Holding It All Together?

Just the other day someone at school asked me how I hold it all together.  I'm still wondering what her definition of 'hold it all together' is.

I was secretly laughing to myself.

Or crying.

I'm not sure which.

Because the honest answer is....

I DON'T.

There just seem to be moments when things spin out of control.  Trust me, when I say out of control, I mean out of control. 

And if evidence is needed, here it is.  This is what this room looked like this morning. 

Apparently my camera date is running as far behind as I am.

This is my utility room....laundry room....whatever you want to call it.  It is the first room we walk into when coming in from the garage.  It is the first room where the kids throw down their coats and bags.  There are typically no less than 6 pairs of shoes somewhere in this room at all times.

It is also the room where the laundry piles up.  I am still trying to solve the mystery of how clothes can be 18 inches from the laundry basket, but never actually IN the basket.  That must be a rule somewhere in the male manual. 

This is the room that is the catch-all from the stuff we carry in from the car, the room where all the pagers are charged, and the room with the shredder and the paper to recycle.

This is also the room where everything gets thrown when the rest of the house is clean and we have people coming over and we just didn't get it all done in time.

This is the room that drives.me.crazy.

Until today.

This now might be my new favorite room. 

It is currently bringing me great happiness. 

Disturbing amounts of happiness, which I am OK with. 

Right now I am practicing not going a little ballistic at the first kid who tries to throw his junk on my floor.

Pumpkin Patch and Corn Maze

It's that time of year. 

I say that like this has been an annual tradition for us, which it has not.  This is the first time we've taken our kids to anything that remotely resembles a pumpkin patch or corn maze. 

It was worth the wait.  However, their favorite things had nothing to do with a pumpkin patch or a corn maze.  This was the little guy's favorite part - the jumping pillow.  Destined to continually make you fall down, roll down the hill, land in rocks, and climb back up again.  Sounds like loads of fun. 

We could have dropped him off here, went shopping for the day, and picked him up at sundown.

Tackling your little brother definitely adds to the experience.

The giant tube slides were also a hit.  Terrible for pictures; great for laughter.

The rope maze was pretty cool.  I was shocked they wanted to do it, and even more shocked that this child stuck with it nearly the entire time.

This child did it once to practice, twice to race his dad, and a third time to switch colors to attempt to prove that his dad had the easier color.  Attempt failed.  He had to swallow his pride and just admit that dad was better at it.

I love this picture in the corn maze.  It captures their personalities perfectly.  I'm guessing the conversation went something like this:

8 yo:  We've already been that way, and this path leads to a dead end, so after careful analysis, I think we should take a left.  However, there is a sign over there that we have already seen, so maybe we should backtrack and go around the other way.....

5 yo:  "Huh?  Aren't we just here to have fun?!"

Pumpkin bowling.  Fun for all.  Except for the parents who have to set up the pins over and over and over and over and.....

Intense concentration.

Strike!!!!

The pictures do not lie.  We never made it to the actual pumpkin patch.  Because, as my boys said, why would you want to go stare at a field of pumpkins when there is so much other stuff to do?!

Summin' it all up

I have four separate posts going about stuff I want to remember, weird things my kids did, or thought provoking moments from the past week.  It is becoming evident that I will never finish any of those posts.

Hence, the cliff notes version.

My oldest son will be nine next week.  Third grade does not seem old to me.  Nine does.  It is halfway to 18, halfway to adulthood, halfway to moving away to college.  Gulp. 

Last week he made it official that he is getting older.  He asked me if I saw a particular second grade girl on that day and described to me how she looked.  Part of his description included "she looked really cute."  I picked my jaw up off the floor and continued the conversation like any cool mom would.  I'm not sure if he has any idea that this was not a typical topic for him to discuss, and that this is an indication of what is yet to come in the next several years.  Regardless, it made me realize that he is growing up.

Speaking of girls....I was just informed at school this afternoon that my 5 year old was holding hands with a little girl all the way from his classroom to the library.  This would be the same girl who "has bright blue eyes just like you, mommy....".  Oh my.

On a different note, people sometimes ask me why I chose to go into the field of education.  The initial answer was, "It was the only way to get to be a Guidance Counselor."  The initial answer has never occurred.  The more important question is probably, "Why did you choose to stay in education?"

The list is lengthy.  Although not the most important, one of the reasons I love it is because no two days are ever exactly the same.  Each day brings new challenges and rewards.  Yesterday I visited two different schools and met with four different administrators.  We talked education for hours. 

Today I was back in my building and at various points throughout the day tackled assessment research, newsletter writing, curriculum and grading questions, phone answering, copy machine repairing, and a dose of nursing and janitorial work.  All different.  All important. 

There is more, but I have realized I am rambling.

I may love education, but I will obviously never be a writer of Cliff Notes.

Bug-o-mania

My 5 year old loves bugs.

This is no secret.

It is also no secret that this extreme intense obsessive infatuation with bugs drives me a little bit crazy.

It seems that his sole purpose of existence revolves around what creepy-crawly he can find next.  He goes to the lake to find bugs and spiders.  He goes to school so he can find bugs and spiders at recess.  He plays outside at home to...well, you get the idea.  If a snake or lizard happens to be found in the process, dead or alive, it's all the more exciting.

For him.

Not me.

ICK.

Last week at school his kindergarten teacher caught him being very sneaky with his scissors. After a short investigation she found that he had cut a square out of the polo shirt he was wearing.  When she asked him why he did it, this is what he said, "I need to feed my moth, and moths eat clothes!"

For.the.love.  Really???

For awhile my greatest fear was that he was going to bring some big brown spider into my house and I would find it crawling in my bed. 

Then my fear turned to the fact that if he keeps collecting moths, he may soon not have any clothes to wear.

Now, as the weather is turning colder, my fear is what is this poor child going to do when it freezes and there are no more bugs to catch?

Will there be tears and tantrums every day?  Will he demand to know who killed all the bugs? 

I am holding out one shred of hope.  This bug-crazed child of mine is...ummmm....a tad attention-span deprived.  It is technically possible that as soon as he sees the first snowfall, or something equally as exciting, that he may have a significant lapse of memory regarding his bug addiction.

One can only hope.

In the meantime, however, plans may be in motion for someone to get something for Christmas that lives in a cage...

Twenty Years Late

I did not grow up a country girl.  Granted, the 'city' I lived in had 1,500 people and about 30 square blocks, but I lived IN TOWN. 

I always felt sorry for my friends who lived in the country.  They couldn't just come over to a friend's house at any moment, they couldn't ride bikes around town with us, and most of all, they didn't have cable TV. {Gasp}.  I really thought I couldn't live without it. 

Now I do.

This really doesn't have anything to do with this post, except 'no cable TV' might be the reason I came upon this song.  I cannot blame the fact that we don't have cable on living in the country, because we all know that pretty much anyone anywhere can get 500 channels if they really want to.

We are just cheap.

And we don't love TV that much.

However, there is one moment in my day when TV is a must.  My elliptical machine and I have a love/hate relationship.  I hate getting on it.  I love when it's over.  Yes, I know those are both all about me.  I'm OK with that.

Here is what I have discovered.  No matter what time of day I choose to spend time on the elliptical machine, there is NOTHING on TV.  All 6 channels.  This throws me into great desperation, because one must have distraction while on the elliptical machine.

Enter CMT.  I have no idea when CMT arrived on non-cable TV, but it helps to pass the time. 

Yesterday this song, "Twenty Years Late", came on.  I had never heard it before. 

It stopped me in my tracks.

Well, not literally, I kept sweating in agony, but it definitely caught my attention.

It made me wonder...how will my kids remember me? 

Am I their taxi cab driver, their nurse, and their maid?

A waitress, a cook, and a shoulder to lay their head on to cry on when nothing is going their way?

Am I their judge and their jury and their biggest fan?

....Or is it possible that they will remember a mom who was always busy and rushing and hurrying everyone along?

Who's head was stuck behind a computer and had no time to respond?

Who had so much work to do that there was never time for them?

This thought scares me.  It throws a little perspective on our crazy, busy world.  Here's the thing - sometimes perspective HURTS.  And not just a little. 

I chatted about this with a friend just a little while ago.  She asked me if I was looking at things through a clear lens.

My question back: How do you know when your lens is clear?

Here is what I know -- I know that I do not have to be at home 24/7 to be a good mom.  I do not have to meet them at the door with freshly baked cookies in hand for them to feel loved. 

But I do want to be their counselor, their shoulder to cry on, and their biggest fan.  And I want them to remember me as a mom who had time for them in the good times and the bad.

Is my lens clear?  I'm not sure yet.

But I do know I am trying to bring it into focus.