Irish Daisy

Dear Preschool, I am writing to ask for a policy change. Though I know state licensing technically requires that all preschool children take a nap, I am imploring, pleading, begging you to exempt Badger from that requirement. You see, Badger does not nap anymore on the weekends, despite much activity and shenanigans. Badger gets up at 7:00 a.m. and goes all out until 8:30 or 9:00 pm, sometimes even later if there’s a party on, and never naps at all. The furry inch-worm emerges The two-hour nap at daycare is just extending her waking hours in the evening. Which is why it is now 11:30 at night, I've put Badger back in bed five times, and in the time-out spot twice, but instead of sleeping she is currently rockin’ the casbah in my dining room. On weekends, a bed time story, cuddle and song are enough to settle her down, and then she’s snoozing with her stuffies. Week nights, oh the week nights, when I am most desperate to finish everything and get to bed, I have a fluf...

Three kids is only one more than two. I know, it's simple math.  It's amazing how hard that one extra kid can make parenting sometimes, especially now that we're outnumbered and none of our kids are what you'd call sedate, but it's just one more kid. Yet, the real difference between two and three is how people react to seeing me out and about with my three girls. I was mom to two girls for four years before number three joined the troop, so I've noticed the difference in commentary and reaction from the judging public (and it's amazing how many people feel compelled to say something). With just the two girls, I got a lot of compliments on the cute and how great sisters are. With three, I get a lot of, “whoa, three girls!!!” And then one of two follow-ups; either, “Wow, that’s going to be really rough when they’re teenagers,” or, “Well, you're lucky, at least girls are more cautious and quiet, three boys would be so much tougher.” I want to smack the...

So, Open House was on Tuesday – the same day we held primary elections here, which was a pain in the ass for other voters but worked out pretty well for us since our polling place is the elementary school. I always take the kids with me to vote and the poll workers always cheer me on and give everyone an “I Voted” sticker for participating in our democracy (we all push the “Cast Ballot” button together). Open House is  a great opportunity to see what the kids have been doing and learning in context – which is very different from the disembodied assignments that come home. (Pro-tip to teachers, teacher appreciation should happen after open house, not before – gotta leverage all of that good will).  I was very excited to see Athena’s class and work.  Her teacher is so enthusiastic about Athena’s performance and presence in her class. Her work has shown such growth over the year, and she’s a thoughtful and conscientious student, for all that she’s only in second grade. ...

I used to love three-day weekends until kids. Blissful days partying with friends, extra nights to hang out without having to get up early, the short work week that follows – three-day weekends were all around great with no downside at all. Now…I still love three-day weekends, but with a toddler in the house I really, really hate the Tuesday morning that follows – one where our entire toddler schedule of predictable events breaks down and her little world is crushed by variation (cue ominous music and weeping). Yesterday morning it resulted in wailing, hiding in my robe (while I was wearing it), three outfit changes, two sock changes, more wailing, grumpy cat impressions, refusals to let go of my leg, my arm, my hand…it was a trial for all of us. And we had to grit our teeth and stay really calm and patient lest we incite the Honey Badger into all-out rebellion – which they’re prone to anyway. Grumpy Badger Ah, Tuesday morning after a three-day weekend, there’s no day like it...

I’m eating a stale granola bar. Not because I want to but because someone opened it, ate a single bite and left it sitting open in the fridge for a week. It’s pretty apparent at this point that no one else is going to eat it. I can’t just throw it out, it’s perfectly good food – or so my mom always told me. And though my mom always told me that as she forced me to eat icky things, I don't have the energy to hunt down the offender and force them to consume this stale granola bar for their snack. So, I’m eating it and it’s kind of chewy instead of crunchy, and weirdly sweeter than they taste when they’re fresh, and I’m not really enjoying my snack, but someone’s got to eat it. I don’t know why, but today this stale granola bar I’m eating sums up the reality of being mom.

Not just any broken shoe - my favorite brown heels. I've had them for five years and I love them. They are unique and I've never seen another pair I like half as much. And so it began...the broken strap on my favorite pair of shoes was the irritating harbinger of one-of-those days. I was yelling at Athena, always a slow mover in the morning, to get up and get dressed, and at the other two to move it, get downstairs and eat breakfast. I plopped down to throw on my shoes and the damn strap is broken. I gave myself 30 seconds to feel bad about the sad demise of my favorite shoes, then tossed them next to the trash can and ran for the closet to get a different pair. But the other pair of shoes didn't work with the shirt I was wearing, so I had to find a new top too. Few extra minutes, no big deal, right? This was just the beginning, just the first tiny bump in a row of irritating stumbles that made me want to raise a white flag before noon even arrived, and surrender to the...

More than any other endeavor in life, parenting makes me feel incompetent. At work, there are new tasks to figure out, challenges to overcome, and changes to absorb, but once the rough patch is passed, or the process adapted, or the task learned, I've got it down. Learning a new skill: research, watch a YouTube video maybe, practice a little, and voila. Gardening: do x, y and z the roses bloom. Cleaning, organizing, budgeting or just about any other thing I’ve tackled over the years – after the learning curve, we’re good. Sure, there’s always room for continual growth and refinement (why, yes, people have accused me of being a perfectionist, why do you ask?), but those are extra icing on the cake. Kids on the other hand…the very second I start to feel like I’ve got it down - maybe even feel a tiny bit of smug satisfaction that I’ve mastered some small part of being a good mom - life and my kids step up to smack me down and remind me I have no idea what I’m doing.  A moment...