Birthdays Require Remembering So Many Details

Even when I plan a special party for one of my kids, I stumble on some imperative detail. We have canceled almost as many friend birthday parties for baby girl as we have hosted (She employs epic sass when she forgets herself.). This year, we planned something special. Actually, my husband planned something special. He made the reservation and he text invitations. I gathered party favors and packed the bags for the kids. With two friends and her siblings, our baby was to celebrate her ninth birthday at The Great Wolf Lodge.

For two days, our girlie and two of her besties body surfed the wave pool and rode the tube slides. They had eyes bigger than their stomachs at the buffet, hosted magic shows in the curtains of the hotel room, played arcade games to win "unnecessary plastic objects" as Nanci Griffith sings in Love at the Five and Dime. Magically, they included her big brother with ease. Of course, there were moments that required problem solving like broken goggles and hunger close to dinner. However, the ease of the two day adventure cannot be over-stated. The kids were great.

Like all people, our little people have their idiosyncrasies. Our girlie's particular hurdle is accepting that her vision of how things should happen won't always match the way things occur. She had her hear set on enjoying each water slide with her friends at each moment she wanted to do so. Sometimes her friends wanted to do other slides, or have a break, or have a snack, or sit in the hot-tub. Our girlie had opportunities to learn the lesson of adjusting. She is still learning; for the record, so am I.

The girls watched a movie on the car ride home. We delivered one child safely to her house and parents picked up the other from our home. Birthday calls from grand parents and an uncle came in while I dug through the kitchen drawers for candles. We had no birthday candles in the house. While at The Great Wolf Lodge, the kids celebrated with gifts and ice cream. At home, I knew though pie was the requested treat, candles would be required.

I found a 4 and a 6 from prior celebrations. Really? I could remember party favors of bubble gum, socks with personality, special play putty, and candy, but not candles for the family celebration? I could sneak away from early soccer warm up to get extra goggles and be back in time for the game to start. I just couldn't quite get all the pieces together at the same time for the family birthday celebration.

Thankfully, I am a little creative.  I could see the 9 in the six.  So I cut off the wax anchor from the base and found a toothpick to place in the top as a wick.

Did our child notice?  Yes. I believe her words were, "A toothpick, really?" She was still excited to light it. She wielded the torch like a pro. She took her time while she made her wish and she made the sweetest face as she blew out that cobbled-together birthday candle.

Perhaps all the little disappointments I present to my kids will prepare them to handle the big disappointments that inevitably arrive with grace and humor. When I text the candle fail and solution to my BFF, her response was, "Oh, hell yes!" Maybe I'm teaching my kids to find creative solutions. Maybe I'm teaching them to accept love rather than expect perfection. Maybe I'm teaching them to plan better than their Mama plans for all varieties of situations.

Whether they emulate my solution scrambles or find their way to organized plans that work out to the number, I'll applaud them. My husband comforts me with this comment, "Perfection is boring." While those words are kind, he is an accountant. His work is all about perfection. I'm lucky his personal life is full of flexibility and acceptance.

If you're a JV Mom, like me, feel free to carve up a candle. Maybe you light nine toothpicks. Maybe you find nine tapers, or one taper and you sharpie the number 9 on it. What matters is that you do it for the love of that baby.

Do your best and offer it with love--your love is always more important than perfection.

I Swear We Will Get Her to Her Graduation Ceremony

Last night, one of Baby Girl's Brownie Leaders text me to see if we were on our way. My response was, So sorry, we would not be making it. I took a few moments to register that I had not fully understood the calendar reminder or the e-mail. Then a troop mom sent a photo of all the girls in their be-badged sashes--adorable! I loved seeing their smiles of accomplishment!

And then--the guilt--set in hard. I couldn't tell our daughter what she had missed last night. I wasn't ready to be the source of her disappointment. This morning I made a sincere apology to my daughter.  It went something like,

"Honey, I don't want you to be sad, but I do have to tell you something. Last night was your bridging ceremony for Brownies.  We missed it. I'm so sorry."

That sweet girl said, "It's okay, Mama." No tears. No anger. No stink-eye. Just forgiveness and understanding. How lucky are we that she is our girl?

So how does a mama not place an important kid ceremony on the calendar? This spring, we definitely missed meetings. Baby girl's soccer commitments fell on the same nights as her Brownie meetings. Our family was also coming off a weekend soccer tournament out of town, so the piles of laundry, the groceries we needed, the catching up that didn't happen on the weekend got stacked into late nights. I'm not exaggerating when I note that work has both her parents slammed. That doesn't mean our kids are not our first priority. They absolutely are--and to make the soccer trips and keep kids in clothes and college funds, work is important.

To manage my guilt, I text my college BFF with the words I assume a sinner uses at a confessional. She assured me that my child would be fine. She wrote that little disappointments or big ones like she is confronting--moving her child to a different country for his middle and high school years will not break our children. She assured me that apologizing for parental failings shows our children that perfection is a fallacy, that the best any of us can do is to apologize when we've hurt or failed someone and model that vulnerability.

My dear girlfriend's kind words made me feel a little better. After 11 years of parenting, I know one thing for certain. I'm completely capable of eating my feelings.  Some mamas run. Some mamas clean. Some mamas create. I grab something salty or something sweet.  I'm not saying it is healthy or wise. I'm saying it is real. So I grabbed a pint of Tillamook Double Peanut Butter and ate more than half of it. It didn't make me feel better, but it made my belly hurt, which distracted me from the berating self-talk that needed to stop.

What grand parents have always warned me about is that the speed of this life is astounding. When I saw the e-mails about bridging, I didn't even read them. It couldn't possibly be time for our Girlie to be crossing into Juniors.  It must be "volunteer to help with the ceremony if you can" time. That I want her to stay little and stretch her childhood double years and triple weekends, is nothing unique. Cave mamas probably felt the same way. I know I am in denial about her maturing because while registering her for fall soccer today, I told the fine youth sports people she would be in third grade next year and then had to correct myself--she will be in fourth grade.

She has one of those mid-September birthdays and is a precocious thing. With a big sister and big brother to chase, she has always been beyond her years. I don't regret sending her to school at four-years-old--she turned five soon enough. I know her childhood is fleeting and maybe, just maybe, my unwillingness to read the e-mails and calendar reminders about bridging was my way of pushing back against the clock. I swear this missed ceremony was not due to my consistent calendar insufficiency, the cornerstone of my JV Mom status. I needed to push against time for just one night and keep my kiddo small. Shame on the guilt that followed.

I swear we will get her to her graduation ceremony. We will mark ALL the calendars. We will be excited about her adult plans. We won't be ready. We will weep as we celebrate her. I'm teary just typing it, though it is already less than a decade away.

The Mom Fails piled up this week.

It is Thursday night. How is it not the end of the week? The mom fails pile up. Check out the text from my Husband on Wednesday evening.

Exhibit A.
Text and photo from my husband.

You see, I received a call from a friend during the day asking if we could watch her kiddo while she worked and her husband went to the preschool coop meeting. Yes. We could do that.  I knew I had to run our daughter to Girl Scouts and knew that my husband and son would be home.  He would say, "Yes," to an hour with a three-year-old, so, "Yes," was the answer. The trouble was that I had to rush work to get kids from a half-day while my husband was in a meeting. I didn't text him the evening update; I figured I'd see him before the arrival of the little critter.

I did see him at home, but the time was consumed by making dinner, teaching our daughter how to carefully open and close her new pocket knife for Girl Scouts and doing dishes. The girly and I left the house, and while I was gathering some items necessary for the following work-day, I received the text you see above.

Today's fail includes Girl Scout cookie sales. If you show up and pay attention, the two hour cookie sale is not a big deal by itself. A parent supervisor need only arrive at the Cookie Mom's house, pick up all the cookies, GS approved TV tray to display said cookies, and the sign the girls made, the necessary paperwork and fanny pack that serves as a cash box. It is not a big deal, if you aren't fighting Seattle traffic as you head north.  Bless the Cookie Mom who, since I was stuck on Mercer--if you're from Seattle you know the bane Mercer is to all drivers attempting to get anywhere out of the Lower Queen Anne neighborhood. But the Cookie Mom is obviously Varsity!  She accounts for all the cookies, makes sure we have the appropriate paperwork, counts money when we finish a sale and even helps this JV mom count her daughter's cookie money. The Cookie Mom does this as a volunteer. You all understand what an amazing feat that is to me, yes?

Obviously, though I was the assigned sight sale supervisor, I was not going to arrive as planned for a 3:30 cookie/kid pick-up to get sales going by 4:00. This woman was an angel. She understood. She said she would set up and get things started, which she graciously did. My daughter and I arrived a half-an-hour late for sight sales, an hour late for gathering the goods to set-up. Below you see my child arriving at her site sale.

No doubt, you notice she is on the run and not in her uniform. School had a half-day, so my husband worked from home in the morning and then grabbed the kids from school at noon. It didn't occur to me that he would need to supervise uniform packing. I hoped to wrap up work and get us north in time to stop by the house to get her sash. It was not to be. My child did not seem to worry about whether she was wearing her Brownie gear. She is a force of nature--always has been. She knew people would understand she was a Girl Scout because she was selling Girl Scout cookies. Obvious, right?

The happiest moment of the sale was when one of the troop leaders stopped by for a visit. She was picking up some St. Patrick's Day cup cakes for her family. She encouraged the girls, and bought treats for them to enjoy. She made no comment about my daughter's lack of uniform.

Thank goodness it was a sunny day. We're still in rainy season here in the Pacific Northwest, and my child was in a summer romper, a cotton sweater and shearling boots, of course. At least her feet were warm. Only one person shamed her for being out of uniform, and she totally shrugged off the finger wagging. Just one. . . out of all the humans the girls pestered to buy cookies. Humans are impressive. One dear man couldn't buy cookies--he didn't have the money, but he did donate to operation cookie drop for the troops. He was the hero of the day--giving what little he had (88 cents) when the girls asked, and the girls made him feel good about what he gave.

After the sale, I missed my husband's call to pick-up bread at the grocery because my phone was dead. Oh well. We still enjoyed corned-beef, cabbage, potatoes, and carrots with some toasted sour dough that was a little stale, but, completely edible to round out our St. Patrick's Day. I've picked up most of the leprechaun's mess in the house. Yes, a leprechaun visits us each St. Patrick's Day. I blame my kiddos' kindergarten teacher who taught them to make leprechaun traps. He makes a horrible mess with anything green he can find--compost bags, sugar, food coloring, construction paper, sticks of gum. . . you get the idea.

I'm wishing you an easy Friday of purposeful work, clean laundry, a good book, and a relaxing evening.

Pet Moms

Chances are you know a Varsity Pet Mom. One of my office-mates could give anyone a run for Captain of the Varsity Pet Mom Team. She has a Beta fish named Moe who lives in a tank on her desk. He is beautifully blue and was a prize she won at a raffle near the cabin her family frequents. About a year ago, she noticed Moe listing as he swam.  I've had fish at various points in my life. When I saw a fish swimming strangely, I assumed end of days was near. As a fish owner, I did all the normal things. I provided proper food. I cleaned the tank or bowl. That is where my efforts to maintain my fish health stopped.

Not Holly.  She Googled Moe's symptom and learned that he was constipated. Yes, apparently that happens to fish, too. She could feed him extra fiber and he would recover, Google the Vet explained. Consequently, every Thursday, Holly takes one frozen pea from a bag she keeps in the work freezer. She thaws it with hot water and cuts the tiniest slivers of pea with a razor blade, and feeds the slivers to Moe. This weekly health prescription has kept Moe swimming in balance for over a year.

While Holly was on vacation, I prepared to feed Moe his standard fish food, and found he was behind the filter.  If you've had pet fish, you might have reacted as I did. I was sure he was dead and how would I explain that to Holly? With the help of two other co-workers, we roused Moe and I started breathing again. Holly told me that I didn't need to feed him the pea while she was out.  Since my scare, I'm thinking I'll be preparing Moe's pea meal promptly.

I have cooked rice and hamburger for a sick dog. I helped my parents feed a special mixture to calves to heal their digestive tracks. I bottle fed piglets to help them survive. I never thought about what to do for a pet fish.

Holly is the best pet mom! While Holly is on vacation, Lucy visits us. She has been visiting us since she was a puppy and she is 12 now. Per Holly's instructions, I've been feeding her Boston Terrier, Lucy, daily vitamins and glucosamine, because she is an older dog. Lucy definitely lives a more posh life with Holly and her family. As a JV mom, you can guess correctly about my status as a pet mom. I will take a dog to emergency pet care. I will sit and worry while holding a dog receiving fluids through an IV line. I will carry an elderly dog up and down stairs to lengthen her life. I never considered that I could do anything beyond feed and clean the tank, to enhance or lengthen the life of a fish.

If you are a Varsity Pet Mom, I salute you. I've often said that when I die, I want to be reincarnated as one of Holly's pets. My pets receive their meals, their walks and their cuddles. I love on them, pick up after them, and grieve when they pass. I'm sure my lack of awareness about symptoms or possible dietary changes have caused our fish to leave us sooner than they might if they belonged to a Varsity Pet Mom, like Holly.

Calendar Coordination

I'm trying to fix the thing that caused the big fail that started this blog. While writing on our refrigerator calendar, I consulted the March school calendar. It indicated three half-days of which I should be aware. Like an adult person, I have accurately noted said days on the calendar.

In disclosure fairness, I feel like I have to share that as I was noting the Girl Scout Cookie site sale on the calendar, I realized I signed my daughter up for sales on her brother's birthday. Somehow I lost hold of my first born's birth date. How does that ever happen--it is not like that date needs context to prompt a mother's memory. Regardless, the Cookie Mom was most kind when I shared that we would not, in fact, be able to sell on the chosen date, and could she offer the time to another Brownie? Yes, she could and would we like to select another site sales time.

Truly, no we (read I) would not. Somehow two shy parents made social babies. I'm sure my daughter would enjoy selling cookies twice. I can rally my socially anxious self for my children, though I don't often rally that same self to answer the door.  The cookies, the money, the talking to strangers. . . all of it gives me fits. I will supervise the cookie sale that is now scheduled the day before her brother's birthday. It is in my phone, but it has yet to make it to the refrigerator calendar.

Baby steps.

Trail Rides and Beach Days Are Not the Same Thing.

On a sunny Saturday, my daughter got ready to attend a Girl Scout troop trail ride.  With temperatures in the 70s and sun shining on us, I got ready to ride to the horse farm with another mom and her daughter. I found my flip-flops, a comfy skirt and a tank top to soak up the sun while the girls rode. My daughter got ready to ride a horse. With giddy anticipation, she put on her western shirt, her cowgirl skirt, and her cowgirl boots.

I remember the love of horses so well from my childhood. I relentlessly harangued my father about getting a pony. Weekly, but probably more like daily, I talked about horses and how much I would love to have one. I made a book by copying everything I could out of the World Book Encyclopedia about different breeds of horses, horse colors, and horse care. I peppered my father with questions about when I could have one, and why I couldn't now. When my father finally relented (as a child, he farmed with poorly trained horses and was not particularly interested in having a horse on his farm), he called me at school. The school secretary called me from my classroom to the school office to talk long-distance with my father. Those acts alone should tell anyone alive in the 1970s just how important the news he had to share was to him and to me. He told me he found a pony for me and I would meet it within the week. Talk about incredible! Talk about joy!

With Dusty as my horse friend, I spent afternoons riding or sitting on him. I rode in all seasons--in my snow-pants and in my swimsuit and shorts. Most of the time I was in jeans and tennis shoes, but I rode in whatever I was wearing when I decided to go to the farm. My father was happy to have me riding, so he would help me saddle up. Perhaps because my horse riding had been so informal, I didn't bother to read all the horse farm information.  I signed the waiver to permit my daughter to ride and placed said waiver in my purse.

When our ride arrived to pick us up, my friend commented that I looked ready for the beach. I assumed she was really commenting about the beautiful day we were enjoying. Later, she would tell me that she thought of mentioning that my child might need pants (Leah spends time each summer riding with her family in Wyoming, so the rules of safe horse riding are clear in her mind--yes, she is the same Leah who was my soccer snack savior), but she thought my daughter's cowgirl outfit was adorable, so she let the worry go. The girls made loom bracelets as we drove the hour north to the horse farm.

With the girls anxious to get started, the farm staff gathered them up. They asked my child if she didn't have jeans she could wear. No, she didn't have them. They explained she would not be able to ride without pants. You can imagine the look my daughter gave me. The other mothers asked if I didn't have an extra pair in my car.  Even if I had my car, I wouldn't have had an extra pair of jeans--this JV Mom doesn't plan like that. I did ask those mothers if they happened to have extra jeans in their cars for my daughter to borrow, and even those Varsity ladies didn't have extras. Of course, they did have appropriately dressed girls.

The problem solving commenced.  I searched the farm lost and found for jeans. No luck. Then I asked my friend Leah if she would kindly drive me into town to find pants of any kind that would fit my child.  I was willing to stitch some men's athletic socks into leggings, but no such socks were to be found at the local grocery. We knew we would find jeans at the Walmart 20 minutes away, but with a 40 minute round trip, I was certain my sad girl would be crying in a corner because she was not allowed to ride. I Googled a thrift store, Leah dropped me at the door and I ran for the kid racks. I found jeans and we sped back to the horse farm.

We found the lesson in progress. To my surprise, my daughter was riding a horse in jeans. She wore teenager jeans, with cuffs that went up to her knees and a waist cinched by twine, but she was in pants and riding. The instructor had taken pity on my child and dug a pair of jeans from her own car. What a sweet girl! My child didn't want to change into her "new" jeans that would fit her properly because she was wearing the jeans of the coolest girl she knew that day--her riding instructor. The afternoon was saved by a stranger, and I would remember that I owed the universe a similar kindness.

As a child, I too, enjoyed a trail-ride at a stable a couple of summers. Not one time did the guides question my attire. Perhaps my parents knew to put me in jeans, but I remember summer rides and I swear we wore shorts and tennis shoes. I absolutely know that my parents did not walk behind the horses as we rode. The moms at this trail ride decided we should hike in the mud and dung and follow the riders on foot. Hmm. I thought we would sit in the picnic area and drink iced tea. Hiking the trail was not an option I considered when I dressed that morning. I was clearly in beach gear, but if all the other moms were going to hike behind the trail ride, I guess I was going to do the same in my flip-flops. It was as messy and comical as you are imagining.

Let it be known that this JV Mom did bring an amazing salad to share during the picnic that followed. Let it be known that I received compliments on that salad. Sure, I endured some chiding about my lack of hiking shoes and my daughter's lack of riding gear. Those women were only speaking the truth, and I am a firm believer in the power of laughing at myself to make friends. I maintain the afternoon was more interesting and more fun because of the JV pants scramble and my dung dodging in beach shoes. I think the moms laughed more than they would have if my child and I had arrived in jeans and boots.

Maybe JV Moms don't bring all the required things, but I think our ability to find humor in our failings makes events more fun for everyone. Those Girl Scout moms are kind women. Even if they decided to gossip about how my child and I weren't dressed properly--what is the harm of speaking that truth? If they did judged me, what they think about me is--as the wise say--none of my business.

The lessons I took away from that day are as follows:

• People are generally helpful and kind.
• My child is better able to adapt to situations than her mother is.
• Scanning a waiver for an event does not provide the required information--so spend some time reading the website's frequently asked questions section.

Looking back on that experience, my final revelation is this: the childhood my children are enjoying requires more specific attention to details on my part than the childhood I enjoyed required of my mother. My children will not experience the childhood I had, which was a rural Wisconsin, come-as-you-are-because-we're-happy-you-are-here-to-pay-to-trail-ride kind of childhood. We wore the same athletic shoes for track and softball.  We rode bikes without helmets and played in hay mows. My children will experience a safer childhood. They have a childhood with helmets, covered legs, wrist and mouth guards. Those are all good things. Those are things this JV Mom embraces.

Three years ago, my father had a Christmas surprise for his five grandchildren. He bought a pony and an Arabian for them to ride when they visit. What gifts! The kids love walks to the farm with carrots to treat the horses. They have boots for riding, though I let them ride in shorts and without helmets. I lead the horses, since my kids are not interested in trotting. This past Christmas, the kids and I had lovely bare-back rides on the Arabian. While the snowflakes fell, that gentle beast took my lead as the kids rode and then let me guide him with halter reigns. I slipped into sentimental thoughts of my childhood on a pony named Dusty in the same pasture. My failings during the summer trail-ride were distant memories for both my daughter and me.  We made new memories as we marveled at the snow, found the rhythm of the the horse and took in the beautiful light of dusk in the Northwoods of Wisconsin. Those special memories are sponsored by Papa and Cookie, two of the best grand parents any kids could have--Varsity Grand Parents, for sure.

Power Outage at School

One thing that doesn't worry this JV Mom is a power outage. Sure it is inconvenient, and yes, when it lasts a couple of days, we find a hotel and bring the toaster.

I worry about everything, but today's power outage didn't raise a blip.  Perhaps my experience as a child after a 4th of July storm that left my family without power for a week is the salve on this hot spot for me. Maybe I spend my worries on emotional things, and let all the concrete things ride under the notion that I can either do something about them or I can't. For whatever the reason, I had not one single hum of anxiety when I learned that I had left my children at school, and there was no power at said school.

With the smallest effort, I tried to assuage the fears of other parents when the school Facebook page had a few concerned posts about how the school would handle the power outage. Of course, the school might send the kids home, and schedule adjustments can be harrowing. How would hot lunch be addressed?  Does the school have a generator? Would the kids be warm enough? I assumed all would proceed as usual, and the power would be back shortly. My anxious spirit somehow read this as no crisis, so I posted two sentences for the parents with concerns.

"I taught high school by a single candle once. They will be fine."

Reading that now, I sound like I'm from Little House on the Prairie. What I meant by that was, as a high school teacher in the the era of my life my mother describes as BC (before children), I experienced a power outage at school. Luckily, I had one lonely candle in my classroom and matches in my purse, so I carried on, as the British say.

In my experience, elementary teachers are incredibly resourceful people. They teach science with straws and coffee stir sticks. My whole being knew the teachers would find a way to teach their lessons without electricity. Sure, they would adjust their curriculum, and maybe they would teach some things that are outside of the common core. Showing the students how to adapt provides children important skills they will need every day.

I have a feeling the students and teachers worked together to make their power outage school day educational and fun. Frankly, I don't want a whole lot more for my kids from a day at school.

By the way--my kiddos have had an amazing art teacher! Love her and how she teaches them to see the world.