Allergy Free Trick Or Treating - Or Not.

While the wee ones love all parts of Halloween, there's a few small sticking points for us.  The candy is the big one, as Little Miss has a dairy allergy, and none of us eat HFCS, plus we avoid dyes and other nasties.  That limits the candy we end up eating each year, which isn't necessarily a bad thing.

It's hard for the wee ones - especially Little Miss who usually ends up with just a few bags of pretzels - and I always have a stock of "trade" items on hand that are treats I know they can eat.  We're lucky, though.  A local organization put together an allergen free trick or treat for the special needs children in the area, knowing that so many are on restricted diets and can eat none of the candy they collect.

It's a brilliant idea, and I love that the neighborhood bands together to do this.  They even have tables at the ends of their driveways for the most part so the kids can trick or treat more easily instead of having to go all the way up to each of the houses.  One neighbor also creates an incredible haunted house for the kids to go through - altering the scary factor based on the requests of the kids going through in each wave.  This year, one person even rented a giant bouncy house so the kids could play once they finished trick or treating.

Except...

Here's where I start to feel ungrateful.  There were eight houses participating this year.  That isn't the issue.  My irritation - and I feel slightly justified in it because this was advertised as allergen free - is that this is what we collected from the eight houses:

So the most common allergens are peanuts, wheat, dairy, eggs, soy, fish, shellfish, and tree nuts.  Many more children have issues with corn, even though it isn't in the major 8 - yet.  In fact, companies are now required to label when their products have any of the big four: nuts, wheat, dairy or soy.  Most of the special needs children are on the spectrum (including Mister Man), and many of those are on gluten free, dairy free diets.  More avoid HFCS and dyes, including many who are diagnosed with ADHD.

I appreciate that many of the houses decided to go "natural" for the allergen free trick or treating.  But they missed the boat.  Natural is not allergen free.

The Pop Chips contain dairy.  The Barbara's contains wheat and soy and is produced in a factory with milk, eggs, peanuts, hazelnuts, almonds, pecans, pistachios, cashews, walnuts, and coconut.  The breakfast cookies contain wheat, soy, eggs, and are produced in a factory with wheat, peanuts, tree nuts, soy, eggs, and dairy.  The Back to Nature contains wheat, egg, milk, and soy.  The Sunkist "fruit flavored" snacks?  There's no ingredient listing on them, but I can tell you that fruit flavored snacks will contain HFCS and dyes.

So of the eight items we collected - oh, they also handed out prepopped popcorn in bags that contained dairy, wheat, and soy, I forgot that one - Little Miss can have one.  The big event that she's most excited about because she can actually eat the treats she collects was a bust because unfortunately people don't understand allergies.  She was inconsolable, and I don't blame her.  She was looking forward to this for weeks.

And I feel like a complete schmo for complaining, but... it's advertised as an allergen free trick or treat, and it wasn't anything of the kind.  And she's my neurotypical kid.  Try explaining to a more profoundly impacted child that the candy they can eat... they can't now.  It was so disappointing and so unnecessarily so.

The concept is brilliant.  And Surf Sweets has great allergen free candy.  So does Yummy Earth.  Indie Candy makes wonderful allergen free candy.  Strawberry Hill sells all kinds of allergen free candies.  There's even Glee Gum that is an allergy free alternative.  And that's just a small sampling of the companies I buy from regularly that I know are allergy free.  There's a ton more out there.  None of it was included in what the houses handed out this year, but it could have been if there was better education of what allergen free means.

I love the idea.  I love that the neighbors are willing to do this special event.  But creating the special event and then providing items that the children can't enjoy makes it worse than not having it at all.  Because they're kids.  And they don't get why they can't enjoy an event created for them.  Next year, we may not go because I don't want the wee ones to have this disappointment again - and I can't take on another project so it gets done right (so I say now; watch, I'll end up spearheading this in another eight months).

Because we have allergies in our house and because we know so many who have severe allergies, we always provide an alternative to traditional candy.  I wrote Monday about the book or treat option I'm having this year.  And I'm passing our Plants vs. Zombies trading cards.  And we have a small stash of "special" allergen free candy for those who request it.

What do you hand out for Halloween?  Do you have children with allergies?  How do you handle it if you do?

Updated: I have since found out that the treats that were provided by the neighbors for the special needs allergy free trick or treat was purchased by the special needs organization that arranged this.  So the people who put it together who are supposed to be smart about this and advertised it as allergy free were the ones who provided the treats that absolutely were not allergy free.  I've moved past disappointed to disgusted and very sad.  These are people who are supposed to know better!

I'm A Saint Who Washes Dishes

It's always enlightening to hear what your children think of you.  Their opinions and perspectives are so often skewed - and so frequently entertaining.  My husband couldn't wait to share what the wee ones had to say about me this past week.

While at Sunday school, the family activity was to build scarecrows representing the saints they were studying.  As the group talked about saints, the teachers asked them to think about what saints were.  The children came up with people who act selflessly, who do good things, and the usual platitudes.  When asked for examples of people they thought were saint like, Mister Man came up with a long list that included John F. Kennedy and Abraham Lincoln.  Little Miss's list was much shorter.  Just "Mommy."  Apparently, I am a saint to her.

When we got home, I asked her why she thought I was a saint.  Because you cook and clean for us all the time, Mommy.

The girl's got a brain in her head.

And on Tuesday at Cub Scouts, the den leader was talking about occupations and how important they are.  He shared his job and asked the children to talk a little about their parents' jobs.

Mister Man apparently piped right up with, Well, my mom doesn't have a job.  She doesn't really work.  She just does laundry and cooks all day.  She used to have a job at a bank, but now she doesn't anymore.

That child needs to have a little talking to.  And for the record "now she doesn't anymore" isn't code for me being laid off.  I'm pretty sure my husband is still laughing somewhere.

Good-bye, Captain Underpants!

The wee ones love to read.  If they didn't, I'm sure I wouldn't be writing this post.  But they do.  They wake up in the morning and read.  They try to read at the breakfast table.  They bring books to read every time we get in the car.  And on it goes.

I've generally not really censored much of what they read.  I'll push Little Miss to get more Spanish language books from the library because she's supposed to read 30 minutes every night in Spanish and she whines about our selection that she's read "50 kajillion times, Mom!"  And I've recently had to pull Mister Man back from the Heroes of Olympus series that is not really meant for a just-turned-nine-year-old.  Beyond that, I've let them choose the books they're interested in.

They recently discovered Captain Underpants and Super Diaper Baby.  And those have been the majority of the books that have come home from both the school library and the public library.  I actually thought that I'd been blessed and we'd missed those books, but no.  And I've noticed a change.  The language has become (literally) very potty mouthed.  They talk about butts a lot.  Mister Man is discussing wedgie prowess.  And I gotta say, I'm not a fan.

They read some of the book out loud to me, and the tone is just not one I like.  I had already limited them to one Captain Underpants or Super Diaper Baby book at a time.  My mom laughs and tells me that I went through a potty fascination of my own.  Except I was four at the time.  When you're older, you apparently can get far more creative, and I'm just tired of it.  I limit the television and movies they watch, so why not the books, too?

Mister Man is currently reading The Mostly True Adventures of Homer P. Figg.  It isn't like taking the series away will dampen their interest in reading.  They are constantly quoting or reading a portion of a book to me.  The "all reading is good reading" theory only goes so far with me.  And in our case, those books are gone after today.  The final straw was finding Little Miss's notebook filled with alternate - potty mouth - names for family and friends.

There was one small pearl that came from this.  The other day, Little Miss turned to me...

Mom, what does turd mean? she asked curiously.

Well - I started to reply.

It's a really fancy word for poop! interrupted Mister Man, with arguably the best definition of turd ever.  But that didn't earn the books a reprieve.

What Kind Of A Sports Parent Are You?

The wee ones don't play sports with the usual competitions with parents on the sidelines cheering them on.  Gymnastics and tae kwon do don't exactly lend themselves to that.  But I cheer them on in my own way, both in sports and in life in general.  That doesn't mean I don't have opinions about sports parents!

This week, Tina Kelley of Mad Hatter Mom asks the #VlogMom prompt:

Do your kids play sports?  Are you a quiet spectator, or do the people in the next county hear you screaming for your kid?

So what are you?  Let me know your opinions, and go visit the other #VlogMom members, too.

Thank Goodness For Wristbands

The wee ones' school does a Carnival each year as its major fundraiser.  And yes, in this case, it's big enough that Carnival is capitalized.  It takes over 400 volunteers to put it together and run it, and it's a blast.  The wee ones love when I'm volunteering not only because it means they get to run around everywhere but also because they get no homework passes for each shift I volunteer.

The best part about those passes?  They love getting the passes.  In three years, I've yet to actually have them remember to use them.  It's a great incentive all around.

Our Carnival is huge, and everyone loves it.  It is a great community builder where you see absolutely everyone there.  And yes, this year, I even saw my chiropractor.  Everyone is there, not just kids from the school.  There are games and rides and food and everything you could want from the midway of a real fair.

The first year I went, we bought tickets by the sheet.  I went back to buy more tickets only a few times before my wallet was exhausted.  I think we lasted an hour.  Wow those tickets go fast.  The wee ones had fun, but it was a much shorter day than I'd anticipated.

After that first year, I learned my lesson.  We bought wristbands.  The wee ones actually do love the rides and spend the majority of their time there, and the wristbands are valid from noon until 4pm on a given day.  That I can handle.  It's far more cost effective, and we know we can spend four hours at Carnival before we're done for the day.

The wee ones are now thrilled.  They run from ride to ride, finding friends to go with them, and giggling the whole time.  We still purchase a couple sheets of tickets so that we can buy food.  And so the wee ones can have their faces painted.  It never fails to amaze me how talented some of the people who attend our school are.  Each year when they come show me what they've chosen for their face paint... I just giggle, thankful that it will wash off when we shower.

Little Miss was  vampire this year.  Have you ever seen a cuter one?

Mister Man chose "Bruce" - his made up character from Star Wars XIX (don't ask).

Without the wristbands, our time would be much shorter at Carnival.  And we'd probably spend less money overall because we'd see how fast it was going.  Whoever came up with the idea of doing wristbands was brilliant - and not only because it means I can volunteer for my shifts, knowing the wee ones are being chaperoned by a friend who won't need to keep coming back to me for more money!

Does your school do a Carnival, too?  Or maybe a carnival?  What's your favorite part about the one at your school?

I know we can't be the only ones who love carnivals.  Carnival Savers has a contest going on now through October 4 where you can win $250 in carnival prizes.  Go enter quick though, because this ends October 4!

I am writing this post in conjunction with VolunteerSpot, a website that helps manage volunteer activities.  I've been using it for the past two years with our PTO, and it's a lifesaver.  I found it on my own and have been using it on my own.  I recently met up with VolunteerSpot and found out that they love bloggers, too.  I'm beyond excited to help spread the word about them because I personally love them so much.  Writing this post means I'm entered to win $50 from Carnival Savers, but that's not why I wrote this post!

Childhood Traditions: We Climb Trees

Fall has arrived, as I admitted to myself on Monday.  The days are still decent though - the chill of Chicago winters has yet to arrive, thankfully - and we're spending as much time as possible outside.  The wee ones love to ride their bikes and go for walks with us and more.

Each morning as we wait for the bus to arrive, Little Miss immediately runs for the tree in our front yard and scales it.  She's my monkey, my athlete, my gymnast, my strong little girl who has no fear.  Mister Man has always held back.  As much as he wants to climb the tree, he can't.

I've been convinced for a long time that his "can't" is more a "won't" than anything else.  I know that he lacks core strength and that his coordination isn't the same as other kids' abilities, thank you autism, but we've been working at it, and I'm seeing a difference in a lot of things from his ability to now do a pushup when he really wants to the ability to do a bridge up (trust me, this is incredibly difficult if you have low core and shoulder strength).

He will run to the tree and grab the climbing brand and his feet will peddle uselessly against the trunk, unable to gain enough purchase to stay.  He quickly drops back down, unable to use his arms and shoulders to lever himself up and over that branch.  He's been frustrated by it, not just because of his failure to climb, but because his almost two years younger sister has been climbing this tree for two plus years now.

I love that he never gives up.

And last weekend, he asked for my help for the first time in a long time.  I explained again that he needs to bend his elbows so that he has a chance to use his strength to pull himself up.  He has a tendency to not realize what his arms and body can do and what they are doing, so he will hand walk his hands further up the tree, never bending his arms and pulling his body towards the tree, not realizing that this tactic is doomed to failure.

Nodding, he grabbed the branch and used his feet to get his body horizontal.  With my hands touching and supporting him - letting him know I was there were he to fall, but not pushing him at all - he remembered to bend his arms when I pointed it out.  And he pulled himself into the tree for the first time.  You have no idea how bright that smile was.

I helped him down after awhile, and he practiced it another few times, the last couple without my help to prove to him that he really was doing it all on his own.  And then he stayed up there to read a book, finding the most comfortable branch to hang out on.

He now runs to that tree each time we have a few spare minutes and scampers up it.  Or tries.  He was shocked the other morning after it had rained that the tree was too slippery to climb.  And I watch him struggle into that tree, knowing that he can do it and that he's figuring out that he needs to have faith in himself to accomplish more than he ever dreamed.

And that?  That right there is all I want from him in life.  Happy, challenged, with faith in himself.  It isn't a big dream, but it's the one I have for my children.  What is your dream for your child?

Summer Is Over

So it dawned on me this morning.  Summer is officially over.

This was the first weekend where we had some free time that we didn't spend at the pool.  Although the wee ones have been in school going on four weeks now, I was still taking them to the pool some weeknights after they'd finished homework.

Last Monday, the pool closed.  We actually closed it down, which was bittersweet.  By 5pm, the lifeguards had started to remove the trash cans from around the pool area.  The ice cream and other foods that  they couldn't store went on sale for $1 apiece.  And by 6pm when the pool closed, the only chairs not stacked up and removed were the ones where we and a few other die hards stored our towels and gear.

On Saturday, I attended my first Northwestern home game of the year.  It was a 7pm game, so we knew it would be chillier than our normal first games, and it was - especially once it started raining at 9:45.  I stuck it out until the clock hit :00  I was ready for football.  And I can even give you proof.

For some reason, it still didn't sink in that summer was really over until Little Miss came downstairs voluntarily wearing jeans and a long sleeve shirt.  Wait, what?

Don't ask me why, but that's what sealed it for me that summer is truly over.  I have my windows open, letting the fresh air in.  And at 11:30, I don't need to close them because it's so humid outside or it's too hot.  I'm enjoying the fresh air while I'm wearing my own jeans and long sleeve shirt.

I like fall.  I enjoy football and the smell of burning leaves and even the cooler weather.  It's the change and the feeling of loss of summer that wrenches my heart just a little bit.  Summer speaks to me of freedom and joy and discovery.  And I miss that.

So how about you?  Has it sunk in that summer is over (for those of you with children NOT in school thanks to the teacher strike, don't answer that and I apologize in advance)?  What are you most looking forward to this fall?

I Was Not A Good Mom This Morning

I'll fully admit that I was not a good mom this morning. That said, I could have been much worse. I didn't yell. I didn't touch a child. There were no emotional or physical scars left. But I'm still angry and irritated - albeit perhaps somewhat irrationally so, as the wee ones are only 7 and 8. But... it's reality.

And this?  This was the breakfast table at 8:30 after the wee ones had boarded the bus for school.  On the plus side, I didn't have to make myself breakfast because there was plenty sitting right here.

 I didn't get a full night's sleep because I woke up from an utterly bizarre dream at 4am. That isn't an excuse, but I know myself, and I get crabby when I don't have sufficient sleep. Compounded with things that don't go as they could, my temper can flare, and getting the wee ones ready for the bus has been a struggle all week.

 At 7:10 this morning - an hour and ten minutes before their bus was scheduled to arrive to pick them up for school - I headed into Mister Man's room, where I found both the wee ones in their pjs, quietly playing. As they spotted me, the whining began that they hadn't had enough time to play. I'm used to it. I get the same whining every morning, no matter what. But, Mooooom, Mister Man whined in his best two year old voice, I was just about to start a game.  Sorry, Kiddo.  It's time for school, so I need you to get dressed.

Little Miss began picking up her Puffles and gave me a hug before heading to her room to change.  Mister Man chose to crawl under his covers to hide.  I explained that I wasn't playing that game and they needed to get dressed and come down for breakfast just like they have done for the past six years. (My emphasis now, not then.)  I got breakfast orders and headed downstairs to make breakfasts and lunches for everyone except me.

I didn't hear noises that sounded like anyone getting dressed.  In fact, the noises sounded like Star Wars Fighter Pods being connected and unconnected.  I sighed and continued on my way, deciding that maybe today was the day for natural consequences.  If they weren't down by the time I finished with breakfasts and lunches and was ready to head upstairs to get myself dressed, I would send them down and they could eat what they got to by 8am - still leaving them nearly a half hour to eat.

As I boiled water in a kettle to help keep the Thermos warm for the honey chicken Mister Man was getting in his lunch, I heard a new noise, one that included giggling.  The wee ones were not coming down to breakfast - which was now sitting on the kitchen table getting warm (for Mister Man) and cold (for Little Miss) - but instead were playing with the nightlight in the hallway, changing its colors.  My blood pressure started to rise.

By the time I finished with lunches and set the lunches and snacks for school on the steps for them to pack into backpacks, there was still nary a child in sight, although I had explained that breakfast was ready and sitting on the table.  I climbed the stairs to find the wee ones wrestling in the hallway, presumably over control of the nightlight, atop the sheets I had just washed and folded but not yet put away.  They decided to go eat breakfast.

While I was getting dressed, the wee ones called to me.  Meow - who is not allowed near the table when anyone is eating because I don't like begging, nor do I want to encourage him to think people food is his food and yes, everyone in the house knows the rule - had managed to knock Little Miss's milk over with his tail.  I closed my eyes and continued getting dressed, deciding benign neglect at this point was better than blowing my top.

By the time I finished getting dressed - note, no makeup or hair or even teeth brushed for me yet, as that happens after the wee ones are off to school - and headed downstairs, I was doing deep breathing exercises.  It was now 8am, and I had milk to clean up.  Mister Man was sitting at the table reading a magazine (another no-no) and hadn't touched his breakfast.  Neither child had socks on.  Mister Man didn't have his glasses.

I reiterated what still needed to be done: lunches and snacks into backpacks, breakfasts eaten, vitamins taken, teeth brushed, socks on, glasses on, shoes on.  Oh, and that they didn't have much time left.  Little Miss - knowing this wasn't going to end well - quickly got up and put her dishes away and headed on to her next tasks.  Mister Man gave the verbal agreement and continued with his magazine.

When the bus pulled into our driveway at 8:20am, Little Miss was ready... except for her unbrushed hair.  She managed to escape out the door before I could catch her and so now is at school looking like she has a pet rat who sleeps in her hair.  Mister Man had to be sent upstairs while the bus waited (thank goodness this isn't the regular bus that waits for no one) for his glasses.  And socks.  And I'm pretty sure his reading log never got filled out.

And they were off to school.  I'm still angry that the cat was apparently on the kitchen table and knocked over milk.  And that Mister Man chose to read a magazine at the table instead of eating his breakfast.  And that they were wrestling on my clean sheets.  And that they were playing instead of getting ready for school as they'd been asked to do and as they know they have to do every morning.  And that Mister Man was throwing attitude at me about getting ready - from the time I explained that he needed to get dressed until the time he stomped back down the stairs with his glasses and socks.

But I didn't yell.  I didn't threaten them with anything.  I didn't say anything mean to them.  And obviously I didn't physically touch them.  That feels like such a hollow victory.

I'm not sure why getting ready has been so difficult this week.  I'm not sure if it's the "extra time" we now have since the bus comes 20 minutes later than the time we used have to get out the door.  I'm not sure if they simply need more sleep.  I'm really not sure what it is.  Yesterday, I resorted to spoon feeding Mister Man his breakfast like he was a baby because he was taking so long.  He didn't like it.  Neither did I.  Today I went a different route of benign neglect that still wasn't being the good mom I want to be.

So on Monday, we're going to try something different.  This weekend, I'm going to sit down with them and explain what I was unhappy with and why today.  And we're going to talk about what needs to happen at what time.  Both the wee ones have small whiteboards, and I'm going to use them as checklists for the wee ones because I can't keep reminding them to move move move every five minutes.  I'll leave them outside their rooms at night, and they can carry them with them as they get ready in the morning.

Something has to change.  And as the parent, it has to be me.  I will raise independent and responsible children one way or the other.  How do you ensure that you get everyone out the door in the morning?

Wait, It's Back To School Already?

The wee ones are back in school.  I don't have a migraine.  Do you know what this combination means on a Thursday?  It means I'm finally putting up another #VlogMom post.  Appropriately, the topic this week is about back to school.

Jo-Lynne Shane from Musings of a Housewife asks:  Are your kids ready to head back to school?  What does your Back To School routine look like?  What is your biggest challenge? (Ha! I talked about my biggest challenge already yesterday!)  What are you most looking forward to?

So how about you?  Tell me about your back to school, and then go visit the other VlogMoms!

And They're Off...

I just put the wee ones on the bus.  Today, it arrived at 8:25, and the thing I'm most excited about the fact that the bus looks like it will be coming 40 minutes later to pick them up this year than it did last year?  The fact that I get to sleep in longer.

But it hasn't exactly been a smooth journey to the bus.

Technically, Mister Man isn't supposed to be allowed to ride the bus, because we petitioned him into the school Little Miss attends as part of the Spanish immersion program she's in.  I'm supposed to have to drive him - anyone who petitions is.  However, there is a bus that stops in our driveway to pick up Little Miss.  And it has three students on it, including her.  Fortunately, I was able to negotiate with the district and bus company, and he's there with a fee.

On Thursday last week, this letter arrived.

Ok, so great.  We're supposed to go.  Oh.  Wait.  That part is blank.  It's ok, though.  We know the bus comes to our house because we're the only stop anywhere near us.  And the bus will pick us up at... oh.  Wait.  That part is blank, too.  Hmmm.

So of course I called the bus company.  The nice woman there told me that it would probably be about the same time as it was last year.  When I pointed out that sometimes the bus picked us up at 7:40 or 7:50 and sometimes at 8:10 and that one of the children who had ridden the bus previously was no longer at the school, which would probably affect the route since he lives ten minutes away.  She investigated and let me know that they were still working on those routes and that we'd get a call that afternoon.

Monday morning, I called again, still having heard nothing.  They were still working on the schedule.  I called later in the afternoon, and we finally learned that the bus would arrive between 8:10 and 8:15.  Phew.

A side note.  In the letter, you'll notice that it says that "if your child is starting kindergarten their (sic) route information will be delivered to you under separate cover at a later date."  So all kindergartners received this letter that tells them nothing.  And they'll get another letter printed later.  That's a waste of time (printing, stuffing) and money (postage).  As a taxpayer, that irks me.  Then I discovered that not only were the children in the Spanish immersion program receiving a blank letter, but every student in the district that doesn't ride a bus for whatever reason, including all others who petitioned to schools other than their home schools - and we have a lot of walkers for our neighborhood schools - received the same letter.  So now in addition to wasting time and money by sending useless letters, you also have very confused people calling the number listed, taking up time to answer questions that should never have been stirred up and annoying people.  Government at its best.  So when they talk budget cuts next year, I'm going to request that this be there, too.  It isn't a huge difference, but it's enough.

So back to our bus story.

Yesterday, we went outside a little before 8 so I could take the obligatory first day of school pictures.  Tell me they aren't adorable.

At 8:26, I called the bus company.  Eleven minutes past the later time the bus was supposed to pick them up?  If it wasn't close, I would need to drive them to ensure they get there on time.  The line was busy, not surprising.  After seventeen tries, I got through.  And they tracked down the bus, which was fortunately only two minutes away by that point.

The bus pulled into our driveway.  The bus driver introduced himself and confirmed that he was picking up Little Miss.  Ummm and Mister Man?  Nope, he wasn't on the list.  I sighed and explained that he should be, and the very nice bus driver wrote him down.  It isn't a huge issue on the way to school, but he can't get on the bus (and what bus route; no one would even know) if he isn't on the list for the after school bus.  So I called the contact at the district again.  And left her a message.

It wasn't the worst issue yesterday, as I was picking them up to get Mister Man to tae kwon do on time (which we were still late to, oops).  And today I'm picking them up, too.  Tomorrow, however, he needs to be on the route.  I'm still waiting for that call back.

So how has government been working for you lately?

My Family Left Me....

I am completely alone right now.  Given that it's a Monday morning, this isn't that unusual, but I was alone last night, too.  And all day yesterday.  In fact, I'll be alone for another nine days.  My family went on vacation without me.  Seriously.

It didn't start out that way.  This wasn't supposed to be the plan.  Earlier this year, Mister Man did an inquiry unit on US landmarks where he focused on Mount Rushmore.  He loved learning all about it and asked my husband if they could go there someday.  My husband thought this was a brilliant idea.

And so the germ of an idea formed.  They announced they wanted to drive to Mount Rushmore this summer, and I told them to have fun.  I'm not a fan of road trips for a number of reasons, and I get really twitchy when I'm in a car for more than four or five hours.  The plan was for Mister Man and my husband to head there for two or three days in July while Little Miss and I hung out at home and had fun.

Then I went out of town to Blissdom.

When I came back, the idea had changed.  It had grown.  It was now a monstrosity, and I hadn't been consulted.  My husband had talked to my dad about how Mister Man wanted to go see Mount Rushmore.  Between the two of them they cooked up the idea of renting an RV and going to see Mount Rushmore.  And Yellowstone.  And then they decided to add Devil's Tower to the now ten day road trip.  My parents were now going, as were both the wee ones.

I can't do an RV trip.  I just can't.  Yes, I can get up and move a little, but the idea of being in an RV for over ten days with five other people gives me the heebie jeebies.  I went on an RV trip when I was fourteen with my family, including some extended family, for three weeks through the west.  I swore I'd never set foot inside an RV again after that.  I was claustrophobic in it after awhile, and we didn't sleep in the RV.  My knees don't like it when I sit still very long, and being just a liiiiiitle bit older now, this is more of an issue.  Oh, and I need my alone time.  I can't be around that many people without a break for that long with no space to retreat and be alone at some point.

Apparently my husband and parents thought I was joking when I'd said I wasn't ever doing another RV trip.  Driving across the country is just not a vacation to me, and I will admit that this is selfish. I was not thrilled that all this had been decided upon and presented to the wee ones as a done deal without anyone consulting me, but how do I tell them that I'm going to take this away from them?

And so they're on their way right now.  They were excited when the RV pulled out at 6am yesterday.  A smaller one than we had previously.  And they're staying in campgrounds - all five of them sleeping in the RV.  And showering and cooking and eating and living... for ten days.  They plotted out the driving, and in those ten days, they'll be driving for well over 40 hours.  Each day they drive, they'll be driving for between six and eight hours, sometimes more.

I don't know how long that excitement will last.  Neither of the wee ones sleeps well with noise.  Or light.  And they aren't exactly quiet.  I'll be interested to see how the trip turns out.  Before they left, Mister Man was already planning next year's RV trip to the Grand Canyon and other destinations, but I've put the kibosh on that for the moment.

Am I selfish?  Probably.  At the same time, I know it's better for all of us that I let them go and have their vacation and that I stay home where I can catch up on work and sleep and not be crabby.  When they come back, if their visions of a trip where Little Miss spends time fishing and catching more fish than Daddy are shattered by the reality, I will feel badly for them.  I don't think this vacation will turn out quite the way they expect, but I hope they're all happy with it.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have some work to catch up on.  They won't recognize this house when they get back.  Ignore that disco ball hanging in the foyer....

What's the most selfish thing you've done as a parent?

When Is A Door Not A Door?

The wee ones have spent the last four weeks attending summer school, and they love it.  They take fun classes, and the district does a great job of ensuring that everyone enjoys their summer - even if it isn't a class the child wanted to take.  Witness Little Miss who was incensed by the fact that she had to take a reading class instead of the art class she'd hoped to take and now doesn't want it to end.

One way they do this is with the fun and games they use to teach, as well as the frequent and fun recesses (held indoors that past few days due to the heat).  And of course, there is Popsicle Friday. Every Friday, the children are given a popsicle for snack instead of the healthy snack their parents send them otherwise (fruit, vegetable, or cheese only - I love it).

The best part for the wee ones isn't actually the popsicle.  It's the riddle on the popsicle stick they uncover after eating the popsicle.  They always race to tell me their jokes as I pick them up.

Mommy!  Mommy! cried Little Miss last week.  What do chickens collect at the beach?


I thought for a moment and was very proud of myself when I came up with the correct answer.  Eggshells? I guessed.  She only pouted a moment that I'd gotten it right before her face was wreathed in smiles again and she giggled along with me at the joke.

Mister Man was up next.  When is a door not a door, Mommy?


Ummmm, when it's a doorknob? I ventured.  I was very wrong.  I couldn't come up with the answer.

When it's ajar! he shouted triumphantly.  Ohhhh yeah.  I do know that joke.  He and I had a hearty laugh, but Little Miss just stood there staring at us.

That's not a funny one, Mommy.  Why are you even laughing? she demanded.

Because it is funny, Sweetie.  When the door is ajar.  That's a good joke!  Her perplexed look didn't ease.  Do you get it?


She shook her head, and I asked Mister Man to demonstrate how a door could be ajar.  He did, and she merely shook her head sadly at him.  I know that, Mommy.  But what's a jar?


I blinked at her for a minute.  A jar?  You don't know what a jar is? I asked, somewhat confused.

She shook her head and looked almost ready to cry.  Oh.  Huh.  Mister Man broke in before I could explain.  Little Miss, he announced somewhat bossily, you do know what a jar is.  A jar is what you use to capture fireflies.

A New Tradition For The Fourth?

Yesterday was the Fourth of July - and in our town, it was the day we held our parade to celebrate the holiday.  It.  Was.  Hot.  The thermometer in my car as I drove to the parade before 9am read 93 degrees.  It was beyond humid, and the seats I usually have in the shade near the beginning of the parade route had already been claimed, so we spent two and a half hours sitting in the blazing sun with only a periodic breeze and a couple kind marchers handing out water or freeze pops to keep us from overheating.

Of course, this year only Little Miss and I watched the parade with my parents.  Mister Man's Cub Scout pack was walking in the parade, so we convinced him to walk, as well.  He was excited about it - his first parade, he got to wear his Cub Scout uniform, and he was to pass out candy.  Knowing how hot it was, I was a little concerned about how he would enjoy it, but he insisted he wanted to go.

When I arrived home fifteen or so minutes before my husband and Mister Man who had to hike from the end of the parade back to where he'd parked his car near the beginning of the parade, I put Little Miss into a cold water bath.  She was that hot.

He was hotter.

My husband had to find a hose to spray the poor kid off as they were still walking back to his car because Mister Man was starting to feel sick.  When I asked him how he liked it, I got a dirty look. Apparently the heat was my fault.  He declared that he was never again going to walk in a parade.  I tried to explain that it wasn't normally so hot; in fact, we are having an unusually hot summer in Chicago.  Normally, we have four days in June over 90 degrees, but this year we had 20.  The 103 degree heat was only the second time in recorded history - 142 years' worth - that hit 100 or more on July 4.

He wasn't impressed.  Mom, he said, it wasn't just hot.  My feet were sore, too.

I pressed him further since we hike further than that on a regular basis.  By "sore" he meant that they were hot and uncomfortable, too.  He's still not convinced that he's ever going to march in a parade again, but I'm working on it.  Watching him was a treat for me... and here's hoping it's a little cooler for all of us.

Today?  It's still hot.  In fact, it's still so hot that it's actually too hot to go to the pool.  How are you coping with weather where you are?

It’s “Summer” In Chicago

So you know what I’ve been doing so far today?  I mean besides doing three loads of laundry that needs to be complete before I leave for Type A tomorrow (yes, it’s a #TypeAConFail).  And getting the kids up and dressed and off to summer school.  And emptying the dishwasher.  And hanging up laundry, which means trying to find hangars.  How in the world do the wee ones have more clothes than hangars – when I still have at least another load of clothes to do?  I went hunting in their closets, which turned up most of what I needed.  The last five I found?  Sitting on the bathroom floor, of course.  Isn’t that where you store your hangars?
While I was in the midst of the hangar search, I finally changed out the wee ones summer clothes with their winter clothes.  Because, you know, we’re on Wednesday of Week Two of Summer School.  And summer does officially start later this afternoon.  This is actually the not the first time I switched out their closets for summer this year.

I should know better.  We live in Chicago, so those 85 degree days we had in mid March the week before spring break?  Of course it was just teasing and spring break was spent in jackets and coats and definitely long sleeves.  When it got warm again near the end of May?  Well, yeah… that was a tease, too.  Do you see what the thermometer told me on May 31?  May 31, people!

That was at five in the afternoon. It’s not like this was the low temperature for the day. In fact, the gauge gives the high and low over a twelve hour period or so, and the highest it got that day was not even 49 degrees. On the last day of May. Hold me.

Every time I’ve switched out their summer clothes for their winter clothes, it’s gotten freezing again.  I hope it does this time actually because the 95 degree heat with the 95 percent humidity is killing me.  Literally.  And our grass, too.  It stopped growing weeks ago and is August brown.  Thank goodness for our pool pass, because that’s where I’m headed once I pick up the wee ones.  Now that I’ve finished with the Hangar Hunt take 234,642.

Am I the only one who loses hangars like this?

My Own Little World

When I was growing up, I attended Catholic school.  It was never a question; it was simply what we did.  I come from an Irish Catholic family, and I grew up in areas where the other families were very much like mine.  We attended church every Sunday with many of our neighbors, and it never dawned on me that not everyone did and believed and lived as we did.

It wasn't until I was in the third grade that it dawned on me - innocent and oh-so-naive me - that there were people who are different.  I remember very clearly my mother driving me to school one day in the winter and seeing other children playing on some huge snowbanks.  My mom explained that they were waiting for the bus, but there was more.  She warned me to stay "away from those Publics" as she termed them.  I was somewhat afraid of children who attended public school for awhile after that, as my mom had very clearly communicated to me that there was something wrong with them.

It was clear to me - intentionally or not - that the way we lived was the only right way.  That what others did wasn't valid and wasn't even worth talking about.  I remained immersed in my little world for a long time, and I knew no different.

As I got a little older - and moved to a slightly more diverse area - I realized that there were people who were different from me.  There were people who were Lutherans (I lived in Minnesota by this point).  I even was friends with some of them, as they lived in my neighborhood.  One of my best friends went to Lutheran school, and I remember being jealous that I couldn't attend her school, as it was so much larger and more beautiful than my 1950s crumbling parochial school. 

Eventually, I discovered that a neighbor three doors down who I am still friends with today was Jewish, a religion I had heretofore only known as something that existed in the Old Testament.  Go figure.  I was fascinated by the fact that she went to Hebrew school every Wednesday and by the little yellow bus that came to pick her up each week.  I wanted to learn a foreign language like she did, as much as she complained about the homework and Hebrew practice she had to do.  It was so far beyond my ken, but I was hooked.

I wonder in a way if making these friends wasn't part of what pushed me to separate from my own Irish Catholic upbringing.  As I entered eighth grade, I talked my parents into letting me attend public school (with those nasty publics, ya know).  I pushed back on the faith I'd grown up with, and it took me a long time to work my way back towards finding my place within it again as an adult.

Those friends opened my eyes to so many different parts of the world, and I'm grateful.  I think it's served me well over the years to know that the little corner of the world that I grew up knowing is just that - a little corner.  There's so much more out there, but that doesn't mean that I've abandoned that corner.  I still attend Catholic Mass (almost) every Sunday, and Mister Man just made his First Communion on Saturday.

As a parent, I don't want to do that to the wee ones.  While it's important to have a life view and to identify with a certain group - whether religious, ethnic, sports teams, or otherwise - it's just as important to recognize that it isn't the only point of view out there. I want the wee ones to have a different view on life.

I'm very glad they already know that many different corners are out there.  I enjoy explaining to Mister Man what a bat mitzvah is - something he recently read about in a book - or talking about Hindu gods or debating the merits of various sports affiliations.  I wonder if that doesn't make our own little corner of the world more treasured for the wee ones, not more valid and not more special but more treasured because we know its ours.

What does your corner of the world look like?

In the interest of full disclosure, this post is a part of the From Left to Write book club.  I received a copy of "I Am Forbidden" by Anouk Markovits for review purposes.  In this book club, we don't do traditional reviews but instead write posts inspired by the book.  I was not compensated, and all opinions expressed remain my own.

I Do It Backwards

I'm the mom who hates to ask my children to do something more than once. Of course, I doubt there are many parents who actually enjoy repeatedly asking their children to do something. I just refuse to do it. And the wee ones know.

It makes me cringe inside when I see parents telling their children to do something then counting. One. Twoooooooooo. Two and a half. Two and three quarters. Don't make me say thrrrreeeeeee-eeeeeee.

Either count to three or don't.

But that's beside the point. I actually don't count to three. Just like I was driven to sing the alphabet backwards to Mister Man when he was an infant to keep him content in the car (why yes, yes I can say the alphabet backwards now - I had to do something different to keep my sanity), I somehow started counting backwards for the wee ones.

Five.

Four.

And by then they're moving 95% of the time. Three.

Two. At which point my tone has gotten far deeper, if I've actually made it that far. I haven't slowed down my cadence counting. And I've only gotten to one twice. Ever. Both times, they saw me march over and compel them to do what I was asking. But even before that, they seemed to respect the counting backwards far more than they ever did when I counted forward. Whatever it is, I'm sticking with it.

And it's possible - just possible, mind you - that I accidentally counted backwards to my husband once or twice. Interestingly, it works pretty well with him, too!

What do you do to get your kids - or spouse - to listen to you?

You Are What You Eat

I firmly believe that what I feed myself and the wee ones has bearing on both our long term health and on our current moods and functioning. I know that when I feed Mister Man junk food or too much sugar or not enough protein - or just let him go too long without eating - he doesn't do well. We all get crabby, our brains don't work as well as they normally do, and our focus is gone. For him, especially, that's critical.

Add in all the things we hear all the time about pesticides and how animals are raised and the like, and it's enough to give me (more) grey hair. I started awhile ago buying organic fruits and veggies from the "dirty dozen" for our house. And I've definitely cut down on the meat we buy, although I still haven't gone fully organic on that. Chicken pretty much is, but oh the beef is so expensive.

Milk was my other area of concern, especially with all the added hormones. I can see puberty coming earlier and earlier to children around me, and I want to ensure that the wee ones have that pushed back as long as possible, especially for Mister Man - I want to ensure he's developed as much maturity as possible before those hormones wreak havoc on him.

Every time I looked at the price of organic milk, however, I flinched. I was buying a gallon of milk for $1.17 most of the time. A half gallon of organic milk was far more than that. I kept pushing it off, shuddering at the price differential. One day, I took a closer look at what I was buying for Little Miss. Because of her dairy allergy, she drinks rice milk (we don't do soy milk for a variety of reasons), and she gets organic rice milk because it's what's available. And I buy it because I have to. A gallon's worth of rice milk costs far more than the $1.17 I was paying for regular milk at the time and I wasn't flinching there. In fact, each 32 ounce container is only a quarter gallon. And it cost me $1.32 per container.

Suddenly the light went on. I'm not flinching at the price because in my mind, I have to do it for Little Miss's health. I have to do it for her. And really, it's the same for Mister Man. I do have to do it for him. And for us. I haven't bought conventional milk since that day.

I'm still struggling with many of the other purchases. I love that so many products are now readily available in organic versions, especially my frozen corn - thank you Costco. I buy organic for a lot of reasons, and GMOs are a big reason for me. (Yeah yeah, I would do better just moving to Europe, I know.) I'm pretty comfortable with most of what I'm doing right now, although I'm sure that will change over the years.

The one thing I really want to switch but haven't remains meat. What I really want to do is to find a local farmer and buy my half cow or pig from him. You would think that living near Chicago, it would be easy to find somewhere to do this, but I've found that it's surprisingly difficult. I still haven't found a good source that's a reasonable drive from me. It just isn't out there - or at least not well-publicized.

But I'm still searching. I have a friend who does cows from Indiana, and I'm hoping to go with her the next time she buys. When I go to a restaurant that talks in their menus about their locally sourced meats, I ask them if the farm sells to individuals or only commercially. Finally, I started reading the From Left to Write book for this month, Animal, Vegetable, Miracle: A Year of Food Life by Barbara Kingsolver. There are some really uncomfortable bits of information about food, but at the same time, it's really empowering - and motivating - for me.

And I found the coolest website. Eat Wild is a site devoted to sharing information on pasture based farms across the US. When I searched Illinois, I was shocked by how many farms there were relatively near me. I hadn't been able to find these on my own, but it's truly inspiring. Most of those that provide the quarter cow (probably all we need) don't "harvest" until July, which was a bit of a downer. The options are out there, however, and I'm feeling good. I'm debating a drive out to Jo Daviess County in a couple weeks to spend the day with my family there and pick up some frozen beef from a farm while I'm at it.

It still isn't cheap. But I know where my meat is coming from this way. And it's less than the $13 per pound for organic ground beef I fainted over the last time I was at Trader Joe's. In fact, many were $4 per pound for the organic ground beef. As little as we're using red meat now, I can handle that.

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go investigate CSAs. I haven't belonged to one since Mister Man was a baby, but I'm feeling inspired. A little freaked out and overwhelmed, but I'm oddly ok with that. I know I can't do everything, and I don't expect that of myself. On that note, not everyone has the same opinions and beliefs about their food, and that's ok, too. Where do you fall on the organic train?

In the interest of full disclosure, this post was inspired by the February From Left To Write book club selection "Animal, Vegetable, Miracle" by Barbara Kingsolver. I received a copy of this book for review purposes, but unlike other book clubs, we write a post inspired by the book rather than a review of the book. All opinions are my own, as always, and I received no compensation.

Proof That I Need More Sleep

I get into a really bad habit where I have a ton that needs to be done so I stay up late working on it. Then the alarm goes off in the morning, and I'm still tired. I manage to get through the day, but I'm slightly less productive, so that's more work to do after the wee ones go to bed. Generally, this works out alright, even though I'm one of those people who really does best with more than eight hours of sleep.

Every once in awhile, this habit catches up with me and my body - or maybe my brain - screams at me that I need to get some more sleep. This week? Yeah... I need some more sleep.

When I woke up Wednesday, I wanted to go back to bed, but I didn't. Instead I got up and got the wee ones ready for school. I fixed their breakfast, got out their vitamins, packed their lunches, and we headed out the door.

After dropping the wee ones at their respective schools, I headed to the gym as I do most days. Even when I'm tired and can't do my full workout, I can at least do something, I decided awhile ago. I popped into the locker room and started grabbing my clothes to change. I had just done wash and was happy that - tired as I was - I remembered to grab my workout gear before I left the house. So of the two items that were in my clean laundry, which do you suppose made it into my gym bag?

If you guessed the black cami that I also happened to have washed that day, you'd be right. The only good thing is that I always have an extra of each item in my bag at all times just in case - why yes, I do know myself well. They aren't my favorites, but they'll do. After my workout, I reached into my bag to get my towel so I could shower. Ummm, no towel. Why? Because my oh so responsible self had folded it up and put it away instead of placing it into my gym bag where I needed it. Oops.

And when I picked up Mister Man from school? Well, I got a little bit of an earful from him - well-deserved, too. I had sent him Little Miss's lunch instead of his own. And that's a problem. She has to have a dairy free lunch, and he won't do sauces or hummus or the like because of textural issues. Instead of sending them nearly identical lunches that day, I'd sent her dairy free pizza, heavy on the sauce, and celery sticks with red pepper hummus. Interestingly, I'd checked the containers before I slipped it into their lunchboxes to be sure I gave them the right ones, but I didn't open the containers to check to see that I'd put the right food into the right containers. Oops.

I didn't listen, in case you're wondering. My gym issues? I forgot the towel. Again. And worse? When I did remember the towel, I closed my locker and locked it. It wasn't until after my shower when I was standing there in my towel trying to unlock it that I realized I hadn't changed the combination before locking it, so I had no way to get in. My gym nightmare finally came true.

Tonight? I'm going to bed as soon as the wee ones do!

I Now Charge For Cleaning

Yes, I'm technically a stay at home mom. I do the all the laundry, the vast majority of cleaning, just about all the cooking, the daily chores, and what sometimes feels like everything. I'm sure most of you do, too. That said, I don't feel like this means that others in the household can simply ignore the little things that should be part of a family working in harmony. I don't get a paycheck for being the maid, but sometimes I feel like I should.

The wee ones (my husband, too, but especially the wee ones) tend to leave books and toys and clothes and other detritus scattered throughout the house. I can't tell you how many times I've tripped over a shoe left in the middle of a random floor. They are great about helping with chores when I tell them they need to do so - they'll empty the dishwasher, put away laundry, clean the playroom, and the like. Remembering to hang up their coats when they walk in the door without a reminder each and every time? Not so much. Putting books back on the bookshelf once they've finished reading them? Ditto.

The last straw for me came when I walked into the bathroom this morning. I'm used to seeing hangars on the floor. I'm used to random pajamas or socks or yesterday's clothing on the floor - and they must pick up those items. This though? It's a whole new level.

Why yes, yes that is a book on the bathroom floor. And apparently a dinosaur had to come read it, too. I'm not sure what was going in here, but I'm pretty sure it was responsible for the delay in getting ready for school this morning. The daily admonitions and reminders to pick up clothing are not sinking in. It's time to hit the wee ones where it hurts.

We're implementing a new fine system as of today. For each room where clothing is left lying on the floor - whether clean or dirty - I will be collecting $0.25 from a piggy bank. While the wee ones don't truly have a good concept of money, they hate giving it up. And $0.25 isn't too much money, I don't think. I did something similar when I wasn't able to open the garage door the vast majority of the time because of coats dumped in front of the door, and I only collected $0.75 before the wee ones changed their habits and now hang up their coats where they belong.

So maybe I really am a housekeeper. After all, I'm collecting a salary for it now, a quarter at a time....

Dear Brother: Little Notes From Little Miss

I'm lucky, and I know I am. Little Miss and Mister Man love each other. They play well together. They voluntarily spend time together and rarely fight. I don't often see siblings get along as well as they do. I adore it, and I hope that it continues into adulthood, especially if I keep my nose out of their relationship.

Every once in awhile one will annoy the other one, sometimes to get attention, but usually unintentionally. Unintentionally as in "I'm thinking only of myself and not how you might feel about what I'm doing" - which really is rather normal, I think.

I noticed yesterday when I went to put laundry away that Little Miss had added a couple little notes to her door. I peered closer to take a look and started giggling. I really don't have to worry about anyone walking over her as she gets older. She knows what she wants, and she's going to make her opinions known, one way or the other.

"Rules for my room. No taking out my marcks"

Ok, so I have to be honest. I have no idea what "marcks" are, and I forgot to ask her. I'm not sure if this is a reference to toys, if she means trucks, or if maybe it's bookmarks. Regardless, she's setting the stage.

"No reading my books"

Why yes, yes this is an issue. As the wee ones play so well together, they have many similar interests. The books they get for gifts or check out from the library tend to be on the same subjects. They actually checked out the same book from their school libraries one week. And so Mister Man will pick up the book she's reading but has set down for the moment and start reading it himself, frequently losing her place. Apparently she's had enough.

"No more playing with my toys only your toys"

Apparently she's had it. Interestingly, to my knowledge, he has never broken any of her toys. I can only imagine that he wants to play with the toys that she's trying to play with or that he wants to play one game and she wants to play another - with the same toys. Yay imagination and made up games? This would explain why I've found them playing in Mister Man's room the past two mornings instead of playing in her room as they usually do.

So how many days before there are rebuttal notes with rules showing up on Mister Man's door?