Two Truths and a Lie

We try to be as truthful to our kids as possible. Sometimes, however, those harmless little white lies sneak in. We justify that we use them for their own safety, but usually it’s for our own sanity.

Like the light switch lie. It drives us crazy when they turn them on and off, so we told them we get charged a quarter every time, and they would have to pay us back. They don’t want to empty their piggy banks, so they’re pretty careful now with the lights. We’ve also used this common one: if they cross their eyes and someone hits their back, their eyes will stay that way. I hate when they cross their eyes.

My mom used to tell me that if I swallowed watermelon seeds I would grow a watermelon in my belly. Every time I saw a pregnant woman I figured that’s what she was carrying. Watermelons we buy these days are mostly seedless, so that fun little lie can’t even be used today.

Here's a good one we did just for fun: While driving down the road, I would scan ahead to see if houses ahead had their garage doors open. I would then push our own garage door opener and tell the kids I was going to open that house's garage door. It took them a long time to figure that one out.

My favorite original lie we’ve used since my kids were little has helped keep peace in the car. Years ago, my son asked what that red triangle button on the dash was for, and I told him it was the eject button. I said we didn’t want to use it often because it’s very expensive to reset, but if the kids in the back seats got too noisy we could simply push the button, the roof would open, and the seats would fly right out. They were shocked. “Would you really do that?!”

We explained that driving a car requires concentration, and disruptive passengers can make it very dangerous. To this day, if they’re getting rowdy back there, all I have to do is make a motion toward the button and they shape up. Two of them are pretty sure the button is for something else, but they still change their behavior.

They don’t want to find out the hard way.

Number One

I'm proud of my eleven-year-old son for a lot of reasons, but as I type this he is out in the garden pulling weeds so they don't overtake the vegetables we so carefully planted. No one told him to do this. It's amazing what kids will accomplish when they take ownership of something. He's been out there for well over an hour now.

Maybe it's the first-born in him. I do hear they are likely to be the more responsible ones. It didn't turn out that way with my siblings, but it seems that many of the most reliable people I know tend to be the oldest sibling. I try not to make a big deal about his responsibility as a role model to his little sisters, but it occasionally slips out.

He doesn't seem to mind--he has always been pretty serious and responsible. When he was in first grade, he wrote and entire page (while the other kids wrote one or two sentences) about how he wanted to go to the Air Force Academy and be a pilot. I don't even know, exactly, where he got that information, (we didn't have cable tv or anything at the time) but this continues to be his dream as he heads for 6th grade. I saved his little essay, and told him that when he applies I'm attaching it to his application.

He and my husband were able to take a trip to Colorado Springs last month to visit family. They spent a lot of time touring the Air Force Academy, too, and since the trip coincided with a class career project, Number One got to interview a recent graduate. She gave him tips for what he needs to do to be accepted, and he came back more convinced than ever that he belongs there. I hope he continues to work hard and watch his dream become his reality, but I also want him to enjoy being a kid.

Parents often joke that first-borns are the "guinea pigs" or "test kids," and it's true to a certain extent. We aren't perfect, and we certainly learn from the mistakes we make with the oldest child. I do worry that we put more pressure on Number One than we do the others, expecting more from him. It's hard, though, when we see all of the potential in our children to expect less.

As I wrap up, he is still out in the garden. The sun is slowly moving behind the tree line, and I'm sure the mosquitoes are preparing to attack. The girls are getting ready for bed, and I know I should call him in, too. But I won't. I'm going to let him finish the job he started.

Step-Teacher

I don't have a real job. I know, I know...parenting is a full-time job, blah, blah, blah...but I don't get a paycheck for it. I used to be a high school English teacher a hundred years ago, but I took a year's leave when my first child was born and never returned. It’s crazy how fast ten years flies by.

Now that my kids are (finally) all in school all day, I decided to start subbing, and to slowly ease back into the classroom. I'm volunteering all the time at my kids' school anyway, so figured I may as well make some money while I'm there. My first day as a sub--ahem--Guest Teacher, was on my youngest daughter's 6th birthday last April. I subbed in her kindergarten class at her teacher's request. I hadn't earned a paycheck in ten years, and it was a pretty emotional day for me (though maybe it was just the kindergarteners wearing me out…it takes a special person to teach kindergarten, I realize.)

My oldest daughter’s 4th grade teacher this year is also in the Army Reserves. In the past three years she has served one year in Iraq and one in Afghanistan. This year she attended several trainings, etc. I would sub for her pretty much every time she was out, sometimes full weeks at a time, so the kids started calling me their Step-Teacher. It was great for me because I knew the routines and great for the kids because it was at least semi-consistent. My daughter might tell a different story, though.

Subbing is an awful job, but it is nice to be able to walk into someone else’s plans, and leave with no homework. I’m not quite ready to work full-time again, and it’s probably not the best time to try, anyway. Between my kids’ elementary school and the high school where I used to teach, I filled most of the days I wanted to work. I’ve been through lock-downs and fire drills, fist fights and nose bleeds, vomit and break-downs. I think I’ll be ready when it’s time to get a real job again. Until then, I just wish Step-Teachers made a little more money.

One Big Happy...

All parents have a variation of, "As long as you're living under my roof, you will follow my rules." Of course, this is another phrase I told myself I would never utter to my own kids that I now say on a pretty regular basis. But the time it came in really handy was when my parents moved into my house last summer.

My mom and step-dad both retired a few years ago. Retirement came easy for my mom, but for dad...not so much. He ended up taking a job at The University of Arizona and they moved to Tucson. That lasted only a few years before they realized that Arizona is not an easy trip from Michigan, and they couldn't see their families as much as they liked. They wanted a warm climate that was closer to family, and they needed a place to stay temporarily while they looked around and decided where to settle.

We didn't know how long "temporarily" would be, but we offered up our basement to them anyway. We called it The Semi-Private Deluxe Poolside Suite. They offered to pay us rent, which we normally would have turned down. But my husband works in the auto industry, and at the time his company, a small supplier, had many ups and downs. We gladly took the extra income to save for a rainy day. It was a win-win.

It was an interesting summer. Not many people have the opportunity to live like this while their parents are still young and able to care for themselves. The kids loved having gramma and grampa available any time. Many mornings they would head straight downstairs for toast and conversation. We loved having live-in babysitters.

We tried to respect each others' privacy as much as possible, but since our main floor is open to the basement, it was hard to really achieve. They ended putting a big privacy screen at the bottom of the stairs—when it was up that meant they were “closed”. Sometimes I’d catch the kids sitting on the top step just waiting for them to be “open”.

I bet my brothers that my parents would make it a month here, but they actually lasted about three months before they finally got sick of us. I doubt it’s very quiet having the five of us banging around above their heads. And every time my mom got on my nerves or spoiled the kids or had some crazy new decorating idea, I got to say, “My house, my rules.” That just never gets old!

They ended up buying a house and moving just across town, and plan to spend winters someplace warm. My husband’s company did end up closing, so we had six weeks of uncertainty—but that is a story itself. Ultimately, I think we all came to know and appreciate each other a little more. But the best part is that when my parents actually are older and may need extra care, I’ll give one of my brothers the opportunity.

I’ve had my turn.

Soccer Dog

I haven’t mentioned our dog yet because I was waiting for just the right moment to share her story. But I am mad at her today, so she is getting an early mention.

So the kids wanted a dog. Of course…what kid doesn’t? My daughter's birthday list last year looked like this:
1. dog
2. dog
3. dog
4. dog
5. hamster

We held off until we thought they’d be responsible to at least pick up poop (which they do not do, by the way). Then we started looking at dogs without telling the kids. Turns out, adopting a rescue dog is not as easy as it would seem. We tried all the local shelters and rescue sites online and filled out countless forms and applications. People who rescue dogs are selfless and compassionate and serious about whom they let these animals ultimately live with, so they scrutinize and question. Every time I found a dog that seemed a good fit for our family, by the time I got through the process he or she would already be adopted. I was glad we hadn’t yet let the kids in on it.

This was in the fall, so my daughter was just starting her soccer season. She plays forward but hadn’t yet scored, so we offered an incentive: once you score we’ll get a dog. That girl grew wheels! She was suddenly faster and more aggressive, and practiced dribbling and shooting nearly every day. But two more games passed and she still hadn’t scored. Now she had the added pressure of her siblings, who blamed her for remaining dog-less.

It wasn’t looking too promising the day they played a team clearly out of their league. Our girls were down 9-0, when from way down at the other end of the field I saw the ball go high into the opposing net. I didn’t see who scored, but the mystery was soon solved when the entire team started jumping up and down screaming, “Cory! You’re getting a dog! Cory’s getting a dog!!” No one cared that the score was 9-1. Cory was getting a dog.

Our search got more aggressive then. Every spare weekend minute was spent scouring shelters and adoption events. After just a few more weeks, we walked into the empty back area of a Salvation Army where a local group takes adoptable dogs on weekends. Taking a quick glance around, were ready to walk back out the door when we spotted a beautiful dog in a crate in off to the side. This poor pup was just 7 months old and recovering from multiple illnesses, including parvo—from which she almost died—and kennel cough. She wasn’t adoptable yet. Her rescuer just wanted her to have a change of scenery, but we weren’t giving up. We all fell in love with her that day and aggressively stayed in contact with her rescuer in order to prove that she belonged with us. Two weeks later, after a clean vet evaluation, we picked her up and she became ours. We renamed her Angel, because she obviously had one looking out for her. She’s even the color of my carpet—a white husky-lab mix. Super-smart and easy to train, she’s never given us any trouble. Truly an angel.

Until this week, that is. I stumbled into the kitchen to make the coffee this morning, and our little “Angel” had her nose in the trash and recycling. It was all over the floor—chewed up plastic and stinky rotten food spread all over the wood. The bins pull out from a kitchen cabinet, so either we left the door ajar or she’s smarter than we think. Regardless, I startled her and she scrambled out of there, clearly admitting her guilt. I wouldn't be so mad, but she woke me up at 4am a few days ago with the same offense. That time I forgave her easily because she had never done anything like that. This time I am taking it personally.

Washing the floor twice in one week is just not cool.

Pumpkins, tomatoes, and corn...oh my!

I have a yellow thumb. This means that I tend to kill about half of what I attempt to grow. Consequently, I buy a lot of $5 plants at Home Depot. We live out in the boonies and I have several garden areas, but I tend to get lazy as summer wears on and forget to water them, so only the drought-tolerant survive. A few weeks ago I hit the jackpot at Walmart--shrubs for $2.75. I can kill twice as many for almost half the cost, I guess.

A few years back, I really wanted to make a pumpkin patch and sunflower maze for my kids. My husband cleared about an 8 x 10 section of land for the pumpkins, and I spent an afternoon on my hands and(bad) knees next to it digging a hundred holes, and adding sunflower seeds and water. We ordered a bunch of topsoil and seeds and I imagined dewy summer mornings, watering and weeding and teaching my kids to be one with the earth.

The problem was, this garden area was way too far away from the house and the hoses--by about 75 yards. My kids were too little and my husband worked too many hours and I just didn't get over to that side of the driveway often enough. The birds (I think) got to the sunflowers--not one came up. The pumpkin patch was a dud, too. But we did end up with two small pumpkins I proudly displayed on the porch for Halloween. Needless to day, we dug up the topsoil and moved it away and never ventured over there again.

Last year my kids begged for a vegetable garden, and we meant to get to it but just never did. We promised we'd for sure do it this year, so as soon as they saw the seed display in Target they started making their plans. This time we're older and wiser--we dug the garden much closer to the house, making it easier to water and weed. And we even fenced it in to protect it from the critters. The kids took charge, mapping out where each fruit and vegetable would go. They even made their own little pumpkin patches right next door, all on their own.

So far so good. They water every morning, even before school. When they got home today, they ran right over to check, and sure enough, there are new sprouts that weren't there this morning. We see the corn, cucumbers, beans, and zucchini popping through. And even better, the pumpkins and watermelons they planted in their own individual patches are coming up, too. They can't wait for the day that most of our dinner comes from our own yard.

I love to watch their excitement for these little miracles that grow right in front of their eyes. Now maybe they'll understand a little of how I feel watching them.

Can't Wait 'Til Monday

I know, crazy, right? Who looks forward to Mondays?

But around here, weekends are packed. Between dance and sports, we, like everyone else, always have a project list on the fridge. This spring the list is exceptionally long. We didn't get much done last year, so we're making up for lost time.

We high-fived at dinner tonight (yep, I even made dinner) because we got two weeks worth of work done in two days. And we're feeling it. We moved dirt, opened the pool, planted a vegetable garden, moved more dirt, planted some shrubs, moved some bulbs, moved some topsoil, and planted some more shrubs. We even managed to make it to church, dance pictures, and an away travel soccer game.

Thank God for Mondays.