Very tired for this former Red Fed

I'm back from Girls State.

I only did four newspapers in two days. Whew.

I pulled off a newspaper with several 17- and 18-year-olds from across Missouri as we covered the creation of democracy, building it from the wards on up to the state level, with the final announcement of our Senators who will go to Girls Nation next month.

No clue how some of those women (some much older than I am) manage to pull off that schedule for seven days. I'm wiped.

It was inspirational. It was fun. It was exhausting.

I might even go back next year and do it again.

Bugs.

We've been invaded by ants for weeks because of all the rain. So we've got ant traps everywhere. We'd spray, but it isn't dry enough long enough to be able to spray.

A new menace cropped up this week. Lice. Blech. One of the kids was infested at the Y camp. We caught it early (bless you Terri, my hairstylist who spotted them).

So, insecticide and combing. And laundry. And more laundry.

I hate bugs.

Tired. So. Very. Tired.

I don't even understand why.

We did our annual staff retreat yesterday, and while it was sitting in a conference room, it was a conference room that looked out on a lake. I watched Great Blue Herons fish while I was half-listening. We went for a walk during a break.

It's not like I had a hard day. Yes, I worked out for a bit after work. I took the kids to swim lessons and read grad school stuff while I was there. None of it was what might be termed "exhausting."

I guess once I arrived home and finished making dinner, then did a few loads of laundry, flipped and vacuumed our mattress, okay, yes, that was physical labor. Again, not really out of the norm.

Yet when I woke up this morning, I was wiped out. So were all of my co-workers. We can't figure it out. It wasn't really hard, what any of us did yesterday. Yet we are all walking zombies today.

I have to slog through one more interview and one more meeting, then grocery shop, get the kids, go home, make dinner, get through piano lessons, finish laundry and maybe finish a proofing project. That's all more exhausting that yesterday was, as a whole.

Just strange.

Surfacing, then sinking

Sorry, we went on a longish vacation after grades came in, and hubby and I made it a point not to do ANYTHING. No computer. No news. Just slugging around, swimming, golfing, running (okay, well, me running), and relaxing.

It was wonderful.

Sadly, I'm back at work. Classes start tomorrow. We're carpooling, so that means that I'm stuck downtown longer than usual. On the upside, this forces me to actually make time to work out at the Y. On the downside, no one in this family eats dinner until after 7.

The next few weeks are busy. Beyond work and coursework, I have a freelance story to finish, a consulting gig to do, and I'm helping out at Missouri Girls State. I'm an alum, Crowder City 1993. I finally live close enough -- and have kids old enough to leave behind for a few days -- to help out.

So I'll post. Just not as frequently as usual (not that it was that frequent).

Enjoy the summer, folks!

4.0, baby!

Grades are in.

Seven classes down.

4.0 average.

Five to go.

My brain is mush. It really needs to get back into shape by next Friday night, when my short-term course starts.

Thankfully, we'll be on a short vacation at the in-law's place soon. I need the easy access to running trails, coffee, and wine.

If all goes well, by this time next year, y'all will have to call me Master Mommy-Tracked. ;)

Wow. Just . . um, wow.

Let me preface this by saying that if I find out that any of my children do this in college, I'll throttle them for the profs.

I'm sitting here, on my lunch hour, frantically working on finishing my final project for marketing grad class presentation tonight.

Phone rings.

Undergraduate--who is not my student, btw: Um, hi.

Me: Hello, UC, can I help you?

Undergrad: Um, I heard that you have the capability to TiVo stuff.

---Aside: We do. We have three of 'em hooked up to record stuff for our news archive.---

Me: Well, what exactly are you looking for?

Undergrad: Well, um, like I'm working on my final project for a paper, and I need clips of the governor's races commercials. They are supposed to air for the first time, tonight. Can you clip those for me?

Me: Well, we do have TiVo, but we have it set up to clip items that we need for work. We don't have anyone on staff who can set this up for you right now. Currently, all of our student staff is gone. (This is true. The last techie left yesterday. We're slammed with work for commencement/board meeting. I'm not helping this guy out.)

Undergrad: Well, but I have no way to save those commercials to my computer.

Me: Sorry. I can't help you; there's no one here who can do the clips right now.

And I hung up.

This annoys me on three levels--

1) Who has the nerve to call an office out of the blue, on a long shot, and ask for a major favor like this? I don't know this guy from Adam. I might do it for a student I know and trust, but even then, I'm not trusting our glitchy TiVo setup to just anyone.

2) This guy acted like I would help him, if he just explained why he was in a hole. Not. My. Problem.

3) This guy should have, I don't know, PLANNED OUT a way to get the clips if they are so important to his paper.


I get that we are to be supportive and all, but I didn't bail my kindergartener out last night when he had to redo homework. I'm surely not saving some undergrad's skin when I'm frantically trying to do my work + my homework.

Miss Independent

My little one has become the most stubborn, willful, independent child in the past month.

She started pushing me away a month ago, when she told me, "I dwess myself" in the mornings. Then the morning snuggles stopped a few days later in favor of playing with her siblings. Then, she decided cuddling while watching TV was passe.

I love that she's becoming her own person, but darn it, I wasn't ready for this yet. I thought I had at least another year. Her brother was still having me dress him when he started kindergarten and I had to force him to dress himself.

I managed to persuade her to cuddle with me this morning for a few minutes, under the ruse of "help me wake Daddy." Those minutes were precious, because it showed to me how much she is growing up. She no longer easily fits curled into my body. She's half my height now (okay, that's not much, but still). She's a bouncy little kid, usually pretty cheerful, and well, she just doesn't want to need me much right now.

After months (years, really) of being clung to and needed, all three of my kids are pulling away at various degrees. My eldest was flirting with an old friend at a band concert last night (that's scary). My middle guy is proving that he's a perfectly capable person when it comes to doing things around the house (if he choses). My little one is practically shoving me out the door of her room most days (because, really, Miss Independent Fashionista doesn't need help).

It's bittersweet, I tell ya.

For Mother's Day, I want the following things: Art made by my munchkins, that I promise to frame and thirty-minutes of cuddle time with each of them -- with their undivided attention -- so I can enjoy those precious moments before they slip away completely from me.

Prayers for friends

who lost their firstborn last week. He was due to be born in July.

Instead they will be having a funeral on Wednesday.

Sometimes, without knowing the rhyme or reason, life just sucks. How is it possible that teen starlets (I'm looking at you, Ms. Spears x 2) can have kids, and good people who would be great parents don't get the chance?

Political commentary: Baseball and Politics

Done by a friend of mine who wishes to remain anonymous.

Attack of the new screen door

It was a blissfully beautiful Saturday morning. I was making great progress getting ready for the son's birthday party with eight of his friends, ages 5-7. Dinosaur cake was good to go. Ice cream purchased.

I stepped out onto the porch to tell the eldest something. She was cleaning up the yard in preparation for the burial of plastic dinos in our sandbox. I turned back inside.

And learned that the newly installed screen door moves a lot faster than the old screen door.

Four hours at urgent care, 12 stitches, and much gratitude to my husband, my daughter and her friend, who herded the little boys for the first hour of the party, I managed to limp back and enjoy the rest of the day.

The party was a success. Our son proclaimed it "The best birthday ever!!!"

I'm still limping. And I'm hoping that door doesn't go all Stephen King-Christine on us. Let's just say I'm a lot more cautious around it now than I was Saturday at 10 a.m.

Too many hats

Right now, I think I'm going slightly nuts with the number of hats I'm wearing. Yesterday:

Mom hat in morning
Work hat after 8:30
Student hat at 1:30
Back to work hat at 2
Mom hat at 3:15
Freelancer hat at 4
Mom hat at 5
Student hat at 6
Mom hat at 7
Student hat at 8
Wife hat at 10
Sherrie hat at 11
Sleep.

Career guilt

It's time for some professional development, some professional bonding, and maybe a bit of networking to get outta SWMO.

In 24 hours, I'll be hanging with a bunch of people who are even more grammarian geeky than I am.

The American Copy Editors Society conference starts Thursday. I'm just glad to be with people who understand the entire concept of apostrophes, capitalization, and can debate the use of the serial (or Harvard) comma.

I have mixed feelings about going. It's the mom conundrum: I want to do something for me, for my career, and by extension, will better my family. But I don't want to miss my kids for three days, miss a soccer game, miss the possibility of my eldest winning a regional science fair award (she finds out on Thursday). I hate to leave hubby in a lurch, trying to get all three kids hither and yon on his own. I did ask my bro to help out (thanks, bro!), but I feel guilty that I did that.

I swear, does the guilt end? Ever? I'm trying to not feel guilty about this, because I know I shouldn't, and because my boss is (quite frankly) making me go to this. But I still feel guilty leaving my family because I won't be there to help make things go smoothly.

Heck, I know they'll survive. They can cook. Two of the four people normally in the house know how to operate the stove and can do laundry. But I know how much harder it is with just one parent there, and I hate leaving hubby to juggle it all on his own, even for a few days.

I hate knowing I won't be there to fix the hurts, the slights, and help with homework. I won't be there to cheer on the eldest at either the game or the science thing.

Head . . . throbbing . . . again

I hate my sinuses.

That is all.

Slingbacks, candy and other things

Kids can be like living with a Vulcan. You can have a reasonable explanation for something, but if it isn't linear logic, you'll lose the battle.

Point No. 1:

We're rushing to get to church on Friday night. I shout that the kids should have shoes and socks on and get in the car. My three-year-old looks at me, wearing her white patent dress shoes and no socks, points at my feet, currently shod in black slingbacks (sans socks or hose, of course), and says: "You not wearing socks."

We were late. I wasn't even going to try to explain fashion to a three-year-old. I let her go sans socks.

Point No. 2:

It doesn't matter how many times you tell the eldest that she should leave the easy candy (as in, the candy on the ground) for her younger siblings. If she sees it Easter morning, it is hers.

Point No. 3:

It doesn't matter that you are putting the finishing touches on Easter dinner. If the three-year-old wants to lug her basket around the house and gorge, there's not much you can do that won't result in a screaming tantrum over sugar.

Point No. 4:

It doesn't matter how many bribes, begging lectures, cheers, and discussions you can have about poop with a three-year-old. It will be the weirdest thing that you never thought of that will finally get through her head and result in her being fully potty trained.

In our case, it was the fact that another kid at daycare got an ink stamp for pooping on the potty. Kid 3 wanted one, too. The teacher didn't cave, but told her to go poop, and she'd get one. Boom. That's it. She walks in the bathroom, does her thing, and then continues to do it for the rest of the weekend.

Never in a million years would I have thought an ink stamp on her hand would be the thing that convinced her to do her duty.

Sheesh.

Oh, and the cosmic kick me sign needs to come off.

Not only did my basement flood, but I got a call from my administrative assistant at 5 yesterday.

At first she asked how my day was (knowing I was battling with Lake Mommy-Tracked in the basement). Then she informed that it was a good thing I wasn't at work yesterday, because two ceiling tiles came crashing down on my desk. There is a leak in a window on the second story, and apparently the low spot in the subfloor is over my desk. Lucky me.

that was sarcasm

I can now see into my building's heating system and despite the best efforts of our janitor, I'm still finding gympsum bits all over my desk and paperwork.

Really, I'm starting to think God is trying to tell me something.

Welcome to Lake Mommy-Tracked

dock your boat right over there, please.

Oy. Rain is good, but not in the amounts we've been getting.

If you've seen the news, you know that torrential rain hit the Ozarks yesterday.

We at Mommy-Tracked were a bit busy trying to keep our basement from becoming a lake. Yes, we live on a hill, but the water table is now so high that the torrential rains not only filled our crawlspace, but also sent water cascading through our basement at a rate of more than 2.5/gal a minute at times. (Yes, I timed it. My Shop-Vac holds 2.5 gallons, and I was swapping it out every minute there for a while.)

Lake Mommy-Tracked is now at a manageable level--as in a huge puddle under the pool table. I've never been more thankful for the icky linoleum that is in that basement than I was yesterday. It is fairly indestructible.

We managed to save pretty much everything. Our only losses were a few baseball posters, the dog's bed, and all of my Missourian clips. Sadly, I'll no longer be able to read over the details of Ray Beck and Woody Cozad through my own news stories. All in all, not a horrid loss, especially considering some of the damage folks are facing today.

That said, if you have an ark, we might need it. More rain is predicted for the weekend.

We're back

I'm just swamped. Work, school, family life. It is chaos. Soccer started. NCAA Div. II rounds of b-ball hosted here. Paper due. Too.Much.To.Do.

And yet, the best thing ever was coming home. Our kids wouldn't let us out of their sights. My husband was hugged by our son. Twice. He never does that.

I think they missed us. And that's nice. They drive us nuts, but apparently we are better than grandma and grandpa, and they love us to pieces, even if they don't show it all the time.

We're off!

Headed to the Big Apple and areas thereof for the divine Ms. G's wedding.

See y'all next week.

Pray that the kids don't drive the grandparents loopy.

Overheard

I give you a one-act play: Misinterpretation by a Three-Year-Old


Context: Our youngest still is resisting the potty for No. 2. We had some success, but we've backtracked. To the point that we are now stirring Miralax in her juice to prevent her from holding it for a week or more. We can tell she's holding it because she stuffs her hands down the back of her pants and holds her cheeks together. And walks around like that. It would be funnier if it weren't so frustrating.

Setting: Hubby and I are upstairs working and watching TV. Kids are downstairs eating snack.

Middle child, age 5: Hey, do you have to go to the bathroom?

Younger child, age 3 (presumably with hands down back of pants): No. I fine.

Middle child: Are you sure? You look like you need to poop.

Younger child: NO! I NOT NEED POOP!

(cue parents upstairs valiantly trying not to laugh)

Middle child: It looks like you need to poop. You shouldn't hold it in like that.

Younger child: I fine. I not holding it. See, my hands are cwean!!!

(cue parents, losing battle not to laugh upstairs, and realizing they need to be a lot more specific in their wording with the youngest.)

Yup. It's been fun. Who said being a parent wasn't great? Riiiiiight.

I'm betting no one else in my grad class had to disinfect a tub that had been pooped in last night before proofing a research paper.

She'll figure this out, right? Right?

Into the ether

that seems to be where some of my posts went. I can see them, but you guys can't.

Let me know if you can read anything after Eulogy, 'kay?