I go downstairs, heat up the leftover pancakes and smile, knowing how happy it will make Chase. Boy, that kid loves the pancakes. Within minutes, they are all seated in front of steaming pancakes that are dripping with maple syrup. Poor things, they all look half asleep.

A quick prayer is said. Pancakes are eaten. Spirits are lifted. Someone even tells a joke or two. I try to permanently stamp this moment in my memory.

Showers get taken. Lunches are made. Backpacks are packed. Coats and layers get put on. I hug and kiss each one, and promise to wave when the bus goes by. I smile inside, knowing they won't want want me to wave in a year or two. I am glad for it today.

Sixty-two minutes after my alarm clock went off, they walk out the door. I thank god for this alone time. I put on some good music. I workout hard. I sweat. I drink a lot of water. I sweat some more.

I sit down and read this blog and this blog, both of which inspire me to count my blessings.

And I think to myself, what a wonderful world.