Look Who's Coming (to take you out) to Dinner?

The thing about unexpected company is that you have to clean your entire house (bathrooms, floors, playroom, kids' rooms, office, kitchen) with no notice. And... I actually did do this today. With about 30 minutes warning that counsins of ours from NC were going to be calling to come over, I started the whirlwind. 30 minutes later, they called to say there were on their way and were 30 minutes away. And they're probably staying overnight. Ok, if you're following, I had an hour to clean up. Quick survey of the house:

kitchen: a wreck, and I had 4 kids over
floors: not vacuumed in about 3 days (dog hair, dog hair and more dog hair)
surfaces: not dusted in about a month, dog hair
bathrooms: cleaned a few days ago, but already atrocious as always
playroom: OMG! (and one of the guests needed to stay on the futon in there- yikes!)
Ethan's (The guest) room: needs clean sheets

While I create a tornedo of cleaning, every other second two thoughts go through my head:
1. If I actually cleaned a little more often I wouldn't be in this predicament, and
2. I bet Tisha's house is ready to accept guests without a second thought about the bathrooms. I wish my house were like that, except I'm not really the clean-y person to achieve it.

All this in 1 hour. Believe it or not, I did it. One of my cousins even asked me if I had a maid. Ha!

(Ethan and Alex were actually hugely instrumental in pulling this off as they did the entire playroom by themselves. I can't remember what I promised them, but I think it was hefty, like lots of candy or money or toys or something. I'll regret that I'm pretty sure.)

Ethan Has Peaked

Saturday night, Ethan's Little League baseball team was invited to be present on the field with the Sky Sox (our hometown, minor league team). Despite the frigid cold and very windy weather, the game was on so Ric took Ethan down to the field.

Well, it was quite the event in Ethan's little life as it turned out. During the introductions, each of the Sky Sox players take their positions on the field and the LL players got to also take the field with them. Ethan requested to be with the catcher. (Ethan has this thing about "donning the equipment." The more gear and equipment the sport requires, the more he's interested in it. Presently, he wants to be a catcher.)

Anyway, after the SS introductions, since Ethan was with the catcher, following the national anthem he got to yell, "PLAY BALL!" into the microphone to the whole stadium to start the game!
Ric was thoughtful enought to patch me through via cell phone so I could here my eldest son kick off this minor league game.

Ric left soon after (we had a date planned, after all) and our dear friend, K was AWESOME to keep Ethan with her and her kid to finish watching the whole game, in the frigid cold. By the end of the game Ethan had also come home with one of the game bats that a player had broken while up at bat!

So this great excitement for Ethan gave me pause. My first thoughts were:
How is it that I am here for all the moments, the daily grind, the developmental milestones, every day, every day, every day. And I miss this? Angry at the awful weather that had us change plans from the whole family going to just Ric. Irritated that I could merely listen on the cell phone to him yell those exciting words. Dissappointed that I wasn't there too.

And then, resolve and appreciation. Ric was here this weekend and was able to share a really cool moment with his favorite first-born. And I imagine it was a little more meaningful for Ethan to share this with Dad than with Mom. I have been there for lots of moments in his little life. Some were great, most were small, but I have been there. I'm so thankful (to Ric) that I have been there every day.

Happy Day, Ethan. I'm so glad for you that this night at the Sky Sox game turned out to be so cool, and that you got to share this with your favorite Dad.

These Kids Crack Me Up!

Game Night:
Last night, Ethan declares that we need a Game Night every week and Game Night should be on Wednesday (since it was Wednesday) and further, he declared, we should play Chutes and Ladders on this Game Night.

"Ok," I said, "get in your jammies, teeth brushed, and clean up all the Lincoln Logs and we'll play."
(As any seasoned Mother knows, the chance to get your kids to do exactly what you want, and speedy-quick is right before they get to do something they really want!)

So Ethan and Evelyn proceed to clean up all the Lincoln Logs, in such a rush that Alex's carefully built log house got razed. Alex starts to cry (what else is new?).

Ethan (peeved): "Alex! It's Game Night! Not Cry-Over-Lincoln-Logs Night!"

Signs of Candyland:
Evelyn walks into the office with her pants down just over her butt.

Me: "Evelyn, why is your butt sticking out?"
Evelyn: "Because that's the sign that it's time to play Candyland! And since you already saw my butt, c'mon, it's time to play!"

OMG!

Honeybunch!

When I have asked (Ethan/Alex/Evelyn- fill in the blank of the offending child) to do something repeatedly and I get no response, often on the third try I say, "Ethan, Honeybunch, I asked you to set the table/brush your teeth/put your dirty clothes in the laundry (pick one)."

I like the "honeybunch" line because in translation it's: "Ethan, I love you but you're driving me nuts when you don't listen. Get it in gear boy!" And in my head, I can be stern and unpleasant, but the words that come out of my mouth are sweet, sincere, loving even. It's perfect.

Until today. I think I committed a cardinal sin of 1st grade.

I called one of Ethan's classmates, "honeybunch."

Really, it was the very same scenerio. Me, helping, teaching, guiding the lovely children and Preston, socializing, discussing, not working, not paying attention. I asked him 3 times to focus and even had him change his seat away from his friend. The fourth time, it just came out.

"Preston, Honeybunch, I need you to do your work."

Well. Gales of laughter from the other boys at the table.
"Ethan's mom called you 'honeybunch.'"
"Ahh ha ha ha, I'm going to tell the whole class that Ethan's mom called you 'honeybunch.'"
"Ahh ha ha ha, I'm going to tell the whole school that you're a 'honeybunch.'"

Oh, Preston. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for mistaking you for one of my own. For possibly laying ruin the rest of your 1st grade recess time until the end of the year by calling you a goofy pet name. Trust me, I know that it will be long before you quit hearing about this one. But look on the bright side, it is almost summer, honeybunch.

Presenting: The Present

I've been thinking lately about what it might mean to be more 'present' in my life. I read about 2 pages in the middle of Echkart Tolle's book (a little new-agey for my taste) and saw him on Oprah discussing the importance of being present. In particular, Jim Carrey (who knew?), after reading Tolle's book, noted that all we have are the present moments. Going over in our heads what happened the other day, what will happen later, these are all things that don't even exist. All we have is "right now." For some reason, as bizaar as that is, it's stayed with me for the last couple days.

I think, as women especially, it is so easy for us to talk on the phone, look in the refrigerator to plan dinner, remind ourselves briefly of that thing we have to do right after we're off the phone, perhaps check e-mail, and intersperse quiet whispers to our kids in between the phone conversation we're having ("Ok, you can have one. I'm on the phone, I'll be there in a minute.") And we're also cleaning the kitchen, picking up toys, and making beds as well. We are really good at this. But then, what exactly are we attending to? Well, nothing really. None of it. Nothing has our attention right now because our attention is all over the house and throughout the day, if not also throughout the week. We are not in the one moment that's happening now because we're everywhere else.

I see myself here so often. Too often. And I think the more I have to do, the more I get this way, and the more crazy I can feel.

So in an effort to actually be in one moment at a time, I've stopped this behavior. I might still clean up the kitchen and talk on the phone, but with the kids, I've stopped. I look at them when they are talking to me, I respond to their comments with actual meaningful words, not just "really," or "oh" or "uh-huh" while secretly writing the grocery list or trying to read the paper. As much as I am with them and as much as I do for them and to them, my time will be short and I will wonder where it went, and where exactly was I when it passed. Sometimes it's easier, I think to attend to the meaningless drivel of the daily grind because it takes a lot less energy than attending to the kid who wants my attention. But at the end of the day, at the end of the years, I won't remember the daily drivel. I may not remember those meaningful, attended-to kid-converstations either, but I will know that when they occurred, I was there, and I listened.

So, I'm making a concerted effort to be here now, mostly for these little ones. I have found that when I can focus on them and attend patiently and completely, I am rewarded for my effort. They can tell and they love it.

We aren't then just passing through the time, we are together.

Competitive Candyland

Over the last couple weeks Evelyn and I have been playing Candyland, always Candyland. Apparently it's an old game that she's discovered anew and we've played 3-8 times every day, depending on how the day goes. I think over all 45-120 or so games, I've won like twice... really. She doesn't cheat, I don't let her win, I just can't get it together to be the first one into that bliss of a land at the end of the game. I get lollypop, she gets ice cream. I get gum drop, she gets peanut. I get peanut, then I also get slammed with one or two "stuck on a licorice stick, lose a turn" spaces. I tell you, I CAN'T WIN.

So our games have evolved lately from good-natured, fun-with-your-four-year-old to trash-talking throw-downs. Here's a latest example:

Evelyn: "I'm going to kick your butt in Candyland."
Me: "No way, not this time stinkerhead!"
(and then we start)
Evelyn: "Ha, ha, I got ORANGE. I'm winning!"
Me: "Not so fast, fancypants, I got peanut and I'm outtahear!"
Evelyn: "See you later fancypants, I got ice cream!"
Me: "Don't worry stinkerhead...you're gonna get on licorice in a minute!"
Evelyn: "No way, I'm winning this game!"

And so it goes. The good-natured ribbing goes on for as long as it takes for her to beat me. Really, it's lot of fun to hang with the little girl every day. We have a good time.

Why Do I Bother?

Here's tonight's dinner event:

Ethan, eagerly awaiting dinner, standing behind his chair... "What's for dinner? What's for dinner?"
I place a casserole-type thing in the middle of the table. Something I found on the Campbell's soup website in an effort to (shock!) cook for once. Nothing crazy or weird: stuffing, cheese, veggies, chicken. You'd have thought that I served him cow pies. The scrunched-up face, the disheartening look that he'd rather starve that eat that thing on the table.

"I'm not hungry," Ethan exclaims, and as he walks away I order "don't tell me you want something later, because you're not getting it!" (so there.)

Evelyn sits down. I have to credit her with her asuteness that Ethan's approach didn't go over well. She's smart enough to try a different one. "Mom, can I please have a peanut butter and jelly sandwich? (smiling) To go with this, to go with this."

Alex, sensing an opening, "can I have one too, Mom?"

*************dramatic pause whilst I gather my strength for my oncoming outburst**********

"WHY DO I BOTHER? WHY? I SPEND AN HOUR TRYING TO FEED YOU KIDS AND THIS IS WHAT I GET? FINE! FINE!" (as I dramatically sweep everybody's plate, including my own, and the casserol-y thing on the table and throw everything into the sink.)

Alex, in his so-sensitive-way, starts to cry. He can tell my feelings are hurt and says through tears, "that was good too." Oh, buddy, you are the sweetest. (But I can't really stop now, I'm kind of on a roll.)

"ALEX, DON'T BE UPSET- IT'S NOT YOU, REALLY. REALLY, IT'S NOT YOU. IT'S MY OWN FAULT. I SHOULD KNOW BETTER THAN TO TRY TO MAKE ANYTHING RESEMBLING A REGULAR DINNER AROUND HERE. REALLY, IT'S MY OWN FAULT."

And I proceed to make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches all around. Alex asks for banana on his and in a show of consideration, I don't outright refuse but actually slice banana onto his. I cannot help but add as I hand him the sandwich, "if you cry because the banana is sliding out of that sandwich, I will FREAK OUT." It was all Alex could do to not cry into his dinner since that banana was totally slipping out.

But as it turned out, the dinner was cathartic for everybody. They were cheery and talkative over their sandwiches, Alex nicely asked for yogurt and they all got yogurts. We discussed how we would all vote for the Biggest Loser Finale. It was an okay dinner. And that casserol-y thing was really not good anyway.

Really. What was I thinking.
I'm thinking I better just stick to the grilled cheeses and tomato soup dinners. Really.

(And thank you, thank you, thank you, Sandy for bringing Indian Meals on Wheels tonight since I didn't eat that casserol-y thing either. It was kind of yucky.)

Let's See Who...

Evelyn: "Let's see who can be quietest the longest."
Me: "Okay. One, two, three, go."
We look at each other, lips tightly pursed together, smiles urging to burst out. I tickle her until she laughs.
Me: "I win!"

Evelyn: "Okay. Let's see who can keep their eyes closed the longest."
Me: "Okay." (reading the paper)
Evelyn: "Are your eyes closed?"
Me: "I think so."
Evelyn: "Is everything dark?"
Me: "Yes." (still reading the paper)
Evelyn: "Then your eyes are still closed."
(After several minutes of Evelyn asking if my eyes were still closed, and several more minutes of me reading the paper, she won this one.)

Evelyn: "Let's see who can keep their fingers up their nose the longest. You can use a tissue if you want."
She won that one too.

It's Not Easy Being Green, Part 2

So, about that New Year's resolution to be greener. It's actually going great, better than expected really. No plastic; all cloth napkins; purchasing everything that's 100% post-consumer (trash bags, toilet paper, paper towels, etc.); cage-free eggs; dye-free, detergent-free, soap-free soap, the list goes on and on. I'm getting pretty dark green on my own here, thank you very much.

So then, I go on vacation. What is it about the vacation?

I tried, really I did. I brought my Seventh Generation toilet paper for everyone's bathroom, my organic-nothing-but-peanuts peanut butter, my cage-free chicken-love eggs, my 100% post-consumer trash bags, my organic 100% whole wheat bread. Really, see? I tried. I even hung a small grocery bag on the handle of the silverwear drawer denoting the "recycling bag." Not to be confused with the "garbage bag."

Some of them complied, other times I'm fishing Coke cans out of the "garbage" to place in the "recycling." I'm flinching when the plastic ziplocks are used to store food instead of tupperware. But in general I'm thinking this is going well. My greeness should be rubbing off.

Then, there appeared, seemingly out of nowhere....the bag of regular, white, sourdough bread. When we already had 2 loaves. What's going on here? Where they snubbing my organically grown, organically harvested, organically bagged, 100% whole wheat, tasty as soft cardboard bread? Is that what this was? A snub? Well.

And then, a day later, bacon shows up. Not the bacon I packed. I packed the nitrate-free, salt-free, uncured, pig-friendly, just-a-little-less-tasty bacon. But the regular, salty, nitraty, meanly-slaughtered pig bacon seems to be in the house now. Hmph. I was starting to get a message.

And if all this wasn't enough, at the end of the week, when all my "recycling" bags have been neatly tied, separately denoting the recycling, and placed out in the garage.... I find. only. garbage. containers. All that recycling. Nowhere to put it. Garbage. With a heavy heart, I lift the lid. And place in all my neatly tied, organically loved, ready-for-reuse recyclables into the garbage. Well, off to the land-fill with you.

What is a person to do? The greener I get, the more painful it is.