Return to Learn

The last time I blogged here, the pandemic was in its infancy heading toward toddlerhood. I think by now, everyone hoped we would be past the teen years and into the years of middle-aged complacency, but there seems to have been a bit of a regression. I don't blame the virus, honestly. We acted like we were going to give it some space, and then we got all up in its business.

School starts in some way, shape, or form in about a month in my neck of the woods and even sooner for some schools that have a year-round or balanced schedule. We recently saw the Return to Learn plan sent by our school system: it was short, not to the point, and apparently couldn't anticipate the many, MANY questions teachers, staff, and parents would have about the numerous "what-if" scenarios.

Some of the highlights!
Masks are recommended but not enforced in the classroom, but they should be worn in the hallways. I hear constantly taking masks off and on is a solid idea.
Social/physical distancing is recommended and desks will be spread as far apart "as possible." Students will sanitize their desks themselves. I have picked up approximately ninety-three wrappers from Capri Sun straws today alone, and I have good kids who generally listen to me. It doesn't make me feel so great about the quality of sanitizing that will be done. Also, who is providing the sanitizing materials?
As long as students all face the same way in a classroom, no mask is needed because the virus only spreads in a linear fashion.  You know...science. The teacher should wear a mask, though, because reasons.
Students are encouraged to get rides to and from school in private cars; however, as far as I can tell, the football players will ride a school bus to games. I can only assume that sportsingball players have some sort of sweet immunity to the 'Rona.
Families will do their own health screenings at home. Whew! That's lucky because I know that parents don't pump their kids full of Tylenol in order to send them to school, and definitely no one will do it during a pandemic for fear of losing a job.
Students will minimize sharing materials and supplies. I mean, the joke writes itself with that one.

I quit Facebook a few weeks ago because it has turned into an utter trash heap. (I know, I know. I linked to this blog via FB. Don't @ me.) I hopped back on a few nights ago to find someone's name, and I saw a post about Valpo's back to school plan. On it, our mayor's wife told people that if they didn't like the Return to Learn plan, they should opt out and do e-learning instead. First of all, that's a super bad look politically. Constituents and all that political jazz. Second, being the mayor's wife doesn't give her the platform to attempt to school people, even if she tries to be PC about it.  Third, just...ew. That's an insanely Mean Girls look at the public education system, trying to pick and choose who can sit at the lunch table. Trying to convince someone that their opinion stinks about anything is difficult, but when that person has deep feelings about a subject important to him/herself, trying to have a logical conversation is akin to spitting into the wind. I typed quite a few responses to her, and then I realized that there was no point: it also reminded me of why I quit Facebook in the first place. <shudder>

I don't particularly care if her opinion, or anyone's for that matter, is different from mine. (It is for those of you keeping score at home.) My issue is in shaming the people who have honest fears about sending their children into the petri dishes of hell in thirty days. People like her are saying that public schools don't have to keep kids safe because that is the parents' job. To a certain extent, that's true. But these are the same people who are saying that kids need to get back to school so they can have meals and physical safety from possible abuse at home. You can't have it both ways and say that parents have to keep kids safe but that kids need school because they're not safe at home. Pick a lane. Getting kids back to "normalcy" is her idea, but it's deliberately obtuse to think that the fall semester will be anything like the normal we used to have. Nothing about this is normal.

Public schools do have an obligation to keep our children safe. That's part of why we do background checks for all volunteers and staff, tornado and fire drills, active shooter drills, anti-bullying programs, etc. Our schools are supposed to be equalizers, where all kids get what they need to be successful. Telling people to kick rocks if they don't like the school's return policy is like preying on someone who is already out of options: unhelpful and downright cruel. There are people in our community who don't have a real choice about what their students do come August 12, and I'm not here for the shaming that is cloaked in sickly-sweet concern.

If you want to send your kid back to in-person school because you truly feel it is the best option, go for it. If you're going to send your kid to school because you don't have a choice, I'm sorry, and I support you. If you are going to send your kid to school because you don't think we'll make it past mid-September with in-person learning, huzzah. If you want to keep your kid at home, I've got your back. If you want to withdraw your kid completely and homeschool, I have nothing to say to you. (I joke! I joke!) There are no right answers here; we have no real historical precedent for what is happening. If you feel like you know all the answers and have all the right things to say, Imma tell you that you don't, but I implore you to at least attempt to be kind and think about what other people are feeling. You might learn something, and we could all use the education.

Makin' her getaway

We dropped Lottie off today for her first sleepover camp.  She is attending a volleyball camp at Valparaiso University, so she is close to home.  In the days leading up to this momentous event, people have been asking me how I'm handling it and if I'll cry and if I'm feeling sad.  Maybe I'm just an emotionless automaton, but I'm fine with her being gone.

Look, this isn't the movie version of life.  Of course I'm going to miss my girl while she is gone because she is a pretty amazing kid.  I mean, she drives me bananas sometimes, but overall, I love being around her because she is a fun person to be around, my kid or not.  But I'm not going to mope around the house and gaze wistfully into her bedroom while I lean on the door frame.  Mama's got stuff to do!  I'll wonder what she's doing and how she's doing, but I'm not going to worry about her.

I have spent ten years getting her ready for this.  Well, I guess I wasn't exactly thinking about volleyball camp, but I have been doing what we all do as parents: preparing my kids to go out on their own.  Granted, going to an overnight volleyball camp isn't getting an apartment and starting a job, but it's her first foray out into the world without me.  If anyone was born to go out into the world and devour it, it's Lottie.  The bigger the party, the bigger the adventure, the bigger the hoopla, the happier she is.

My job as a parent is to get my kids ready to be responsible citizens who will somehow contribute to society and the world at large.  They won't be able to do that if I keep the umbilical cord wrapped around them so tightly that they can't move.  If I don't let go, they're not going to go anywhere but my basement, and I don't really want them living down there when they're forty.  (Who am I kidding?  Dallas might be there anyway because he is much more of a homebody than his sister is.  But, ideally, I would like for him to at least live in a shed in the backyard.)

This is only the beginning.  At the end of the month, she'll go to an overnight camp further away from home for an entire week. So instead of crying, I'm going to rejoice in the knowledge that Lottie is most likely having the time of her life, making new friends, and maybe even learning how to play volleyball.  When I pick her up later this week, I think I'll find someone who is ready to have more new experiences and spread her wings a little wider.  I'm going to be ready to give her lots of hugs and encourage her dreams, even when her dreams lead her away from home.

In the good old summertime

Well, it's that time of year again.  School is almost out for the summer.  Dallas only has two school days left, and Lottie goes for six more days. When I was a teacher, there was nothing as exciting as the countdown to summer break.  But now, I keep saying Facebook updates from happy parents about all of their FUN! SUMMER! PLANS!  When I see these updates, I tend to shudder.  Why?  My name is K. C., and I'm not really jonesin' for summer break.  Here's my big confession: I don't like spending every waking moment with my children.

Credit:hollyonthehill.com

Gasp!  You're totally judging right now.  I can sense it.  That's okay because I'm judging myself, too.  I mean, what kind of mother says she doesn't want to spend time with her kids in the halcyon days of summer?  That's not exactly how I'm feeling, though.  I love my kids, and I have a lot of fun with them.  It will be nice to see Lottie more because she has been at school all day for the past school year.  I like making sandcastles and reading to them.  I love when they read to me.  They're amazing little people, so of course I want to spend time with them.

But, oh, summer.  Hot weather, mosquitoes, schedule changes, boo-boos, Popsicle stains, arguing, boredom, and more mosquitoes.  Lots and lots and LOTS of time together.  The kids are going to be together more than they have been since last summer, and that much time together is certain to go sour at some point.  They're typical siblings: crazy about each other one minute and ready to brawl the next.  They will have to share everything, even me, and that is going to get old.

Both kids are going to attend a summer camp at Dallas's school.  They will only be there three days a week for three hours a day, so we will still have plenty of time to play and have adventures.  I truly feel that they really need to have some sort of schedule, though, or August 21 is going to be a smack in the head.  And, quite frankly, those nine hours a week will give me a break.

Credit: kitschagogo.com

Yep, I said it.  I am going to need a break from my kids.  Judging again?  I'm not ashamed of that.  I cannot be a good mom if I am stressed and tired and overwhelmed.  In the past six months, I have really started to realize that I have to start taking better care of myself.  I'm 40 years old, and things are only going to get busier and crazier with the kids in the next few years.  I can't do what I want to do with them if I am not physically able to do it.  So I will use my nine hours a week to go to the gym, work around the house, or even just sit and read a book.  I need that time, and I'm going to use that time to my advantage.  I refuse to believe that I am the only parent who feels this way, but maybe I'm one of the few who will admit to it.  I don't think I have to spend every moment from 6AM to 8PM with my kids to be a good mom.  As a matter of fact, I'm a better parent, a better wife, a better friend, and a better person when I get some time to breathe.

Parenting isn't always cupcakes and rainbows and unicorns.  It's hard - really hard - and new schedules and too much concentrated together-time can make it even harder.  I don't know if the kids will spend all summer frolicking outside or stuck in time-outs, but hopefully I'll be well-equipped to handle it all with a little help from my family, my friends, and my nine hours.  And Popsicles.  Lots and lots of Popsicles.

Credit: Pinterest

Week of firsts

It has been a busy start to the school year chez Wells, and overall, it has been a good one.  Well, it has been a good one for the kids.  I'm not sure I have been the most stellar school parent, though.

Lottie's first day of Kindergarten was, to be expected, insanely exciting.  She was all ready with her backpack and her new dress, ready to conquer Flint Lake Elementary.  The whole family walked her in, gave her lots of hugs and kisses, and left.  No tears from anyone, not even me.  Does that make me cold-hearted?  I saw a squadzillion posts on Facebook of kids' first days of school and parents wiping away virtual tears.  No tears for me.  I didn't exactly do a happy dance, but after the crazy summer we all had, I was ready for routine...and quiet.  And frankly, I knew Lottie was ready to start Kindergarten.  She is a bright, friendly, sweet little girl, and I knew she was ready for something new and exciting.  No one loves an adventure more than my girl, and adventure is calling her.

To add to the excitement, Lottie lost her first tooth!  After a few days of wiggling and angst, the tooth fell out.  Man, she is cute with it gone.  Serious cuteness, no?

So, let's get to the non-stellar parenting.  I'm so used to the preschool way of doing things that I didn't realize that Kindy is a whole different ballgame.  For instance, kids in preschool have drinks provided to them; that doesn't happen in Kindergarten.  Lottie had lunch for the first two days of school without a drink of any kind.  Whoops.  The kids are also supposed to take a snack to school because it's a pretty long day for a bunch of five year olds.  I did, indeed, provide a snack for the first three days, but I didn't find out until the morning of day four that Lottie had no idea that the snack was in her lunchbox.  This despite the fact that I had told her specifically on the first day where her snack was in her bag.  Apparently, she assumed that I hadn't been packing her a snack, so she told her teacher she was snackless.  Miss J probably thinks I'm a total dolt: no beverages, no snacks.  And so begins my reign as WORST PARENT EVER.

Dallas has had a good first week as well.  He likes his school and his teacher, but he's far less effusive about it all than his sister.  His views on school are pretty monosyllabic, but that's just Dallas.  He occasionally gets loquacious about what he did on the playground, but most of his three hours a day of school is kept a closely guarded secret.  I suppose he'll share when he's ready to share.  And just so he's not left out, here's his cuteness, too.

I hope the good times at school continue for the kids because it sure makes my life easier when things are going smoothly for them.  And, you know, my happiness is paramount to everything.

Rules, schmules

It has been around since the beginning of time, but I'm not sure I ever gave too much thought about it until now.  I wasn't raised with the idea; I guess it never occurred to me to think twice about it.  But since becoming a mother, I have finally realized that the world is wrought with double standards.

Men are tough; women are shrews.  Women are sensitive; men are weak.  Girls can play with cars; boy shouldn't play with dolls.  Seriously?  Utter nonsense.

I have been thinking about this a lot lately because of something that happened this week.  Lottie and Dallas were playing dress-up one afternoon, and they decided to play a hilarious trick on me.  They dressed up like each other; in other words, Lottie dressed like a fireman and Dallas dressed like a princess.   They both thought it would be funny to make me think they had traded places, and I did get a good laugh out of it.  I took a picture of the end result, of course, and I thought it was beyond adorable.  I shared the picture with some other people, though, and I was surprised by the response.

Everyone thought it was weird.  A few people thought it was cute and weird, and a few people thought it was bizarre and weird.  The undertone of the second group was that there was something inherently wrong with it.  As a parent, I don't think anything is wrong with my kids; they're absolutely perfect.  Lottie is a daredevil who isn't afraid of anything.  She'll climb a tree, jump into a pool with wild abandon, pick up a worm after a rainstorm, and cover herself in dirt from head to toe.  She also has a heart of gold and worries about everyone and everything.  Dallas is afraid to try new things, likes to play by himself, hates to be dirty, and loves to spend time with his mama more than anything in the world.  He also loves pirates, pretend weapons, and wrestling with Daddy.  They both love things that are usually reserved for the opposite gender, and neither one of them seems to notice or care.  Lottie is just as comfortable wearing a princess dress as she is wearing a pirate costume.  Dallas loves to be Captain Hook, but he also spends time with Lottie's dollhouse.  Trevor and I bought Dallas a play kitchen for his big Christmas gift, and he loves to cook in it, especially for me.  I refuse to see any of that as weird or wrong; that's just who my kids are.  So my three year old son dressed up like a girl on a lark one day.  So what?  Lottie was dressed like a boy, and no one seemed to care about that.  Sure, there are women firefighters, so that's perfectly acceptable, but she was dressed like a male firefighter, a fact she was quick to clarify.

I want them to grow up in a world where they can do whatever they want to do and be whomever they want to be without fear of repercussions.  Of course, I want them first and foremost to be kind, loving, productive human beings.  Other than that, I don't care if they dye their hair purple or wear their underwear outside of their clothes.  I don't care if Lottie brings home girlfriends or Dallas brings home boyfriends.  What I do care about it not who they turn out to be, though.  I worry about what other people's reactions to them could be, and that scares me.  I don't want my kids to be hurt or maligned because, let's face it, some people are cruel.  There was a story online last year about a photograph of a little boy wearing nail polish in a J. Crew advertisement.  Some people said the thought of a little boy wearing pink polish was "disgusting" as were the boy's parents for allowing it.  There were others who were more accepting and believed that kids should be allowed to explore.  I hope that my kids meet people from the latter group and not the former. I hope that as Lottie and Dallas grow and mature, the world grows and matures as well.

Such strange things

When I found out I was pregnant with Lottie, there were lots of things I swore I would never do as a parent.  I wouldn’t get angry, I wouldn’t feed her any junk food, I wouldn’t let her watch television, etc.  Most of what I promised I wouldn’t do went out the window pretty quickly.  I mean, I figured out within a pretty short time that parents have to do whatever it takes to get through the day sometimes.  One thing I didn’t count on was the weird, odd, and hilarious utterances that would come out of my mouth as a mom. 

The other night, I was reading to Dallas before bedtime.  As of late, Dallas’s nighttime routine involves going to bed with his shoes on while clutching a sword in one hand and a hook in another.  In the middle of a book, I noticed Dallas slowly reaching for his face with his hook.  As I watched in horror, the hook went straight for his nose.  “Dallas!  Don’t pick your nose with your hook!”  And if that’s not weird enough, two minutes later I had to say, “Dallas!  Don’t pick MY nose with your hook!” 

When I was planning all my supermom tricks while I was pregnant, I never once thought about how I would deal with nudity.   Mind out of the gutter, people.  Not MY nudity, the kids’ nudity.  Dallas prefers to be fully dressed at all times, preferably like a pirate, but Lottie would be all nude, all the time if I would let her.  She tends to run around the house in just her underwear.  While it was cute when she was two years old, it’s not so cute now that she’s almost five.  (By the way, when did that happen???)  About two weeks ago, she was flitting around the house in her Tinkerbell underpants when the doorbell rang.  A normal person would think, “Gee, someone is ringing our doorbell.  Perhaps I should hide myself or put on some clothes.”  But not my girl.  She yelled, “THE DOORBELL!” and sprinted to the front door.  I ran down the hall after her shouting, “Lottie, answering the door in your underwear is totally not cool!” 

And when both kids are playing together, there are usually lots of opportunities for me to get in some zingers.  Lottie recently went through a rather bizarre licking stage.  Instead of kisses, Trevor and I got good night licks.  Needless to say, that phase didn’t last very long because it was gross.  But I lost count of the number of times that I had to say, “Lottie, please stop licking your brother’s head!” 

Just this morning, I had to have a stern talk with Dallas about spitting.  “I know you’re pretending like you’re a bloody skull, Dal, but you can’t spit on Lottie’s head and tell her you’re bleeding on her.  That’s nasty, buddy.” 

What can I say?  My conversations with the kids go from serious to funny to exasperating to hilarious.  One thing they never are is boring.  

Step into my lunch

Today was a pretty typical lunchtime with both kids at home.  Lottie wanted soup and Dallas requested a hot dog.  Easy enough, right?  Ha.

As soon as Lottie saw her soup, she complained that she had asked for vegetable beef soup, not chicken noodle soup.  Dallas then clamored for chicken noodle soup as well, but he can't have it because the noodles are made with eggs.  I split time trying to tell Lottie that the soup was more than acceptable AND that she hadn't actually requested vegetable beef soup, and then I had to explain the whole egg-noodle thing to Dallas.  That didn't go so well.  He was still smarting from the fact that I had had the audacity to run out of strawberry jelly in the morning, so he couldn't have more toast.  Bad move, Mommy.  

Lottie grudgingly ate a teeny bit of the soup and Dallas devoured his hot dog.  I made myself a pb&j sandwich, only to have Lottie longingly gaze at it like it was a cool drink of water in the desert.  I sighed and gave her my sandwich.  I got up to make another one for myself, but Dallas interrupted my task by asking where was lunch: spaghetti and meatballs.  Um, huh?  When I made that, at Dallas's request, for dinner last night, he threw a fit and said spaghetti was slimy like a snake.  Oooookay....

There are microwave packets of pasta made by Allergaroo that don't contain any of the eight major food allergens: dairy, egg, wheat, soy, fish, shellfish, peanuts, and tree nuts.  I always have quite a few of those on hand, so I popped one of those in the microwave for Dallas.  While I waited for that to heat, Lottie expressed a need to eat some peanut butter and jelly crackers.  I made those, cut up Dallas's spaghetti, and delivered the food to the table.  Then both kids needed more to drink, so back to the kitchen I went.  I returned the cups of water to the kidlets and tucked a paper towel in Dallas's shirt to try to keep the spaghetti off of him.  Mr. Persnickety hates being dirty.   By the time I walked around the table and sat down at my seat to start my lunch, Dallas had ripped off the paper towel claiming that it hurt him.  I shrugged and bit into my sandwich.  Before I could swallow that first bite, Dallas held up his hands to show me the spaghetti sauce on them and demanded another paper towel...a fresh paper towel.  Sigh.  The new paper towel was tucked in just in time for Dallas to tell me that he wanted more spaghetti.  He had sucked up every last bite in about ninety seconds.  I made him more spaghetti, ran upstairs to get a new shirt because - gasp! - there was a speck of spaghetti sauce on it, came back downstairs, put the new shirt on Dallas, tucked the paper towel back in, and finally sat down to eat.  

Throughout all of the up and down, there was a constant flow of chatter.  Those kids talked and talked and talked.  They didn't even really talk to each other, though; they talked OVER each other about completely different topics.  Lottie talked about Halloween, and Dallas talked about his friend the pirate.  So much talking.  Ooodles of words.  Lots of bold, weird statements.  It's enough to make anyone's head spin.   Or wish for a Xanax prescription.  But I know there is a day in the not-too-distant future when I'll be sitting alone at the dining room table in a quiet house while both kids are in school.  I'm sure I'll enjoy the first few minutes of eating my own lunch without having to jump up and get a napkin or water or more chicken nuggets; however, I also know I'll miss their sweet faces and their laughter.  So I think I'll enjoy the insanity while I can.  

(**The kids have paint on their faces, by the way.  Dallas does NOT have a black eye.  Just wanted to clarify.  No need to call Child Services.  Thanks.)

Things overheard

I keep a list of random quotes from my kids.  I'm not even sure I know the context of all of them, but that tends to make the quotes even funnier.

Dallas: "One time, I fighted with a skeleton at a Halloween party.  But he didn't know any good jokes."  Cuz, you know.  Skeletons are known for their raucous humor.  

Lottie: "Don't forget to floss!"  This gentle reminder was given after good night hugs and kisses.

Dallas: "I love sugar." This after a bag of Skittles.

Lottie: "Dallas, my plan finally worked!"  (Silence.)  "Now I have to tell you what my plan was."  Lottie said this to Dallas as they walked up the stairs.  I never heard what the plan was.  I'm sure it was an evil plot to get to watch TV or eat ice cream.

Lottie: "Mommy, do people buy cars?  How do they carry them?"  Lottie asked me this after a trip to Kroger where she helped me carry the groceries.  Apparently she was concerned about how she was going to haul around her pink Trans-Am in the future.

Dallas: "You are the best mommy I ever had."  I'm really happy that I compare favorably to the host of other mommies he has had in the last three years.

No tarts allowed

I have been cleaning, organizing, and rearranging the house in the last couple of weeks.  I feel the need to have a less-cluttered and more simplified home.  I have a feeling that won't happen in this decade, but I can always dream.

As a result of the rearranging, some things are getting the boot and some things are going in new places.  I have an old makeup table that was being used for pure decoration in the living room, and I decided to give it to Lottie to replace her old, pink, plastic Ariel makeup table.  As she is quick to remind us, she is almost five, you know.  She seemed excited about having the new furniture until she realized that makeup didn't come with it.  Trevor and I both tried to explain that four year-olds don't wear makeup, unless they're on Toddlers and Tiaras, and that she would get makeup when she got older.  She wasn't willing to accept that: shocking.  She ran into her room sobbing while Trevor and I tried not to laugh too loudly.  She flung herself down at the dreaded table and cried with her head in her arms.  When she finally came out, red-eyed and pouty, she told Trevor that she wasn't going to call it a makeup table anymore because she didn't have any makeup.  Instead, she was going to call it the crying table.  

If this is four, what are we in for when she's sixteen?  I shudder at the thought.  

Take mine, please

Last week, Dallas had his yearly check-up at the allergist's office.  I figured we'd be in and out quickly, but I was wrong.  Shocking.

Lottie, Dallas, and I all trooped in to the exam room and waited for the doctor.  When he came in, Dallas decided that it was a perfect time to lose his mind.  There was crying, falling to the floor, and even some screaming.  This time, it wasn't me!  The poor doctor hadn't even touched Dal, just walked through the door.  I mentally deflated a little then and there because I knew it wasn't going to be an easy visit.  The doctor wanted to do scratch tests to gauge Dally's allergies to dairy and eggs.  No problem, right?  No problem for an adult, but for a not-quite-three-year-old kid in a state of utter despair, it was a problem.  I wrestled off Dally's shirt, and the nurse did the control scratches and the allergy scratches.  Then we waited.  It seemed like we waited a VERY long time, but maybe it just felt like an eternity in that teeny, windowless room.  I plied the kids with treats (M&M's and Skittles) to make the wait a bit easier.  When the nurse came in to check Dallas's welts, she said, to my surprise, that Dally hadn't reacted to the egg scratch.  The doctor returned and said he wanted us to get a blood test to confirm those results.  I assumed it would be a finger prick, and I felt the first stirrings of dread when he sent us to a lab.  I knew that wasn't good news: no need to go to a lab for a finger prick.  So I dragged both kids to another building and into the lab.  Once again, Dallas lost his mind and actually tried to flee the room.  Smart kid.  I filled out paperwork, tried to occupy Lottie, and kept an eye on Dallas to make sure he didn't sneak out.  Multitasking at its best!

Then the really awful part began.  I sat in the chair with Dal on my lap.  I had to wrap my leg around his legs to ensure he didn't kick the woman drawing his blood, and I also had to hold one of his arms down and the other arm out straight so she could find a vein.  He about jumped out of his skin when the woman wrapped the tourniquet around his arm, and I could feel myself starting to shake and tear up.  I knew Dallas wouldn't see how upset I was, but I had to hold it together for Lottie.  She was watching all of it with her big blue eyes, and I didn't want to scare her.  The first time the woman got the needle in, Dallas moved too much, and she had to take it out.  Then she tapped his other arm and I held him as tightly as I could.  Meanwhile, I was also sweating like a pig out of stress and the fact that it was a BILLION degrees in that stupid room.  It was the worst feeling to hold my son and know that someone was hurting him.  I couldn't even look at his face to smile at him or reassure him.  I just kept whispering in his ear that it would be over soon, but I doubt he could hear me over the wailing.  When it was all finally over, he stopped crying immediately.  He picked out a yellow crayon bandage and immediately said, "Can we get out of here now?"  Yes, buddy.  Right now.  He fell asleep in the car - lots of trauma for one day - and continued to nap on the couch once we got home.

That night when Trevor came home, Lottie told him all about the afternoon and promptly burst into tears.  I ran in to see what was wrong, and she sobbed, "I was so scared."  My heart fell out of my chest.  She hadn't seemed scared at the time, but I was so focused on Dallas that maybe I hadn't noticed.  Score one for Worst Mommy Ever.  I held her for a while and let her cry, and I apologized for not realizing how scared she had really been.  Later, as I was putting Dallas to bed, he said, "I'm sorry I was scared about the blood, Mommy."  Again, heart falling out of chest.  I hugged him and told him that he hadn't done anything wrong.  I told him he was a brave boy and I was proud of him.

The whole time we were in the lab, I knew it was awful.  I knew Dallas was in pain, and I knew it couldn't be good for Lottie to watch all of it.  But what I didn't tell the kids about my experience in the lab was that the entire time, I was silently thanking whatever higher power gave me healthy kids. The food allergies are Dallas's biggest health problem, and Lottie had her tonsils out.  That's it.  I don't have to spend a lot of time at doctors' offices or labs or hospitals, and for that, I'm grateful.  Even though it was a harrowing afternoon for the kids, I know it could be worse.  We're lucky.  We're so incredibly lucky.

Livin' large in the Noog

Typically, Trevor and I would spend our anniversary with a quiet dinner at one of our favorite restaurants, the Holly Hill Inn.  This year, we decided to go a different route.  Actually, we didn't have a babysitter for the weekend, so we were stuck with the children.  (I kid!  I kid.  I mean, we didn't have a sitter, but we didn't feel stuck with our offspring.  Not entirely...) We wanted to do a short weekend getaway, so we decided to head to Chattanooga, Tennessee.  Why, you may ask?  Chattanooga actually has a lot of kid-friendly activities, and it's a fairly short drive from Lexington.  Where better to celebrate our love than the Noog?  

Trevor took Friday off work, and we left around 8:30 AM.  The drive wasn't terrible; the kids listened to music for a while, and we eventually let them turn on their portable DVD players.  T and I were thrilled that they were wearing headphones because that meant we got to listen to our own music and actually talk to each other without cartoon voices blaring in our ears.  

We stopped for lunch at a McDonald’s with a play place; our kids managed to get sweaty in mere seconds.  That was great, though, because it allowed them to burn some energy before getting back into the car.  Sadly, the battery in Dallas’s DVD player went kaput, so he and Lottie shared a player for the rest of the trip.  I was proud of them for sharing so nicely, but I was pretty bummed to have to listen to Toy Story 2 in the front seat.  Ah, technology is a cruel mistress.

As soon as we arrived in the Noog, we headed straight for the zoo.  I’m used to the Lincoln Park Zoo and the Brookfield Zoo, and that’s definitely not what we got.  I wondered if we had made a mistake by making it our first stop.  The Chattanooga Zoo is small, but I was pleasantly surprised.  It was really well put-together and organized.  There weren’t any big animals like tigers and lions, but there were neat things like red pandas and a capybara, the world’s largest rodent.  (I found myself fascinated with the capybara, by the way, which is odd because I really hate rodents.  Hate them.  I would sleep in a bed full of spiders and snakes before I would look twice at a rodent.  Or birds.  Birds are rodents with wings.)  The kids enjoyed the zoo, and it was small enough that we didn’t need to bother with strollers.  As I watched the kids navigate around, I realized that although they liked the animals a lot, they seemed to really enjoy exploring all of the pathways that lead from exhibit to exhibit.  For them, it wasn’t about the destination at all: it was all about the journey.  Wow.  It’s humbling to realize that my kids tend to be smarter than I am. 

After the zoo, we checked in at our hotel, the Chattanoogan, and took a walk to find dinner.  Downtown Chattanooga is nice, but it didn’t seem to be hoppin’ on a Friday night.  We seemed to be in more of a business district, though, so maybe we didn’t see all of the action.  We had ourselves some delicious barbeque and strolled back to the hotel.  Lottie and I bunked together the first night, and Dallas bunked with his daddy.  As Lottie would say, “Girl partners!  Yay!”  I showed Lottie how to really live the high life by watching TV in bed.  We don’t have a TV in our bedroom at home, and we never will, so lying in bed and watching TV – at night to boot! - was quite the treat for her.  When it was time for sleep around 8:30 PM, I turned out the light, which should be the general clue for “go to sleep”, but Lottie didn’t get the hint.  She rolled around on her bed, talked to herself, talked to me, and even repeatedly asked me questions: “Mommy, why do you wear a sleep mask?” (Because you insist on sleeping with a light on.)  “Mommy, why did you just move your arm?”  (Because I’m more comfortable this way.)  “Mommy, what day is today?”  (It’s Friday, babe.)  “No, Mommy.  Is today the day we go to Chattanooga?”  (Yes, honey.  We’re in Chattanooga.)  “Hey, Momma, why did you just move your pillow over?”  (I don’t know.  It just feels comfortable to me.)  “Momma, should we sleep in the same bed?”  (No way, sister.)  At this point, I finally told Lottie that I was going to sleep and I suggested she do the same.  Shockingly, she did. 

The next morning, we had breakfast at the hotel before heading to the Creative Discovery Museum.  If you have children and are within driving distance to Chattanooga, you need to immediately get in your vehicle and get thee to this haven of children’s fun.  Seriously, this place is AH-MAY-ZINGGGG.  I really think we could have spent two days here.  Every single thing at the museum is hands-on and just begging to be touched.  Anything your kid is into will be here: dinosaurs, bugs, art, music, water-play, climbing, and pretend-play.  While we were there, my kids climbed towers, slid down slides, sailed little boats, dug for dinosaur fossils, did art projects, and looked at a beehive.  That was all within an hour or so.  The kids were having a ball there, but we decided to head out to the aquarium after lunch.  That was probably a mistake.  The kids were exhausted and cranky because we had ripped them away from their nirvana, and they weren’t too thrilled about the fish. (Lottie did get to pet a stingray; it only took her about thirty minutes to muster up the courage to do it.)  Don’t get me wrong: the Tennessee Aquarium is HUGE.  There are two separate buildings that house exhibits and a third building with an IMAX theater. It’s a pretty stunning set-up.  When we realized that the kids didn’t want to see any more jellyfish or coral, we took them to a short movie at the IMAX.  It was a 3D movie about saving orangutans and elephants from poachers and deforestation.  The message was great, but I’m not sure how much the kids actually saw.  Neither of them wore the 3D glasses.  Sigh.  At the end, though, Dallas told me that he had a lot of fun at the movie and could we PLEASE do it again sometime.  So weird.  We ended up going back to the children’s museum for another hour or so before having dinner and calling it a night.

The second night, we swapped kids.  I don’t mean we picked new kids out from a selection in the lobby, though that might be interesting.  Dallas bunked with me, and Lottie got some time with her daddy.  Dallas was a much better roommate, in my opinion.  He didn’t talk as much as Lottie, and he contentedly played his Leapster until I told him it was time for lights-out.  He did try to work his magic, though, to sleep in the bed with me.  First he told me he thought he would just sleep in the bed with me.  When that was denied, he invited me to sleep in his bed.  I gently declined that lovely invitation as well and convinced him that we would both sleep better in our own beds.  There was one request I couldn’t overlook, though.  “Mommy, would you put a light on in the room so I can see you whenever I want to?”  C’mon.  Who’s going to say no to that?  That’s a boy who loves his momma.

We left Sunday morning after breakfast.  We had to get home in time to drop the kids off with the grandparents so T and I could really celebrate our anniversary by seeing the new and final Harry Potter flick.  The trip home was not as magical as the rest of the Noog had been.  Dallas threw a fit at Arby’s in Jellico, TN, because he couldn’t eat the French fries, Lottie cried because Dallas was crying, and I cried because they were both crying.  Trevor didn’t cry, but that’s because he bolted down his lunch and left his weepy family in a booth while he got gas.  We also realized that we had left our backpack/diaper bag in the Noog.  Damn you, Jellico.  Our life was peachy until we met the likes of you!

All in all, it was a really fun weekend.  I love watching my kids see new sights and explore new places.  They’re smart and funny and curious about everything.  What more could I ask for? Sometimes I wonder if it's worth all the drama and the hell of traveling with two little kids, especially when I invariably end up in tears.  It tends to be a lot less fun for me, but I suppose that will change and get easier.  And just about the time I start to worry and stress less will be when neither kid wants to vacation with us at all.  

Edit on the update

I know I can edit the last post but I feel like it deserves its own post.

We took the kids to a movie yesterday in the theater, Lottie's second movie and Dallas's first.  I realized that they're growing up and getting older, which may be silly because it's just a movie, right?  I started thinking about missing the fact that Lottie and Dallas aren't babies anymore, but that's not really what I miss.  I don't necessarily miss getting up at all hours of the night or not understanding the little baby cries.  I'm still changing Dally's diapers, so I haven't had a chance to miss diapers yet.

What I am dreading is the day the kids don't need me anymore.  In my heart, I know that they'll always need me.  I mean, I'm 38 years old, and I still need my mom.  But there will come a day when the kids think they don't need me, and that's gonna kill me.  I do everything for them right now: feed them, clothe them, play with them, laugh with them, scold them, hug them, soothe boo-boos, read to them, exclaim over their drawings, break up their fights, watch them dress up in silly outfits, and tuck them in at night.  I'm there for them; I'm ALWAYS there for them.

Someday, and I know it will be sooner than I think, they're going to think they can do it all themselves.  I'm going to have to let them think that and do what they need to do because that's the whole point of raising kids, to make them independent.  But where does that leave me?  I'll be a chauffeur, but I hope that's not my only role.  I don't want to be left behind, especially when I am giving so much now to make them into responsible, loving, caring adults.  I just hope they continue to come to me their whole lives and know that even though I get frustrated (a lot), I would do it all again for them.