The Witching Hour

  

Sometimes as mothers, there are things for which we have no answers. Things we simply cannot figure out no matter how hard we try.

But sometimes, even though it may be wrong in a misery-loves-company sort of way, it makes us feel better to know that other moms are in one of these trenches suffering with us.

Or at least to imagine in our minds that they are- that we aren't the only ones.

I choose to believe that I'm not the only one whose hour after bus drop off is not one big tooth-gritting, chest tightening, semi panic attack, homework-apocalypse.

Let me explain.

First off, of COURSE I'm glad to see my children. It's not that at all. But there is something about the after school frenzy that makes me want to put a margarita into one of those obnoxious helmets with swirly straws that feed straight down your throat.

Of course I've never done that. But my kids aren't in high school yet...

Here is how it plays out.

I think perhaps they come in the door all tired of being calm and structured. There is a kicking off of the shoes and a slinging of the backpacks. Also, everyone enters the premises as if they have just been granted the Survivor feast after a week of fasting in the Congo. Dirty hands foraging through pantries and picking through cellophane. Apparently six years of telling them to wash their hands right when they walk in the door after school has not been absorbed by any of their neural transmitters.

Then there is the dog who usually grabs one of their shoes in his mouth and runs with it, just to make me scream. Every. Single. Day.

There is the talking over each other. There is the, "Can I go to (insert name)'s house?" or "Can (insert name) come over?" And randomness, "How long is an airplane ride from here to Louisiana?"

"But you need to do your homework."

"But I told (insert name) I was coming over."

Then, I am trying not to bark, "Well, by all means if you TOLD him then please go!!!!! There will be *plenty* of time for you to study for your subject-predicate test when you are both thirty on your moms' couches while we do your laundry because you wanted to hang with friends before you did your HOOOMMMEEEEWWWOORRKKK!

Yes, I'm exaggerating. 

My children make good grades. And sometimes after school I do feel a bit like Monica on that Friends episode where she is instructing everyone on how to correctly snap the tops on their Crayola markers.

I admit I have never been accused of being too laid back...

Especially not about school.

That would be my husband who said hello and hugged my child's teacher at the ballpark and didn't realize it was his last year's teacher. But I digress...

I'm a substitute teacher, for crying out loud. And I can calmly help someone struggling with reading or math with flying colors. I am the epitome of patience!

But when I am sitting there with my own child and he is reading to me and randomly throwing in words THAT ARENT EVEN THERE like he is on stage at Live at the Improv, I literally want to curl up in the fetal position and suck my thumb.

I think it's because we CARE soooooo much. We want them to thrive, and be successful, and be all that we know they can be. And we want them to WASH THEIR HANDS for crying out loud and not get strep on the third week of school!!!! 

And the knocks on the door, and the needing to start supper, and the dog barking at every person that walks by...well, that can only add to the fun.

Thankfully, after the witching hour, everything seems to settle down.

It's that one hour. And certainly I'm not the only one. Hopefully. Bueller?Lie to me if you must.

I have a friend who used to loudly sing whenever she got frustrated at her children. She figured that was better than yelling and provided a better memory for her kids. She may be on to something. 

But I'm not sure my scary mom face while belting out, "Come On Eileen" won't be a one-way ticket into therapy.

As moms, sometimes is hard not to care so much. It's hard to relax, go with the flow, and let the chips fall where they may.

I'm working on a "system" for after school. However, suffice it to say this system has been in the making for years.

But maybe just knowing there are other moms out there, feeling the same way, gritting their teeth, hair sticking to the back of their sweaty necks as they trudge through homework apocalypse every day, is a good place to start.

Semper Fi, Mom soldiers.

Subject and predicate onward.

Advice for Middle School

  1. Nothing, absolutely NOTHING is as bad as it seems once the sun sets and rises again. A new day always brings a new perspective. 

That note I wrote about having a crush on a boy that was found and copied and posted all over the school? Yes, I laugh about it now. And possibly laughed about it a week after it happened, even though the day it happened I wanted the ground to swallow me up whole.

To quote Wilson-Phillips, "Hold On For One More Day."

Things get better. Always.

2. There will be kids in middle school who look like they may not be able to tie their own shoes and kids who look like they drove to school and voted in the last election. Be nice to everyone, it all evens out in high school.

3. Adopt a "more the merrier" attitude. Don't form exclusive cliques that purposefully leave others out, and do not try to join exclusive cliques. They are meaningless, and hurt other people's feelings.

Of course it's impossible to invite everyone to everything, but also help all of us parents, including myself, try not to do anything to encourage an "us" and "them" mentality. Sometimes it may be the parents, while trying to relive the glory days, who make things so much worse by trying to make sure our children are liked and included.

4. Realize that there is no group, club, team, grade, or clique that makes you who you are. Only the way you treat others defines who you are and is what truly counts once that graduation cap is tossed into the air.

5. The kids that act "too cool for school" and who bully and pick on and make fun of other kids? Many of them will still be sleeping on mama's couch into their 30s.

6. Try to be organized. A large factor in whether you succeed in middle school has to do with learning organization and responsibility.

7. Middle schooler, appreciate your parents. You aren't exactly the easiest person to be around at this time in your life.

8. No extra curricular activity, no matter how much you love it, is as important as academics. What if Lebron James had irreparable damage to his leg his senior year?

9. Learn to dance. It will come in handy so much more than you realize.

10. People who act better than you secretly feel inferior to you.

11. Treat everyone with kindness and respect because they may be going through something unimaginable, and your kindness could be the one thing that changes a life for the better.

12. Embrace quirkiness and weirdness in yourself and others. It's what makes people interesting.

13. Enjoy this time in your life. These are some of the most care-free days you will ever have. Some days will be doozies, but for the most part, these days may be some of the best. Enjoy!

10 Random Things I Discovered This Summer

1. Regardless of how relaxing and wonderful and serene and refreshing your beach vacation has been, you will inevitably find yourself at Alvin's Island while your kids search fruitlessly amidst junk for their promised souvenirs, while you wish someone would put you out of your misery and knock you unconscious with a $3.99 wooden crab net.

2. And, never, ever, EVER take your child shopping for school supplies when you have PMS. And never, under any circumstances, take the little brother who may excitedly blurt out, "Maybe this will be the school year you will get your head shoved in the toilet!!!"

3. Whether or not a sudden storm blows in is directly proportional to how much junk you have dragged to the pool.

4. The people who decided summertime was a great time to air "American Ninja Warrior" should also provide a Damage Relief Team to travel the nation wiping shoe marks off of walls and fixing loose banisters.

5. When you're 43, trying to run across water in a hamster ball isn't fun. It's actually kind of sad.

6. At the end of the school year, whatever you vowed to do over the summer (and THIS time I'm serious): Teach all of the multiplication facts, read every single day, begin new chores for kids...

You will realize 10 days before school starts that you have started none of them. NONE.

7. You might develop odd physical symptoms toward the end of summer. Two of them may be a sensitivity to noise and twitching. And at the VERY end of the summer, you may get the same feeling in your chest that you get when you are trying to untangle a pile of wire hangers.

8.  When your children excitedly figure out that you can rip off the end of a Nerf dart and install a thumbtack which will stick to things far away at a high speed, including wood and mortar, it's definitely time for school to start.

9. If you do, in fact, let your children listen to the song Uptown Funk...A LOT, do not be surprised when you are scolding one of your children, and after you yell, "STOP!" that the child comes back with, "...wait a minute. Grab my cup, put some liquor in it..."

(^^^^^^Mom Of The Year^^^^^^)

10. And last but not least, you will realize that time is passing much too quickly. And you will realize that though your summer really didn't go according to plan and you didn't accomplish many of the things you had hoped you would, in its own way, the summer was still darn near perfect.

You've Got This

Mamas...I feel ya.

This is a shout out to all of those hot, sweaty mamas sitting in their cars in the 100-degree heat index at Sonic, watching their little ones growing up too fast. 

Watching them sitting there with their friends like they are so big and independent, while we still see dimpled fingers and sticky smiles.

This is for the moms who are so bloody tired and anxious and worn out from the summer frenzy that they just need a moment, just one peaceful moment with a friend, even if it's in a hot car watching their kids act big while they gulp down green apple slushies.

This is for all of the moms whose houses look like the Pittsburg Steelers threw a house party.

This is for all the moms who planned to have their children read for an hour every day of the summer and just realized it's only 29 days until school and they haven't even implemented the plan yet.

This is for all the moms looking at Facebook who think that the magnificent things posted are just "a day in the life" when really that might be the best that happened to that person all year.

This is for the moms who planned on being June Cleaver this summer and growing summer squash and maybe even canning something, only to find they may have come closer to channeling Roseanne.

This is for all the moms who are just doing their danged best, laughing one minute but feel that the laughter could also possibly turn into tears of frustration.

Because they just need 10 minutes of silence. Or one chapter. Or a margarita.

This is for my hero, the mom I saw a few days ago at Target who

had two boys wearing Avenger Age of Ultron voice changer masks. They were using robot voices and circling her like the raptors circled Chris Pratt in Jurassic World. 

She was simply trying to have a few solitary minutes on the phone with another mom. She didn't seem to get irritated at all. She is either from another state that just started their summer break, or I want to be her when I grow up.

She remained much more calm than I did when I was trying to find sulfate-free shampoo that also smelled masculine for my boys. I picked out four shampoos and simply wanted them to smell them and pick their favorite. This, theoretically, should have taken 45 seconds. 

But mine had to break the shampoo bottles into teams, like brackets in a baseball tournament, with one eventually coming out the winner. Right there in the middle of the dirty floor. And then my oldest had to change his winner in the end because his little brother picked the same one. We can't have anyone copying.

For. The. Love.

Summer can be such a paradox. So many of our best memories and sweetest moments we have with our families are in the sweet, sweet summertime.

And yet, sometimes the togetherness for so many consecutive days can cause nerves to be raw, irritations to be magnified, and noises to be louder and grate...grate...grate.

I heard an evangelist make this statement the other night on TV. He said the first step to cure depression is a meaningful conversation. But I believe it applies to the summer frenzies as well.

The first step to cure summertime frenzy and stress is a meaningful conversation with a friend.

Even if it's sitting all hot in sweaty in your car at Sonic.

Power through mamas. We are all in this together.

Too Loud

It's almost midnight, and I am outside sitting on my deck alone.

It is quiet out here.

Is it just me, or is everything too loud? I mean...EVERYTHING.

I feel like everyone just needs to stop talking, stop debating, stop analyzing, stop opinionating, stop being offended, stop arguing, just stop. And be quiet. And be still.

Just be.

And then I think everyone needs a group hug. 

Or maybe at least to sit across a table with good friends and not debate, but just laugh. Laugh loudly, deeply, raucously over something really funny.

Or maybe take a walk at dusk with someone you love, and talk about a great book you have just read.

Go watch a mindless movie, and fill up on popcorn and chocolate.

Everything has gotten too loud, too intense, too much. 

People's hearts are on their sleeves, and we are all bumping into each other.

It's okay not to debate. It's okay not to give an opinion on everything. It's okay to just stop, and breathe, and listen, and love.

Sometimes all you need to do is look into the face of a stranger. Maybe it's the face of someone a different color, of someone with different beliefs, of someone with a completely different background. 

But just smile. 

Not one of those quick, just passing through smiles. 

But a warm, sincere, smile that spreads across your face.

A smile that says, "We may be very different in a lot of ways, but I'll bet we are probably alike in a lot of ways too. And I want to brighten your day."

Sometimes, for a brief moment, it can be that simple. 

Thoughts on pitching helmets...

Something has been on my mind lately.

Pitching helmets/masks in baseball. Or rather, the lack thereof.

Why aren't our children wearing them?

Why am I not making my child wear one?

My 8-year-old, who is still in coach-pitch, but who is playing in the pitcher's position, wears one. It's a rule.

But my 11-year-old, like almost all other 11-year-olds, gets on the mound without one.

After years of baseball, are his reflexes better than my 8-year-old's? Perhaps. But guess what? There are big-barrel bats and boys who look like they will soon start shaving swinging at those balls he pitches.

We are worried to death, as we SHOULD be, about pitchers' arms, with rules and regulations galore, but we aren't worried about their heads??

It wasn't long ago my son caught a ball headed straight in the direction of his head. He caught it, protecting himself, and making an out.

YAY!!! But...

Even my friend sitting beside me had tears in her eyes over what could have happened.

In the past two years, I have been around when more than one pitcher got hit. There is simply nothing scarier. It's almost as if the air at the ballfield changes as coaches and parents rush onto the field holding their breath. And not too long ago, a coach in COACH-pitch was actually sent to the hospital by a YOUNG player. Now many coaches of the younger players are wearing helmets with masks, as the kids are getting stronger at an earlier age. 

So, this begs the question, if grown men are wearing masks when pitching to 2nd-graders (who are freakishly strong by the way), why on EARTH aren't our older children wearing masks? Some of these batters are the size of grown men!

It also poses the question, if batters wear helmets, why not pitchers? At that age, which has more velocity? A throw or a hit?

It's a conversation I feel compelled to have with my son. The whole topic has been tugging at me for a while.

Everyone wants to have an advantage athletically. That's human nature. But after brain damage, a destroyed face, or the death of someone they love, how many would be singing a different tune?

Would a mask make pitching more difficult? A helmet would not make pitching more difficult. I'm sure a mask might take some getting used to, but isn't it worth it?

But if it were mandatory across the board, everyone would be playing on even ground.

And I can't help but think that those big bulky football helmets with the face masks don't seem to stop those

wide receivers.

Snow Day

I always have these magical, wonderful ideas of what a "snow day" will be like. Well, in this case, an "ice" day.

We will all do our part to pick up the cluttered house. I will turn into the Energizer bunny, cleaning the house to music, productive like never before. Maybe we will then all play a board game, and then perhaps a movie by the fireplace with hot chocolate.

Never in my wishes does it involve us prying Nerf darts out of the dog's mouth while the boys run screaming through the house with a new Mega Nerf bow in full attack mode, while I yell about protective eyewear.

It never involves fights between boys where one has another's toy in his room and won't open the door until the one brother says the other one is awesome.

None of my plans involve any of this.

And then my youngest, tells me he loves me and then tells our dog, Jack, how much he loves him. Then he comes in with his beloved collection of glass animals and sweetly plays with the tiny things on a little glass mirror.

Ahhh, precious moment.

And then...enter the maracas.

I'm not talking normal maracas. These are homemade maracas from a school instrument project. And just to let you know, they are literally as big as your head, made out of Powerade jugs, and seem to even hurt the dog's ears who begins to bark along with the maracas.

My breakfast is not the relaxing event I envisioned.

Followed by the requested video performance of my youngest throwing only the giraffe tush of a dog toy in the air to see if he can catch it by the tail.

Sorry...all tickets are sold out.

Then...my oldest  comes out of his room and has done homework WITHOUT being asked.

I am feeling confident! I've clearly got his mom thing down!!!!

Then...I begin decorating for Easter, which sounds relaxing and nice...

UNLESS YOU HAVE TO BREAK UP YOUR BOYS FROM A FIGHT WHERE THEY ARE USING ONE OF YOUR PIER 1 DECORATIVE PILLOWS!!!!!!!!!!!!

Feeling like I most certainly do not have this mom thing down.

And then...silence...

Of course, this could be a bad sign, but I'm not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

I settle down on the couch and pick up a nail-biter of a mystery that I'm reading.

Almost through with the chapter, my boys summon me downstairs. "Just two more pages," I tell them. 

When I go downstairs, they have a huge pallet of cushions, pillows, and blankets on the floor. The electric fireplace is going, the lights are dim, and they have a baseball movie we have never seen ready to play.

And as I'm lying on the floor, each boy snuggled up on either side of me, I remember that there are no perfect days.

But there are, most certainly, perfect moments.