Lessons in Packing

Every time I go on vacation to the beach, I invariably learn something new about efficient packing.  For example...

*Do NOT bring make-up or hair supplies.  The humidity makes both completely irrelevant and embarrassingly messy (hint:  products drip).  You'll learn to love the new (make-up-and-hair-do-free) you eventually...

*Don't bother bringing a book.  Some former vacationer at your location will have likely left a crappy good, crappy light, crappy fluffy summer read behind.  I can't remember what I read there last year, but this year's choice was Nora Roberts' Vision In White.  Or something like that.  Title's not really important.  Nor is the need for a riveting plot, apparently.

*Bring sugar for coffee.  I'm starting to think we're the only people on the planet that still use real sugar for things and not some color-coded packet of mystery-sweetener.  Trust me, I really don't care if the yellow one's supposed to be "natural."  It still tastes like crap.

*Bring coffee.  What's in the cupboard/fridge/freezer is usually frighteningly out of date.

*Don't pay the least bit of attention to the weather reports beforehand, and bring that bottle of aloe vera gel anyway.  Your back and shoulders will thank you.  I remember vacillating back and forth while packing about whether or not to bring it, thinking I really didn't need to drag around the extra weight if each and every day was supposed to be cloudy or rainy.  Trust me, sunburn relief would have been worth the backache of carrying around a whopping extra 2 ounces stored in a half-full bottle.

*What were you thinking, bringing a pair of jeans?  Haven't you learned yet that there's no such thing as a cool evening in Georgia in the summer?

*Diet, schmiet.  All those healthy things you thought to bring with you?  Forget 'em.  Everything on vacation is pale and fried and sinfully delicious, and if you fret about it, the guilt will kill you faster than your clogged arteries will.  Substitute sweet potato fries for the regular variety if you must, to make your conscience feel a little bit better.  Vitamin A, right?  Repent with salad and flatbread crisps when you get home.

*Forget the toys for the kid.  She'll be so exhausted when she gets back from frolicking at the beach or being dragged on day-trips to nowhere, she'll be more than happy to just veg out with a dvd or books.  Who needs toys?  They'll never even get looked at.

*Don't send the Android tablet or iPad out for repair the week before your trip.  Your child might never forgive you.  Or, at the very least, you'll never hear the end of it.  Oh, my poor, poor baby...

*Pack an umbrella.  Not for the time at the beach, but for the return home during a massive downpour and tornado warning for your town.  Seriously, I would've been more than happy to wait out the rain in the car, but when coupled with the words on the radio commanding that you take cover now, the run for the house was critical so we could get down to the basement in momente, just in time for the rain to stop, storm to end, warning to be lifted.  Weather's a funny thing...

Let's see what next year teaches us.

When an Impulse Buy Goes Very, Very Right

We honestly didn't know what to get Samantha for her birthday, so we didn't really get anything.  I think that may make us sound like bad parents, but sometimes we can be a little blinded by being too close to her on a daily basis.  All we see is a child who doesn't play much with toys, who doesn't like to color, who has no penchant for music whatsoever, and who lives for her books.  Sure, we could get her books, but we also hoped to be showered by epiphanies about actual toys she might actually want. 

 

But we weren't.

 

As I stood in line one day at Ross, purchasing a pair of pink sandals for her (which later proved to be miles too big, but for $7 I don't mind waiting until she grows into them), famished because I'd missed lunch and was forced to drool over look at rack upon rack of seemingly delicious bags of organic chips and popcorn with fancy and enticing names lining the path to payment, I saw a shelf of inexpensive boxed activity sets.  But Samantha totally doesn't like activity sets or arts and crafts, right?

 

Wait...

 

Whoops. 

 

I suddenly revealed to myself my own faulty logic in coming to this conclusion.  It's not that she doesn't like them, it's that I don't like the mess or the need for organization and patience that generally comes with them.  I can sit her down in front of a craft, give her instructions, and let her have-at-it, but I'll invariably become a bit cross as she does something wrong, spills some paint, over-glues an object or somehow manages to do something other than what's expected by the makers of said craft, which then leads to her own frustration, which then leads to her refusal to do anything, which then leads to me, in a huff, packing everything up and vowing never to bring it out again until it can be done correctly. 

 

Okay, so I exaggerate a tiny bit...  It's really not so awful, but she really doesn't have the staying-power for some of those things and would rather go and do something quicker or easier. 

 

So it was with an enormous amount of ambition that I, still waiting in line for my turn to pay, began to fondle a box containing a weaving-loom-pot-holder kit.  Remember those?  I loved the sense of accomplishment at actually having made something really, really cool, by myself.  But could my kid do it?   

 

I highly doubted it, a sentiment echoed by my husband when I got home with the box that would likely end up at the bottom of a closet for the next few years.  And again, for $5, that was a risk worth taking, and at the very least, she'd have something from us to open (in addition to a small toy that Daddy had picked up the day before).

 

Yesterday, I returned home from work to an astonishing sight - fine motor dexterity at it's absolute best being displayed by Samantha who was creating a pot holder masterpiece.

 

On. Her. Own.  (after being instructed by her aide, who started it off for her)

 

We were floored.  She did an amazing job, not needing any supervision until she completed the task and handed it over to me to finish off the edges. 

 

Trust me when I tell you I will treasure that little blue and white pot holder forever. 

 

The Calm After the Storm, or Post Party Peace

And so as the craziness of the last 3 months begins to wind down, as I try to re-group and find myself again, to find my voice that had until now been such a constant companion of both my waking and sleeping hours (figuratively, folks!  My husband will readily tell you that my voice is already loud and clear on most days...), I can honestly say that while it was all such a whirlwind, it was the most exhilarating and rewarding whirlwind.  Never, ever, in my whole life, have I felt so fully-scheduled, so busy with interesting things and events and plans and dreams and burgeoning creativity, both personally and with/for Samantha.  It's been a real ride, and while I'm glad it's nearly at an end with the start of the summer season, I can look back with a real sense of accomplishment.

 

Saturday was Samantha's birthday party.  And while my creative juices did not flow as well as I'd hoped they would, while things didn't look quite as rich or as well put together as I'd planned, I believe that was because I never really felt the theme, was never truly sold on it.  I began setting things up in the park pavilion at 8:45am, and when Samantha arrived at 10, she looked things over, took a harder look at the pictures from Mike the Knight that were glued down to the tablecloths, and promptly dismissed it all in favor of a good romp on the playground.  I really suspected it would be that way, too, so I honestly wasn't at all bothered.  Now that that's out of the way, I can do something completely different next year, plan earlier in advance for it, and perhaps do a color theme again.  SO much easier, and with so much more visual aesthetic reward!!

 

The day was beautiful, sunny and hot.  A TON of Sammi's classmates showed up, which really made us happy, and her teacher, her resource teacher, and her former preschool teacher all came to celebrate as well.  A little bit of bittersweet came when a parent told me that upon receiving the invitation to the party, her daughter, a very, very sweet girl, told her mother that she absolutely had to go to Sammi's party because Sammi is so nice and because she was worried that there wouldn't be very many children there. 

 

I won't lie and say that statement didn't bother me. 

 

And, in the same breath, I will say that it elated me. 

 

She was honestly looking out for my girl. 

 

But it made me sad all the same.

 

Okay, enough of that.

 

There was lots of food, nearly not enough drinks, definitely not enough watermelon (so noted for future events...), and massive amounts of cake, since my mother's beautiful cupcakes went first, like wildfire!

 

We're so grateful to everyone who came, to everyone who cares about my girl, brought her lovely gifts, and spent time with her to celebrate her 7th birthday. 

 

If any of you are still reading these days, I hope you'll stick around!  I'm hoping to revive things a bit, get cracking on lots of new posts, and start babbling incessantly once again, as things should be.  Stay tuned!

 

7

I have nothing to say today that hasn't already been said by me a million times.  My daughter is my world, and the last 7 years have been the most amazing years of my life.  I woke up this morning shortly before 5am, after burning the midnight oil working on some of the details for her party this weekend, waiting for the clock to tick over to 5:19am, the minute of her birth.  With each minute passing, I watched the room and the hallway beyond the door grow brighter as the sun rose, the birds, waking, chirping their joy to the day, and I realized I'd never thought about what it might be like outside on the day she was born.  The delivery room was dark, the air conditioning whirring loudly, the monitors beeping.  But I do recall noticing later, as I rested, that the sky was blue, the sun was shining.  Probably very much like this morning.  I can listen to the birds and watch the sunrise now, and know that on the day she was born, they chirped their joy for her, as well.

 

Happy 7th birthday, to my beautiful baby girl!  

 

Birth (photo taken at 8 days old)

 

 

1st Birthday

2nd Birthday, with her little friend, M., who shares the same birthday

3rd Birthday

4th Birthday (again, with M.)

 

5th Birthday

6th Birthday (playing the drums we gave her)

Don't Wake the Bear!

Maybe I need to wear that sign around my neck.  I'm usually a pretty docile sort of creature, swayed more frequently by calm and beauty than the need to hunt or protect.  Protecting is always happening, but in a much more passive way, one that occurs more on the homefront in teaching my cub to do things safely herself.  But every once in a while, someone gets too close to waking that snarling mass of tooth and nail that rests within me, and I cannot always control what happens next.

Sunday started out ordinary enough, but there was something in the air...  Relaxing in the morning, getting some painting done on some of the little details for Sammi's party.  Samantha was a big help painting little wooden stars, and stuck with the project far longer than I'd ever expected her to.  Wanting to take advantage of the absolutely gorgeous day, we went over to one of the playgrounds nearby, nestled in a grassy ravine between two rows of townhouses.  I could see 3 children (possibly a year or so older?), two boys and a girl, playing together on the climbers.  One of the boys called out, "Hi, Sammi" as we approached.  I swear, this kid really does know everyone!  Sammi played on her own for a few minutes, then decided she wanted them to play with her.  Interrupting their game of zombies on a bus, or some other fantastical in-your-head kind of play, she tried to get them to come play restaurant with her, at the little built-in take-out window beneath the slides.  They didn't quite know what to do, I think, so they ignored her requests, which eventually became rather loud pleas.  The snarky mom in me told the children (although I think I wasn't loud enough and don't think they heard me) that it was okay to just tell her they didn't want to play restaurant, rather than ignoring her.  Not wanting to embarrass her (even though she doesn't really know about embarrassment), I asked her to come to me so I could quietly tell her that they wanted to play their game, not hers, but she could still go play on her own.  She refused, stubborn, insistent, getting louder with the kids, and eventually joining in their game, in her own rather backwards-y way.  They were tolerant.  Kept playing around her.  Beneath my sunglasses, sitting silently on a swing, I let it be known very clearly that I was watching.  Had a little stare-down with one of the boys, my unspoken message received perfectly.  Eventually, through a combination of me guiding her away and her realizing they weren't going to play with her, she went to do something else, with me. 

I asked her if she was sad that the other kids didn't play with her.  I think she probably wasn't, but I wanted her to understand what that meant, that it was okay to be sad.  I think I may have wanted her to be sad, because it's appropriate.  Maybe she just hides it well, refusing to acknowledge that something bothers her, internalizing it, as she does with other things.  Like a splinter in a finger, her hand pressed tightly against her back so no one can see what's wrong, saying, "it's okay...it's nothing..."   

A little while later we went out to shop for new sneakers for her rapidly-growing feet.  Okay, well, her feet don't actually grow very fast, but I suddenly realized that the Pumas she'd been wearing at least 3 days a week since last August no longer fit her, and a next size was needed.  We headed over to Ross to see what they had.  She picked up a book in the children's area and lay down on the floor, legs stretched out behind her, in front of a shoe mirror.  I crouched on the floor between her feet and the wall, eyeing the shoes displayed there on shelves.  Shortly, I heard a voice behind me.  "You'll have to get off the floor."

Huh??

I turned and saw a woman in a Loss Prevention vest, addressing my child.    Now...there are times and situations when a person should address my child directly.  But this wasn't one of them, and I had a response for her.

Me:  "Really?!?  She's a *child!*  Why should she have to get off the floor?  She's just reading." 

LP Lady:  "Because we have to keep the pathway clear, for safety."

My 20 years of retail management experience certainly tells me that yes, the path needs to be clear.  It's a liability issue.  But the mom in me, and the fact that we'd only been there for about a minute in that position, told me that this lady clearly had nothing better to do.

Me:  "Well, *you* try to get her to move then (knowing full well that Sammi, who was having a particularly whiny and inflexible day, would throw the *biggest* FIT if I tried to make her move from something she was enjoying).  And if someone needs to get by, they can ask *me* to move, since I'm taking up the rest of the space in the aisle.  You just let *me* handle it."

She backed off, and we went back about our business of purchasing shoes. 

Overreaction?  Sure.  But I think my point was valid and I was perturbed that she would address Samantha about it, when I, the child's mother, was clearly sitting right next to her.  This situation had absolutely nothing to do with disability, real or perceived.  It was solely about the inappropriateness of the situation in general.  I may have been a bit extra-touchy, but I may have made my point.

'nuff said.

My baby girl turns 7 tomorrow.  Tomorrow!!!!! 

I have more important things to think about than social injustice today.  :-)

The Obligatory Pre-Party Prep Post

Since Sammi turned 5, I think, I determined that I wouldn't go the pre-fab party gear route for her birthday parties.  Inspired at the time by the likes of Kelle Hampton, Parents Magazine and the rise of Pinterest, I began to let loose my "crafty" inner-self (hahaha) and try to do it on my own, with not much more than a fierce determination and several months of prep to aid me.  It's never perfect, but I've been pretty pleased with the results thus far! 

This year I had a dilemma.  I had absolutely no idea in advance of what theme to do, had absolutely no time to actually do any of it, and Samantha was absolutely no help in the selection process.  She told me she wanted a Mike the Knight party.  She absolutely adores the main character's little sister, Evie, and her ability to cast spells, but I agonized over the implications of having a party based on a cartoon that was geared more towards preschoolers than big 1st graders.  What would her friends think?

I went back and forth, trying to convince her that she wanted a party with a cat theme, but she held fast.  I came to the conclusion that it's not what I want that matters, it's what Samantha wants.  Not like she'll pay much attention to the results, though - the party's at a playground, and there will be pizza and cake.  Need I say more?

The theme is loosely based on Mike the Knight, with red, yellow and blue as the main colors, and a few cut-outs of the characters hot-glued to table cloths, fashioned into cupcake toppers, and on the Happy Birthday banner, thanks to the printables available on NickJr.com.  I decided to make wands out of wooden dowels and wooden stars in varying sizes from the craft store, painted with fast-drying acrylics and slow-drying glitter glue (oy vey). 

I'd had a fantasy of making Dragon Juice labels for the water bottles and juice boxes, but as they'll be soaking in ice-filled coolers and it'll likely top 90 degrees that day, labels would quickly become a soggy, runny mess.  Then I brilliantly came up with the idea of using foam bookmarks (see photo below) to make the labels, but the liklihood of successfully curving a glitter-covered item around a bottle or juice box without the glitter going everywhere would be slim-to-none, and I decided that they'd make better treat bucket labels instead. 

The next dilemma was who to invite.  So I invited the whole class, and a few of Sammi's non-school friends, and I'm very pleased with the numbers of RSVPs we've gotten so far!  There's really no limit to how many people can come (we have the pavilion reserved at the playground), so if you're local and I haven't invited you (I've been horribly scattered lately, and am sure I missed several people on the invite list) and you'd like to come, please drop me a line!  The more the merrier!

Wands in the making.

After searching high and low, there wasn't a paint brush in sight on Sunday when I wanted to paint these wands and stars.  I finally used a paper towel to wipe the paint on the wood, which worked nicely.  Off to buy one today, though...and maybe some spray shellac to finish them off.

Okay, so these two initial experimentations aren't perfect, but at least I have the idea now...  These were originally planned to be bottle/juice box coozies, but due to the volatile nature of glitter glue will likely be attached to goody bags instead.  There will be a variety of red, blue and yellow labels, decorated with stars and jeweled brads (seen above).

Porky Pies

The English have a whole catalogue of regional accents and dialects, identifiable right down to a village within a town or county.  It's pretty amazing, really.  And within the confines of London itself, there are several distinct and separate dialects as well, most notably Cockney.  Cockney has its own language of sorts, using something called "rhyming slang" to denote a word or idea through the use of completely incongruous words used together that rhyme with the intended word that they've substituted for.  For example, "going down the frog and toad" is "going down the road."  And "telling porkies" is short for "telling porky pies" which are lies.  Fascinating stuff, really.

Samantha's been telling her own porkies lately.  Like the real, obvious, blatent kind, the kind that tells you that only a child who still knows absolutely nothing of the basic, deductive reasoning used to figure stuff like that out, could have told.  But in its own way, it's quite exciting. 

My kid's making stuff up!  Woohoo!!

But it has certainly forced us to do our own investigations on the side to see what's really true, or what really happened.  For example, Samantha came home the other day with her boots untied and on the wrong feet.  We asked her what happened, and she said, "P. took them off."  After a few more leading pointed questions, I deduced that P. had taken them off of her to try them on herself. 

Uh, which was totally not what happened. 

According to the teacher, Samantha had taken them off herself.  Period.  No other complicit parties. 

Another day, Samantha came home without her lunch bag.  When questioned, she stated that "M. took it from me."  Okay, so this idea really isn't that far-fetched.  Knowing M., that could very well have happened.  I asked her why M. took it from her, and her answer was that he wasn't behaving, that he was being annoying.  Her lunch bag was still in the classroom the next morning, and we were unable to confirm or deny her story, as no one else knew whether what she said was fact or fiction.

Another example - Samantha has, on numerous occasions, been told no by one parent, only to go to the other parent, talk about something completely different, then go back to parent #1 and say that Mommy/Daddy said yes.  This forces one parent to question the other, only to find out that they'd both been had by the pint-sized-one. 

And we laugh now, knowing that it's a necessary stage in childhood development, hoping that it doesn't stick around beyond its welcome. 

In the meantime, we grin and bear it and ask a lot of questions, never sure what to Adam and Eve.