Babyproof

"I won't use it,"  he said flatly, with the disaffected air of a teenager. 

We were in Costco.  During a trip there earlier in the week, I'd spied backpacks and a Camelbak.  I took the oldest boy along with me so I could show him the stuff and so that he could pick out his own backpack color, even though I knew he'd pick black (he did).   It was the Camelbak, though, that was supposed to be the main attraction.

Nolan's going to band camp next month and while he is going to be someplace cooler, he will be out on the field all day practicing, marching, and I thought (and it was suggested) that the Camelbak would be a good option.   Hydration in the summer in AZ is not something to mess around with.  And he's...well, he's what the old guys in Westerns would refer to as a "tenderfoot".  That boy hasn't seen real physical labor ever, whether it's 75 or 110 degrees.  I was just looking out for him.

Judging by his response, perhaps I should stop doing that.

It seems every attempt I make these days to guide him along is met with, at best, a sigh and an eyeroll.  I know he's growing up, and would prefer to be left to his own devices.  I get that, and for the most part, I rein myself in more often than not. 

But.

But it's hard.  It's not so out of character, really, to look out for the kids.  It's been a part of my life, everyday, for the last 14 years.  Surely he could find it in his adolescent heart to cut his mother some slack.  Over the years, I padded corners, I locked drawers, covered outlets, and cut up his hotdogs--among myriad other things-- to keep him safe.   Sleepless nights spent feeding him and fastidiously changing his diaper (no rashes for my boy) are ready in my memory as I walk by his room at night, doing my last lap of the house before bed.  It's just that now, where I used to stand and marvel at chubby, cherubic cheeks, I find myself standing and marveling at cheekbones, lanky, long limbs, and the whisper of a mustache.

During the day, I find myself torn---letting him take his steps away from me while simultaneously fighting the urge to babyproof the world for him as he does it.  

When we got home, I told Mr W what had happened, and that my feelings were hurt.  And that Nolan's general bad attitude of late and his constant bitching about Ben were pushing me closer to the edge by the minute.

"If he wants to go to camp, ill-prepared, get sunburned, and dehydrated, and have blisters on his feet because he doesn't want to listen to me, then that's fine!"  I exclaimed, exasperated and near tears.  Mr W pointed out to me that perhaps I should let just that happen.  I found myself sputtering, incredulous, at the thought.

(He obviously has not met the Good Mother Police.)

I was pondering his ideas when I overheard him talking to the boys in that tone he uses, the one reserved for affronts to the Mama.  It's a 'she's upset, so I'm upset' kind of thing, where he has my back, and I am grateful for it.

Consequently, this week has been better.

And Nolan has learned how to ride his bike to friend's houses within a couple of miles of us....while encased in bubblewrap.  :p

The bigger they are

Towards the end of the school year, I had a brainstorm.  I have been increasingly concerned over Ryan, he's gaining weight, and was trying to think of a way to up his activity level without making him feel like I was picking on him.

I realize that he may have a growth spurt in his future, but maybe he doesn't.  And having a lifetime of "you'll grow out of it" still ringing in my ears experience behind me made me start thinking.

I decided that although our summers are brutally hot, we could do things together, as a family, that could be fun and get the kids off the couch, late in the day or early in the morning.  I told them they would have to earn their video game time, and just to sweeten the deal, I made it easy--15 minutes of activity for 30 minutes of game time.  I came up with things like kickball on Monday evening, maybe walking on Tuesday mornings, etc.  We would all play, and it would be good for every one of us.

I invited another family with four kids to come and play kickball with us, and tonight we had our first match up.   We had a lot of fun, even though I failed to take into consideration that they are quite athletic--soccer and running kids---and we are....not.  LOL 

We still had quite a good time, in spite of the fact that Mr W was not along this evening, and Audrey was not feeling well.  The other family readily stepped in and rotated people onto our team once it became apparent that we were in need of help.  :p

At one point, I was running to third base, my brain urging me to run faster to make it, just as my eyes noted one of the other kids moving towards me.  I put on the brakes. 

And still managed to trip.  In a most spectacular, play-of-the-week fashion.  It was not pretty, and it dispelled my thoughts of ever being a contestant on the Amazing Race, as clearly my talents are more of the MXC variety.

As the earth sped up towards me, I thought, sweet Jesus, this is gonna hurt, and I was right.  My hips and legs came up off the ground, and I scraped up everything from my right boob on down. My hands are scratched up, my knee and ankle really hurt, and there's a fabulous bruise on my calf.  Although I would have blamed no one for erupting in peals of laughter, my friends were good and asked me how I was before commencing to tease me and chuckle heartily.  (My children later assured me it was hilarious.)

All in all, as I sit here nursing my wounds, I realize it's not such a bad thing to remember how hard the ground really is, and not so bad to embarrass myself publicly. 

What's a little dirt amongst friends?

Besides, I'll be okay.

Once my ego stops smarting.

She toots her own...horn

Ben, Audrey and I were hanging out in my room.   We were lounging in my bed, and they were watching tv while I was surfing iTunes. 

(I have to admit, I should be in a twelve-step program for my iTunes habit.  It's that bad.)

Suddenly, Ben starts laughing.  "Mom!  Didn't you hear that?"  "What?"  I ask, removing a headphone from my ear so I could hear him.  Audrey stood in the doorway of my bathroom, laughing maniacally.

"She was sitting here, watching tv, with me, and all of a sudden, she jumped up, ran into the bathroom, pointed her butt at the bathtub, and shouted "Fire in the hole!" and she let one rip.  She farted!  It was loud!"  he starts laughing.

I couldn't help but giggle too, reminded that our resident delicate flower is not so delicate....in spite of what the pink dress says.

Anatomy of a backpack

On Monday afternoon, Ben had to stay afterschool for a rehearsal.  I offered to take his trombone and backpack home with me so he wouldn't have to lug them all the way as he walked home.

Now, I've watched him struggle under the weight of that backpack for quite some time now.  I'd sigh, roll my eyes, and tell him to clean it out at least once a week.  However, once we're in the door, and the backpack is in his room, I/we don't think about it again.   At least not until the next time I'd see him take a few steps backwards as he put it on, in an attempt to maintain his balance.

He handed it to me and I swore gently under my breath.  "This thing weighs more than your sister.  I thought I told you to clean it out."  "I know, Mom,"  he responded, as I held up my hand to shut him up.

I lugged it to the car (oh my aching back) and once I got it home, I put it on one of my dining room chairs (I heard it swear under its breath) and cautiously opened up the zippers.

I half expected a clown to jump out.

Nope.  This is what was inside:

*Lots of useless papers.  Some from December.

*A roll of aluminum foil, on a roll that was forever oblonged by the crush of items it was in between.  Been there since the Science Fair....which took place months ago.

*Hey, a couple of field trip slips. 

*The enrollment form I asked him to turn in for his siblings...in March.

*Four, yes four,water bottles, 3 16.9 oz and one 8 oz, all about 3/4 full, one of them cloudy enough that I didn't bother emptying it out, I just threw it away

*A dog eared book

*Math text and 3 ring binder

*3 pencils and a Pokemon keyring

*A few Valentines and Valentine candies

*A 100 pennies (finders keepers)

*4 batteries--3 C and one 9 volt (Science Fair)

Then there was the pocket I kept pulling sticky stuff out of.  I had no explanation for this, and as he has a separate lunchbox, I had to wonder what the hell was making the stuff sticky--the Valentine's candy was sealed and non-chocolate.

I spied something putty gray-beige and for a minute, I thought that I was looking at the bottom of the backpack.  But something made me reach in and poke it.  It looked like clay or something.  I pulled it out.  It was a quart size ziploc bag and I was perplexed at the contents.  I wracked my brain, no, I didn't make him Playdoh, no, that's nothing from any lunches...what did I send him to school with.....

Oh, yeah.

A couple of months, maybe more, ago, I made him salt dough for a project.  Salt dough is flour, salt, and water--so it's white to start out with.

And definately not bubbly.

Yay, fermentation!  (I got your Science Fair right here, beeyotch.) 

After I was done with the "eeewwwww" dance, I stuffed the baggie in the trash, threw the backpack in the washing machine......

.......and made a beeline for the shower.

I may need a tetanus shot too.

The quiz made me do it

This weekend marked an unprecedented event in my house:  Nolan went out of town, out of state, without us.  Specifically, without ME.  

His school band travelled to California for a band festival and they left on Friday.  They spent Saturday at Disneyland, and he came back early this evening.

Initially, I wanted to chaperone, but of course, being an 8th grader, he asked me not to volunteer.  Then I plotted a trip with me and Mr W, but I ultimately talked myself out of it.  We were just there.  Who would watch the other kids?  Who would watch the dogs?  When am I going to trust I've been raising him right and let him go?  He is going to be in high school next year.  I gotta learn to do it sometime.

Not only did I let him go, but I made him pack his own bag.  That I lovingly picked out for him, complimented by travel sized toiletries.  Because nothing says lovin' like a teeny travel sized deodorant. 

I didn't even call him.

Which was fine, as he called us.  When he got there.  In the morning.  A text or two throughout the day, all of which made me smile; while he may not have been willing to admit it, he missed us.  He missed ME. 

Hey, everyone knows Mama is the most important.

He returned, triumphant (the band did well in the competition), tired, hungry.  His siblings were ALL over him, and the only loud noises I heard were the cheers they let out as they played their games.  Not a bicker in sight.

I think he even let Ben get a couple of digs in, without retort.

Good times.

Speaking of which, I was reading another journal and stumbled on the Saturday Six.  I've not done it for a while because the last few have not floated my boat.

And I am tired of the Sunday-night AOL purge that usually eats my entries.

At any rate, I took the quiz Patrick included this week, and after that, I could not resist doing the whole thing. 

Saturday Six - Episode 211

1. From your earliest memories, how many different career choices did you seriously consider?

Two. (Doctor.  Scientist.)  

2. Is the career you actually wound up in among those early possibilities?

The one I'm in was never on any list, although, I guess technically, I'm a scientist.  I kinda fell into it and it wound up working for me.  The Mom-gig, I always wanted; while I never considered it a career, it has turned into one.  The toughest job I never knew I'd love...and to be honest, sometimes hate. 

3. What’s more important to you: being successful in your professional life or your personal life?

I decided a long time ago that if one had to be sacrificed, it would be the professional one.  Do I grit my teeth sometimes, because I know I could do other things or advance within my field?  Of course.  But my personal life is what I have to live with, what I come home to each day.  Children are only children for a while; it's not time you get back.  Besides, Mr W's job is hard enough, without my pushing my career goals ahead of everything else too.  It's a delicate balance we have here, but it's a balance.  I've got my foot still in the door, I can conquer the world after recess.

4. Take the quiz: What’s your priority?

Here, it is, the culprit....(and, hell yes, that's accurate :p)

What's Important to You... And What Isn't:

For you, sex is usually your number one priority. You find getting things done to be fairly satisfying. You like feeling accomplished. You attend to almost every priority in your life. You don't neglect much. You want thinking to be a high priority, but you don't take enough time for yourself.

5. Are you more likely to let your personal life get in the way of your career, or to let your career get in the way of your personal life?

I answered this already, but personal trumps professional, every time.  It all works out in the end.

6. If you were to make a list of things you will look forward to doing on Monday morning, would going to work be at the top of the list, the middle, the bottom, or not on the list at all?

I'm off on Monday.  The only work I have to worry about is getting kids out the door on time.  And keeping Mr W out of trouble.

Because it's his day off too.