When Back to school is no longer fun.

So the first couple weeks of school went surprisingly smooth. I was even starting to have fantasies that my children were maturing out of their childish behaviors. Then, today happened and all my fantasies were horribly crushed. Okay, that was a bit of an over-kill. It was more like today happened and I thought, "Okay, now those are the children I know."

I think by the second or third week of going back to school the excitement of it all has worn off and nothing is left for the little darlings but the harsh realities.

Summer is officially over.
I do have to do my homework.
My teacher isn't as sweet and mild as I had thought, especially when I am doing obnoxious things.
I'm already bored of all my new clothes (and)
"Hey, my mom doesn't clean my room now that I'm at school working sooo hard all day?!"

Whatever the reason, my three school-aged children are no longer the little angels that were jumping from their beds before the alarm even sounded, eager to get to the bus stop, and helping each other find socks or whatever. No, today I woke up to retro-children, the Ash, Brooke and Matthew I have come to know so well.

Brooke couldn't find anything to wear despite the closet of clean clothes, some of which haven't even lost their price tags yet.

"But I don't like those jeans or those shirts!" She wailed.

"Well, I guess that's because when we went school shopping, you were more interested in playing tag through the store rather than to settle down and pick out some bloody clothes." I spat through clenched teeth.

After wasting most of the morning, Brooke finally settled on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, ( never mind the rain). But the effort was too little too late, all three had missed the bus and Ashton was bawling about not getting star student for never being late or something ridiculous like that. But I stayed cool. I packed the baby up, handed out back-packs and herded everyone out to the car. Almost. We were halfway to the car when Matthew reminded me about his peanut butter and honey sandwich. Some how I have managed to raise a boy who insists on getting the majority of his nutrition via peanut butter, honey and chocolate milk.  Ashton bawled even louder as I headed back inside to whip up his lunch.

When we arrived at the elementary school, the "pull through and drop off lane" was packed with SUV's and mini-vans, undoubtedly other parents who are having the exact same crisis with their own children. I waited patiently for my turn in the drop off lane and almost breathed a deep sigh of relief as I slid the mini-van door open. Until....Matthew decided he needed a bottle of water.

"Sorry bud, I don't have one handy, but people are waiting in line behind us, so I need you to get out of the van now and go to class."

He adamantly refused. Reciting the phrase, " I want a water bottle", over and over like some kind of little robot.  So I just reached inside the van, grabbed hold of his waist and tugged him out. I didn't however, take into account the sheer size of the kids will or his strength. As I pulled him out, he grabbed on with all his might to the side of the van door and held on tight. I even heard a little snicker from the patrol woman standing near the entrance as she beheld the cartoon-like scene.

It wasn't a pretty morning, but at least everyone got to school. Matthew was a few minutes late to his class, and I'm ashamed to say that its because I gave up on the fight. After two or three minutes of embarrassment in the drop off lane, I stuffed him back in the van, drove to the store, bought him a bottled water and drove a smiling Matthew back to school.

Harrison and I then went home and took a long nap!

Happy Birthday Kiddo!

 Has it really been seven years  since I first held you in my arms? 

It feels like yesterday, and a million years ago all at the same time.

You were so tiny and delicate...and purple.

We couldn't believe all your red hair.

I'd never seen your father cry, not until that day when he first laid eyes on you.

He said he'd never seen such a beautiful sight.

Seeing how much he loves you 

how you enchanted him from the beginning. 

That is the most beautiful sight for me.

Screaming and healthy, you knew what you wanted from day one. 

"Careful," said the nurse, "This one's got an attitude!"

We laughed then, but soon discovered she was sort of right. 

And now you are still you, spunky and full of heart. Just the way I like you to be.

You are The best part of me.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY BROOKIE!

Summer chronicles: escape to the deep blue

With our central air being out of service for the moment, and possibly all summer long, the kids and I often find refuge from the heat at the pool. It takes a lot of sunscreen to cover all my little albinos, but it sure is a nice little retreat. 

Of course Matthew has to be all decked out.

We're still trying to convince Matthew that he doesn't need three or four different flotation devices in order to keep his head above water, but with little luck. 

underwater eyes

Some days we pack a picnic lunch and stay for hours! Not a lot of laundry or dishes have been getting done on our "pool escape" days, as we call them, but the kids have sure developed a healthier relationship with aquatics. 

All four have learned quite a few different swimming techniques. Even little Harrison will dip his face in the water, blow bubbles and kick around like a fish.

sea monster!

I'm especially proud of Ashton. At the beginning of the summer she was afraid to even put her face in the water, but now she's swimming very well and just keeps getting better.

Hawwison and his witto water weenie.

The best part of mixing kids with sun and water is that it pretty much always results in exhaustion! This means that once we've spent a good few hours horsing around in the pool all are ready to crash for a couple hours, leaving mom some time of her own...to do laundry, of course. ha ha!

Warning: Spouse may not always be as they appear.

 So, Nate and I had a little argument the other day. (For those of you who don't know this, husbands and wives often have disagreements, sometimes those disagreements escalate to raised voices.) (That is a snippet of an example of my sarcasm.) The argument started, as a lot of arguments do, with a conversation that seems to be a hot button issue between us these days; A family dog.

I've been trying very hard lately to persuade Nate to let the kids and I have a puppy, a choice that I may later regret, but a choice I feel quite certain and passionate about at the present time all the same. After a few minutes of listening to his side of things, I realized something that sort of bothered me. Nate is not an animal lover. Before we were married I had assumed Nate was something of an animal lover. The fact that he isn't sort of bothers me. I decided to change the course of the discussion.

"Hey, you know what? I should sue you for false advertising or something." I said.

"What are you talking about?"

"Before we were married I thought you were an animal lover. As soon as the honeymoon was over you started to show your true colors. I just didn't exactly get what I paid for if you catch my drift. Now I think I deserve some kind of...restitution."

"Well, you should learn not to assume things. I never said I was an animal lover. I told you I loved the golden retriever my family had when I was younger that does not mean I love all animals."

"I think my case will hold up. I was lead." I retorted.

Suddenly Nate's face changed from thoughtful to smug. "Yeah well, you know you aren't the only one who was lead to believe something different than the total truth about your spouse. You played the old bait and switch on me too." He said.

Oh great. He's got something on me.

Or he's bluffing.

I decide to call him on it.

"Oh yeah? So what is it then? What did you think I was that I didn't live up to?"

Nate's grin turns to a full-on smile and he shakes his head, retreating. "I can't say."

"I figured you were bluffing."

"I'm not bluffing. I just don't feel it would be...gentlemanly of me to say."

Horar fills me. I realize exactly what he's talking about. Damn, I hate to be wrong. The look of sudden realization must be apparent on my expression, because he gives a cocky nod and says, "Yeah, that's right, you know you lead me to believe we'd be spending a LOT more time in the bed than we do."

I hold my ground.

"You should really learn not to assume things."

Summer chronicles: Popcycles.

Popcycles on the front porch

Its the simple pleasures of summer time that are the most memorable.

The many faces of Matthew Roane

MATTHEW ROANE

IS

THE INCREDIBLE...

BAT-FROG!

(at least for today)

Matthew is doing it again...delighting me! Yesterday, while dressed as bat-frog, Matthew asked me to do a puzzle with him. As we arranged fragments of shapes colors into the face of Buzz Light-year, Matthew chattered on about all his favorite parts of Toy Story 3. Ordinarily I would have loved to sit there and listen to him as he explained a movie in his adorable five-year-old lisp, but he wouldn't talk in his own voice, instead he used his new-found "baby" voice picked up at the baby-sitter's. I'm sure I don't have to tell anyone how grating that voice gets after weeks of listening to nothing else. 

"Gee, I sure miss my big boy Matthew. I liked the way he talked. I don't really like this baby-talk Matthew at all." I said, matter-of-fact.

Matthew looked up from his puzzle, and stared at me for a moment, pondering, then replied, "I miss my other mommy, the pretty one who wears her hair down, not pulled up in a ball."

tu-che'. 

The Aftermath

So, Its been two weeks now since my surgery and, though I'm still feeling the effects, i.e. soreness, I am very happy to have it all behind me. It took only one day to get the pathology results back. The biopsy came back benign- no cancer! Big sigh of relief, not only for me but for the medical professionals who now no longer have to deal with me.

 I discovered along with all those medical persons, two weeks ago, that I am a really awful patient. I arrived at the hospital at 7:45 am, virtually exhausted from not being able to sleep the night before. The poor Nursing assistant that was assigned to me was met with a very big attitude when she instructed me on what it was I had to do before the procedure could begin. She told me to change into the hospital gown and to make sure that I took my underwear off as well as my bra, to which I simply and firmly asked why I should have to take my underwear off when its the top part they'd be operating on. She had no real good answer to that except to say that if they should need access to that part of my body quickly, the underwear would be in the way. To that I gave an even nastier reply,

"Why the hell do they need access to my butt!"

Fortunately she laughed it off. But she left and never returned.

Next, I terrorized the nurse, who happened to be male. I told him I would not give him a urine sample until someone cleaned the bathroom in my room. He was very sweet. He came in with a bottle of bleach and a rag and scrubbed my toilet himself. I kind of felt guilty at that point, but not guilty enough. I demanded to see my surgeon before signing any release forms.

 I was a sobbing, anxiety ridden mess by the time the surgeon finally came in. She was not much comfort. I asked her to tell me what I would look like when all this was said and done. She told me I would have a scar but no visible indentation. I told her I didn't really buy that and asked if I could just have the needle biopsy done instead. She told me I could, but that she strongly advised getting the lumpectomy. That just turned my fear away from my vanity and toward the possibility of cancer, which I think was her intention. The surgeon explained the procedure again, this time, adding that she would remove a chunk of tissue the size of a golf ball.   A GOLF BALL.

"Lady, have you seen my boobs?" I cried. "They pretty much are golf balls!"

She laughed.

I was unamused.

In the end, with the surgeon's strong advice and extensive knowledge of these breast tumors, and my poor husband, distraught with the idea of me not doing the surgery and possibly leaving a malignant tumor in my body, I accepted what I had to do and allowed them to take me off to the OR.

Nate's last word's to me were, that he loved me more than anything and that if I'm not at all happy with the outcome of this surgery, that he would see to it that I get plastic surgery right away. He then added,

"Hey this could be your excuse to get those C cups you've always wanted."

The outcome is livable. I no longer have a lump in my breast that could grow or cause pain or turn into something weird. I have a small scar and no visible dimpling. I'm glad to be done with it, and I thank God it was nothing more than a lump.

I have a much larger appreciation for the kind of emotional and physical pain a cancer patient must go through. I feel blessed and a little guilty I made it out without cancer. I just think God knows I'm not brave enough to suffer that kind of thing and took pity on me. I am in awe of those who are brave and battle their illness full on.  God bless you all.