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Category Archives: Every Day Scoops

Separation Anxiety – For Mommy

Posted on October 12, 2012 by Ice Scream Mama
Separation Anxiety – For Mommy

I crouch down to speak more directly into the teary face of my sweet-cheeked four year-old. “Okay, so first you’ll go in the playground, then you’ll collect some sticks, bake a cake and then mommy comes to get you! You’re going to have so much fun.”

He screws up his face unconvinced, then picks up my shirt and sticks his head underneath.

“Julius, honey. I’ll be back so soon.”

“How soon?” His muffled voice asks my belly.

“So fast!

He pokes his head out. “Five minutes?”

“Well not five minutes, but close.” He can’t tell time. Five minutes. Three hours. Same thing.

He sniffles and looks skeptically around the familiar class. I feel him coming round.

“Remember, you’ll play in the playground, search for sticks, bake a cake, then mommy. Hey, like Dora!” He noticeably perks.

“Playground. Sticks. Cake. Mommy.” He gets it and nods, but still remains fixed to my side. I walk, with him attached like we’re in a potato sack race, to where some of his friends are building with blocks. Immediately, he drops to the floor and starts playing. Deep inward mommy sigh of relief. I kiss the top of his head goodbye, and he immediately stops his play to hug me vigorously.

“Kiss.” He orders and I bend down so his little lips can kiss me. “One more hug!” He squeezes the pee out of me, and returns to his blocks. I’m at the door, when I feel him behind me again. “One more hug!” And again we squeeze together, before we are ripped apart by the necessities of normal everyday life. He is four. It is only just beginning.

As I walk out the door and leave him playing contently with his friends, I am the one sniffling.

Which I realize is ridiculous. He is my third child. I’ve done this before, many times, yet each time, I still have the same pang of regret leaving. I even still feel that way watching the bus pull away with my older ones.  “Have fun!” I wave them off with some relief, yet my brain is a jumble of mixed emotions. The most glaring is the vision of the horror movie bus driving off with the children waving innocently from the window. I can’t stand to think of that one, but somehow it’s always there. More reasonably (I think) is that I mourn the fact that they are big kids now and can go off on the big bus to lives outside of my little bubble. While I joyously take my few hours of freedom, it definitely makes me sad. I know, I’m crazy.  No, it’s not crazy. Okay, now I sound crazy.

They say that it’s good for the children to separate and socialize and I’m sure they’re right, especially at the ages of my older boys who are seven and ten, but as I watch my four year-old son bravely hold it together and others in his class falling to pieces, I just have to wonder. Is it really good for them? They always say that once the parents leave, the kids generally settle into their routine and play happily. I believe that to be true. Either they’re happy and enjoying  playing with their friends or they’ve submitted to the inevitable. They have no control, their parents are gone and there is simply nothing they can do but play with their play dough and wait.

I leave the pre-school and head straight to the gym, where I sweat my ass off in spin class. The whole time my brain is working harder than my body. I go through my to-do list. I edit an essay in my head and actually come up with an amazing opening paragraph which I spend at least three songs trying to memorize. And I think about my kids getting bigger and more independent. I’m so proud of them, and protective of them and in love with them, that I admit I’m a bit over sensitive to their growing up and me not being the most important person to them. Oh no – it’s one of my spin revelations. It happens sometimes when I’m sweating in this dark room with loud music with nothing but my own thoughts. It’s me. Damn. It’s me. My boys are doing fine. It’s me. I’m the one who has to grow up and learn how to let go.

Later, when I pick up Julius from Pre-K, his eyes twinkle as he jumps into my arms, but the hug is quick. One of his friends behind me is playing with two lego men, and he leaves me to investigate. My open arms are empty. My youngest boy is off and running. It’s going to take every ounce of effort not to chase after him.

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Hi-Ho, Hi-Ho… It’s Off to Camp we Go.

Posted on September 29, 2012 by Ice Scream Mama

 

“Who’s ready to go to camp?!” Howard bellows, carrying bag after bag from our house and jamming them into the trunk of our mini-van. You would think we were leaving for a month instead of two nights, two hours from our home.

 “Camp! Camp! Camp!” My three boys march in their underwear chanting with glee. It’s kind of ironic since the boys just finished up day-camp, where they tried more often than not to have days off, as if I were sending them to work the fields instead of to play and swim all day.

 Typically, my boys are all too happy to stay and play at our toy-infested, warm cookie-smelling, friend-filled house. On a regular basis, they snub both Howard’s and my overtures for activity. Entreats for playing ball in the park are met with rolled eyes and cranky fits. We never go to movies, because my kids would rather sit in the den, watch a DVD and have me serve them popcorn. When we went to Disney World and rode the mono-rail, four year-old Julius kept asking if it would take us back to Long Island.

 I still recall with horror our recent trip to Great Adventure. Hundreds of dollars, a spectacle everywhere you turn and the first thing seven year-old Michael asked was, “Does it have Wifi?”  Then, “Can we just get cotton candy and go home?”

“I hate it here.” Tyler, my oldest, agreed. Well, at least they were getting along.

What have I done to these children?

 “Do we have a lot more stuff?” Howard calls up, and in answer I throw down a giant garbage bag filled with sheets and blankets. “Do we need all this?” he asks, a little annoyed.

 “Nah, you can sleep on all the baseball bats and balls you took.”

 Howard grumbles and drags the bag to the car.

 It’s Labor Day weekend, and for the fifth year in a row, we’re heading to sleep-away camp.

There, with 25 other families, 23 of which we barely know, we will sleep in bunks that feel like styrofoam covered in vinyl. We will share bathrooms with families we are close with but not THAT close. We will wear ratty sweats and flip flops, eat food in the mess hall I would never eat in the outside world, and drink at inappropriate times while our children, who are not allowed to play alone on our front lawn, run wild.

 There is a lake and nightly bonfires. The children are dirty and out at all hours. They carry walkie-talkies and flashlights. They play basketball, baseball, Gaga, and volleyball. They just hang out, and the parents do the same.

 The first couple of years, I had a hard time getting with the program. Of course, my kids were younger, so Howard and I trailed their every move and were exhausted by night fall, falling into a miserable, uncomfortable sleep with our boys. But as they grew, they wanted more independence like the other kids, so I painstakingly doled out bits of freedom like M&M’s. I admit it. I worry. I like them with me. I want to hug them all the time. And then I want them to go away, but just to the other room.

 “Let’s go!” Howard, true to form, is at the door shouting at us to hurry.

 The boys, usually excruciatingly slow to respond, jump to attention.

 “Uh boys? Your clothes?”

 They fall over in a fit of giggles and put on the shorts and tee-shirts I’ve left out for them. One 10 year-old, who shall remain nameless, put his shirt on backwards.

 Julius tugs at me. “I’m hungry.”

 “Didn’t you just have a bowl of cereal?” Howard asks.

 “I’ve got snacks for the car.” I whisper and Howard looks up to the sky for help.

“Okay, ready.” I confirm, lugging a duffle filled with clothes, my 40 pound ‘let’s make a deal’ bag, all while balancing a bottle of Chardonnay under my arm.

 Julius jumps up around my waist. “Snack! Snack!”

 “Out!” I command, and they all race willy-nilly, tumble-bumble and cram themselves into the car.

 We’re not on the road five minutes before the appeal for snacks start up again. I pass out some granola bars (Howard is the first to take one.)

 “So, you guys excited?” I ask.

 “Yes!” Tyler enthusiastically nods.

 “Are we almost there?” Michael asks.

 I ignore that. We left five minutes ago.

 “So do you think you guys would ever want to go to real sleep-away camp?”

I hold my breath. Say no. Say no.

 “No way.” Tyler answers conclusively.

 “I like us all going together.” Michael pipes in.

 “I’d go if you could come.” Julius adds, not quite getting it.

 “Whew.” I think and settle back for the long ride.

 For us, sleep-away camp is something we do as a family. I hope we never outgrow it.

The lake

The night

The bunk

The End

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Go Cougars!

Posted on September 27, 2012 by Ice Scream Mama
Go Cougars!


I was going out for my sister-in-law’s 40th birthday in two hours, and was curled in the fetal position on the living-room floor with barely enough energy to lift my head. One minute I was battling dragons with Julius; the next, my eyes were drooping. When Julius’ dragon swooped in for the kill, I fell over onto the carpet. It was one of those exhausted mommy moments, where even trying to stay awake was torture. I needed to sleep. I would cry if I couldn’t.

I closed my eyes. Semi-conscious, random thoughts ran thru my brain. What will I wear tonight…? How much did I eat today…? I must have dozed, (probably because of my boring thoughts) because I was startled awake by someone sitting on me. It was Michael. “I want milk, mommy.”

“Go way.” I mumbled, but he may not have heard me, as my face was mushed into the carpet, slightly dampened with my drool.

“Mommy I want milk,” He repeated and started bobbing up and down.

“Get off.” I complained in an unflattering, whiny voice. Michael just continued rocking back and forth. “Okay. Okay.” I shifted my body, causing Michael to slide off and sat up. Adjusting my eyes, I looked at the clock. 5:48pm. Crap! That woke me. I was supposed to leave in less than half an hour. I picked myself up and went to dress. (Yes, I got Michael milk, don’t worry.)

It took 15 minutes to get myself to the door and the next 15 minutes to actually step outside it. At 7 and 10 years-old, Michael and Tyler, are better about me going out than little Julius. With him, there’s a drawn out routine of mounting anxiety, 20-50 massive hugs and kisses, until he finally puts on his brave face and backs slowly away waving “Bye-Bye.” He looks like a water fountain with someone holding their thumb over the nozzle, one second away from bursting.

Finally, I closed the door on Howard and the boys, and walked to the car swinging my overnight bag. My former fatigue had abated and was replaced with the caffeine-crack called FREEDOM. I was liberated! No making dinner, cleaning up, getting milk, playing dragons, mediating arguments or bed-time duty tonight! I picked up my sister-in-law and friends and drove to the Gansevoort Hotel on Park Avenue, singing the whole way.

We are checked in by a pretty girl with an accent (Scandinavian?) and go to the room to drop our bags. The room is modern art deco, but all the pictures on the walls have a similar theme – sex. A little weird, but the mattress is cushy and plush. I could be happy just staying here and going to bed. Now that turns me on. I am old. I am tired. I am a loser. Now just hand me my book and bowl of ice cream and get out.

I don’t say this of course. We’re here to celebrate. Howard’s baby sister is no longer the teenager with dark lipstick, bad bangs,  oversized clothes – and the messiest room. Now she’s a natural mom, with the most gorgeous hair, genuine style – and the messiest room. Some things don’t change.

After visiting the roof bar and going to dinner, we are finally ready to go out. It’s 10:45pm, my usual bedtime. The night is gorgeous. There’s a huge line to get into the club at our hotel. Pause. Should we even leave the hotel? It seems pretty popular. Why waste time and money to do the same thing we’d do right here? I look to my cohorts. They are already stepping into a cab. Apparently, I think like a suburban mom.  We head downtown.

I remember a time when getting proofed was nerve-wracking because I was using a fake ID, then there were a few years of smug pride after I turned 21 (take that bouncers!). By the time I was 30, I was pleased to be proofed, and that warm, appreciative feeling lasted for years (Yes, I’m over 21. Giggle giggle.)

Tonight, when I handed my license to an oversized, young man who shined an interrogation light in my face, I was a cougar in a bar filled with drunken cubs. He knew it. I knew it. It took a few nasty tasting shots before I was ultimately able to erase my shame. We popped in to a few more places, then hailed a cab back uptown to our hotel. Practical, suburban mom secretly tsks.

The line at our hotel’s club is still out the door, but we are guests and get right in. It is loud, dark and crowded. Everyone is young, drunk and dancing. We get drinks and dance a little too, but I am very aware that my knees ache and the high sandals I am wearing are no longer comfortable. The 25 year-olds around us don’t seem affected by the same casual complaints. I appreciate watching them. They are at once, insecure and over-confident, trying too hard or too little. Who are they? Who will they be? Their world is still a frightening and fascinating open highway.

We dance some more and then there’s the collective nod all around. It’s time to go. It’s almost 2am. Respectable. I give an inner cheer.  I made it and had fun. I look to my sister-in-law and friends. I remember back when we were the ages of the people in these bars; throwing up in the bathroom and making out with the bartender (Uh, them, not me. 😉 ). It is a long time ago and a minute. Very much changed and all the same. Time is a funny thing.

At 40, some might say it’s all down-hill, but I say, the view is better and it’s a lot easier than climbing to the top, especially with these knees.

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Let’s Make a Deal!

Posted on September 23, 2012 by Ice Scream Mama

I rummaged through my sack searching. “A band aid.” I muttered to myself, then looked up at the expectant man reassuringly. “I know I have one in here somewhere.” I continued hunting while the man looked around the park impatiently, his child holding a scraped finger and howling like a dying animal.

“Wait! Wait! Ah… Here’s one.” I pulled out a crumpled snatch of paper that looked like it was covered in crumbs, dirt and possibly poop (It was chocolate, people). The man looked at the unsanitary offering and looked around again helplessly. “Wait!” I shouted. “I found a better one. Dora!” Now I held up a pristine band aid from my wallet.

He took it gratefully. “Thank you. Look honey,” He showed his daughter. “It’s Dora.” The girl snuffled and wiped her nose in her shirt, before happily accepting the offering. Whew. That was close.

The joke is that if there’s ever a crisis, you want to be near me. My bag can be counted on to have everything in it from food, first aid, a knife (cutting apples!), spoons (for the ice cream, duh), possibly spy equipment, army men, playing cards, coupons, rubber balls… Once I pulled out a Ziploc bag with an ear of corn. Often, I don’t even know what I will pull out next.

So I thought it might be entertaining to give you a peek inside my bag of tricks.

Okay, there’s a lot of crap, but really, not as bad as I thought. I don’t see one Ziploc of old cheese melted to the bag, or an open juice box leaking all over my stuff, or even an army of Pokemon preparing for battle. I’m almost feeling like I should add a rubber chicken for effect. Anyway, let’s see what we’ve got…

Four pens and two pencils. Reasonable. Perfect for anxiety chewing, note scribbling and random lice checks.

Candy. And it’s not for the kids. I like candy. But do you see the apple? I’m not all bad.

Random toys, cards, a tennis ball…

Hmm. What’s this. Oh. Ew.

My ice cream accompaniments… cones, spoons, toppings.. because you just know some time you’ll be at an ice cream store and they won’t have cones, spoons or toppings.

What? Doesn’t everyone carry their own container of sprinkles?

Snack break! I just found random almonds on bottom of bag.

Yum, still good.

Ohh enough sanitary napkins to hand out at a middle school gymnastics meet. Just where I was headed. And I’m sure someone there needs an extra pair of socks. Thank goodness I’ve got that covered.

Hmmm… something big is missing here. Wallet. Check. Sunglasses. Check. Hmmm…

My kindle!! Where is it?? The last time I had it was when I took it out for the gym. OMG. I left it there.

I’ve got to call immediately.

This is not my phone.

Okay, this is my phone.

Hold on…. Whew. My kindle is sitting on the same machine at the gym I left it on five hours ago.

Let’s continue. Here’s my extremely organized baggie of receipts and coupons that would save me so much money if I remembered to use them.

Let’s just get rid of some of the expired ones.

What else… band aids (restocked after the park debacle), kid Tylenol, block, bug spray, mom Advil, wipes.

I’ve got everything a reasonable mom needs for an afternoon or an earthquake. I’m prepared. Ready for anything. I didn’t even show you the moisturizer, safety pins, granola bars, water bottle, random change, mini-flashlight, and….

No. I’m kidding about the wine. Okay, I’ve got to go to Pre-K pick-up now. Where are my keys? Did you see my keys? I mean, they’re huge. How could I misplace them? They should be in here????? Man….!

Found em.

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Hineni – “Here I am”

Posted on September 18, 2012 by Ice Scream Mama

I rummage through my closet looking for an appropriate outfit, not an easy thing for a girl who spends her life in gym clothes and sneakers. I try on at least three different ensembles, but ultimately settle on a 15 year-old black dress that I have worn for pretty much everything from bridal showers to funerals. Today, it’s my fall-back temple dress. Thank goodness for Express in the 90’s.

Shalom! School has begun. Fall is almost here. I am Jewish.

Of course I’m Jewish all year round, but in September we celebrate the high holidays – Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. On Rosh Hashanah, we reflect on the past year, and on Yom Kippur our fate is sealed. Simply put, it’s finals week and report cards are coming.

Today, I’m supposed to be at the temple by 10am because I’ve been given an honor to open the ark encasing the Torah. It’s nice to be acknowledged, but I’m really no good at the religion stuff.  I mean, I send my boys to Hebrew School, attend temple on the holidays and of course, wear my “I heart Jews” tee shirt (kidding); but I can’t read Hebrew, never was a Bat Mitzvah, and feel generally uncomfortable with all things religious. I once said “Jesus Christ” as I tripped into temple and practically fell into the Rabbi. Apparently, I am capable of offending multiple religions simultaneously. I also have said “Amen” to the Rabbi after he sneezed, and once in my flirty, uncomfortable-with-authority awkwardness, suggested to him that the reason it was hot in the temple was because of me. Oh yes I did.

I can’t imagine why they would put me up there on display, and I’m conflicted about why I even accepted. I don’t really want to go, but all I can do now is accept my honor, hopefully not fall off the stage, and then slip quietly into background, which is where I really wanted to be in the first place.

I glance at the clock. 9:45am. Crap. Howard and the boys will just have to meet me. It’s a seven minute walk, but I’m in heels so it’s more like 10 minutes. I start with a brisk pace, but slow down when I trip over the sidewalk and slightly twist my ankle. At 9:58am, I limp into the temple sanctuary and check in. “I made it!” I announce and the administrator hands me a card that says my time is 11:15am. What?? My paper said 10am. I show it to the administrator and he shrugs. What kind of racket is this?

I grab a prayer book and sit down in a semi-breathless huff. I notice the book is new and remember that the temple purchased new books a month or so ago, and that in a moment of sentimentality I had even donated $54 for one of the books to be dedicated to my grandmother who had recently passed.

I flip it open absently and there it is; my grandmother’s inscription. Out of 300 random books, I find my grandmother. Or more accurately, my grandmother finds me. I smile and look around like she’s just placed the book on my chair, but of course, it’s our secret.

The temple president is speaking, and I’m instructed to wait for her to finish before ascending the Bimah (platform). Her running theme is “Hineni” which translates to “Here I am.” She’s trying to inspire people get involved, while thanking the people who do. Hineni. I like it.

She finishes and up I go with a handful of other honorees. I open the ark, the Torah is brought forth, and we are instructed to follow the procession around the congregation. What? Me? No. I didn’t sign up for that. Open. Close. Done. But I’m ushered forward and immediately overwhelmed with people shaking my hand and offering Shana Tova.

Like writing LOL, I have never been comfortable saying Shana Tova. It always felt like I was pretending to be something I’m not. Happy New Year I can say, but here I am clasping hands with dozens of people and Shana Tova’ing like a game show host.

We finally end the procession back on the Bimah. The Torah is put away and the arc closed. I look out from the stage and see my boys, front and center watching me. Julius is dancing a little dance, Michael is bright-eyed and Tyler is smiling wide. I smile back and realize his fly is open. Oops, I think. Hineni.

I return to my seat, flushed and happy to be done. Howard and the boys are there and together we finish out the service. I look around at the congregation and see so many friends and familiar faces. My prayer book with my grandmother’s inscription rests on my lap. I feel warm and connected. Hineni. Here I am.

 

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/06/14/daily-prompt-faith/

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Bedtime Story = Nightmare for Mommy

Posted on September 13, 2012 by Ice Scream Mama
Bedtime Story = Nightmare for Mommy

Once upon a time, there was a mommy of three boys, Tyler, Michael and Julius. Every day the mommy happily wrote all sorts of stories on her computer, and every night the same thing happened.

“Mommy! Tell us a story!” The three little boys would plead.

The mommy never knew what to do. She would fake a coughing fit or excuse herself to go potty. She distracted (anyone want chocolate?) and demurred. She pleaded exhaustion or a headache. She simply couldn’t tell anyone the truth. She was a terrible storyteller. “Howard!” She would call to her husband. “The boys want a story.” So Howard would trudge into the room with a contrived, heavy sigh, “Another story?”

Tyler, Michael and Julius would nod feverishly, and Howard would pluck a tale from the trees or out of the sky or from a lifetime ago. A man completely incapable of reading a book or communicating a feeling could somehow spin a yarn with a cast of characters, intriguing and funny, getting themselves into all sorts of mischief. He even managed to end with some kind of moral.

Night after night, his stories entranced the boys, their mouths hanging open, glee in their eyes. The mommy listened, equally impressed. How did he do it? She wondered. It made her all the more insecure.

Generally, by the time Howard was finished, all that was required of her was some back tickling and kisses. Easy stuff she loved. But some nights, not often, but some nights, the children would persist in hearing one of her tales. They pitied her and gave her prompts to work with, “Tell us about when you were little?” Tyler would ask. But the mommy had blocked out most of her childhood and could not recall or imagine any of the funny antics that Howard could. “Tell us about a cat, a lizard and a fly?” Julius suggested.

“A cat, lizard and fly…” She pondered a moment. She had it! “There was an old lady who swallowed a cat.” She looked around at their eager faces. “She swallowed the cat to catch the lizard…” Their faces dropped.

“Mom!” They interrupted her, mid brainstorm. “That’s a nursery rhyme,” Michael scolded. “Not a story.”

Defeated.

“I don’t know boys. I have a headache.”

They shook their heads, not accepting it for a minute.

“I’m tired.”

They were enjoying the game and shook their heads again smiling.

“Who wants a drink?”

“No!”

“A snack?”

“NO!”

“Can I read you a story?”

“NO!” They happily shouted.

Wait! What’s that?” The mommy put a hand to her ear. “It’s the phone. Sorry, boys.”

“The phone isn’t ringing!” Tyler said.

“Come on.” Michael demanded. “Just do it!”

“Okay fine.” She finally conceded. “But it’s going to stink.”

“We don’t care.” Tyler encouraged.

“Okay. Here goes…” But nothing would come. “Uh…”

Eye squinting. Deep thinking. Nothing.

“Mom!” They stared at her. Her brain hurt. The pressure was too much.

“Okay, okay.” She began. There once was a mommy of three boys… uh, let’s call them Myler, Jichael and Zulius.”

At that, the boys giggled and the mommy perked a bit. “And this mommy just couldn’t think of a bed time story.”

“Oh no!” The boys said simultaneously.

“Wait. It’s good. So, she pretended to have a headache. The mommy held her head. Ow. Ow. Owwwwwwww.”

They giggled some more.

“And then she pretended to be so tired. YAWN!”

She fell over on the bed. “Zzzzzzzzz!”

“Mommy” Julius said, “Wake up!”

“Oh sorry. Okay, then she decided they needed snacks so she left to go get them apple slices.” She zoomed from the room. “Huffing and puffing, she put the apples on the bed. Then she decided they needed drinks. She ran down to get water.”

Giggles followed her out.

“Huffing and puffing, balancing three cups of water, she tried to be funny. But she was so tired coming back up that she walked right into the wall. The water spilled all over her. She was now wet. Oh man!”

The boys cracked up.

“So of course she had to run back down to get more water. Out the mommy ran, down the stairs and up with three new cups, but when she got back up the floor was still slippery and she fell, water cups flying in the air. She lay on the floor.”

Hysterical laughter filled the room.

Howard walked past, and offered a hand to help her up. “Show off.” He smirked.

She was soaked and may have broken a hip, but the boys were still laughing.

“Okay boys. Time for bed.”

“You didn’t finish!” They protested.

“Oh sorry.” She said as she tucked them in. “Then the mommy had to be taken to the doctor and the boys had to clean up the floor. They got so tired from working, they fell asleep.”

“That was a good story mommy.”

She smiled and kissed their happy, sleepy faces. “Good night, babies. I love you.”

The End.

Done.

Done.

 

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A Three Hour Tour…

Posted on August 30, 2012 by Ice Scream Mama
A Three Hour Tour…

“We’ll be there in about an hour.” Howard says over the phone to the Kittatinny registration woman. “Yeah, the three-hour tour. The three-hour tour.” Howard sings it the second time to the tune of, what else? Gilligan’s Island. Amazingly, she had never heard that before. Why is everyone getting so damn young?

Howard hangs up and addresses his troops.

“We’re going rafting!”

Howls and cries of pain answer him. Both Michael and Julius vie for loudest dissident, only Tyler is on board. “I guess I shouldn’t have told them all those “scary” river rafting stories this week.” Howard quietly confesses.

I’m appalled. “You did not!”

Howard shrugged. “They wanted scary camp-fire stories so I thought since we were going rafting this weekend, I’d make it…”

“…Frightening?!” Ugh.

“It wasn’t so bad. I had some people falling out of the boat. Maybe one of the boats got away with just the kids, losing them down river…”

“Good going dad.” I am shaking my head so fast I look like I’m shivering. “Well this is going to be fun.”

“You hear that boys!” Howard yells loudly and winks at me, “Mommy just said, this is going to be fun!”

I shiver some more.

Somehow I manage to get them dressed, fed and into the car. I sucker my mom into coming. It wasn’t hard, she’d do almost anything to hang out with the boys. It’s mostly for my entertainment though. My mom’s a screamer, and I was pretty sure I’d need some humor stranded on a raft for hours with crying children.

We drive the half hour or so, cross over into Pennsylvania and arrive at Kittatinny Tours, where a very serious safety rep informs a busload of us antsy adventurers the rules. “We are heading six miles up the river. You will be given life vests and a raft/canoe/kayak. Wear your life vests. Always. Normally the six miles takes around three hours but because the water levels are low today, it could be more like four. When you go under the black bridge you’re almost done. Wear your life vests. Have a great trip.”

The bus peels out of the parking lot. We’re on an amusement park ride called Crazy Bus Driver. We speed the 15 minute drive with a mountain on one side and the river looming below. The road is a never-ending series of S’s which she takes like an Indy 500 hopeful. There may be life vests for the water, but there are no seat belts on the bus. So apparently it’s okay to die on the road.

We make it alive, and are rewarded with a raft and vests. After a series of false starts, we are off. Julius, usually so tough, was very afraid, mostly of the rocks; especially after the first few times Howard and I rammed directly into one, got stranded and had to propel ourselves off with our oars. He kept crying and saying over and over with obvious distress, “You don’t know what you’re doing!”

“My story may have had rocks tipping the boat,” Howard whispered. I grit my teeth. It just keeps getting better.

My mom is cowering in the back of the raft. When she came aboard in her cute gold sandals, jeans and perfectly applied lipstick, she didn’t realize what she had signed up for. “Maybe you could drop Julius and I…?”

“On the side of the river, mom?” Her face fell. She was crying on the inside.

Hours and hours of peace and crying children

For the next few hours, we float and row. Row and float. The rapids are not really rapid, but it is a long trip and each child does his part to add to the crying. Occasionally my mom screams. We pass time trying to assess how long we have to go. We know we’re in trouble when Tyler breaks down. He had been the lone supporter on the escapade and watching him crumble was unnerving. “I just want it over already!” He bawled. “It’s forever!” We all agree and blankly set our sights ahead on the same tired, gorgeous scenery.

Then out of nowhere, Michael bursts with excitement and we all turn. “It’s the bridge!” We all cheer. With renewed energy, we plunge the oars into the water. Almost there! After four hours, I can no longer feel my arm, but I row, row, row my boat, to get myself off this river!

Okay, this isn’t the real black bridge but my mom couldn’t find my camera in the bag under all the soaked towels and then thanks to my massive arm strength, we passed it.

And then, cheers again from our boat. We see the parking lot. We have survived! We steer our raft to the gravelly shore. Rubber kisses rocks and we have docked. Howard takes one last poll before we depart. “Come on everyone, who had a good time?” Julius tentatively raises his hand and the other boys slowly follow. “Really, Julius? Would you want to go with daddy again?”

Julius quickly shakes his head. “No way! But at least no one fell in!

“Yeah, no way daddy!” Michael and Tyler concur.

“Let’s plan another adventure!” Howard suggests.

“No way!” We all chant, but I sense something brewing in the back of that man’s head. I really wish I could lift my arm to hit him with an oar.

 

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/06/30/daily-prompt-nature/

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They Say “Nay” to the Pony

Posted on August 20, 2012 by Ice Scream Mama
They Say “Nay” to the Pony

Unofficial scientific research alert – boys don’t like pony tails.

At least mine don’t. And I’ve got three of the younger set, uninhibited by societal constraints. Unlike my trained husband who might just shrug and say, “It’s fine” to avoid confrontation, the boys tell it as they see it – the truth, in all its naked, cellulite reality.

Like when Michael was five and met an older neighbor walking in the street.

“Wow, you’re 90!” He exclaimed and the lady’s face lit up.

“You’re almost dead!” He continued and she seemed to die right there.

Or, like last night while snuggling with little Julius at bedtime, he’s happily squeezing my stomach, plumping it into a nice pillow. “Mommy,” he says adoringly, “your belly is so squishy like your boobies. I just love them.”

Thank you Julius.

For creatures who don’t notice the clothes I place before them, or that I’ve been asking them to do the same thing for five minutes, they seem to see things others don’t.

“Mommy, why does your stomach fall down like that?”

“I can’t go in the kitchen, what you’re cooking stinks soooooo bad!”

“What’s that big red bump on your face?”

And my ponytail? Michael, my most articulate child, says it best, “Mommy, you don’t look as pretty like that.” Well, thanks for sugar coating it, honey.

I’ve supported the pony look back in many incarnations; the banana clip, the scunci and scrunchies, the hair clips and clappers -anything to pull back my hair. I have even resorted to using those ridiculous ‘silly bands’ when desperate. (At least they’re good for something.)

I think of it as the hairstyle for the aesthetically lazy and/or overwhelmed, both me. I mean who knows what would happen if I just let my hair run wild at the supermarket? I might just pick up regular milk instead of low fat, organic or fricken Oreos instead of Annie’s Bunny Crackers.

Although the boys don’t like the style, I still wear it daily. Generally no one notices, but that’s only because I’ve realized that no one really notices me at all, but when they do, they don’t like it. 100% of the time.

Yesterday, Julius put a necklace he made at camp around my neck, then stepped back to survey his work. His expression read like an unsatisfied artist scrutinizing a canvass. “Take your hair out,” he ordered and I complied. He mussed with it a bit, and then smiled before finally nodding in approval. “Much Better.”

Whenever Tyler looks up from his haze enough to notice that I’m wearing one, he’ll wrinkle his nose and point. “I don’t like those.” When I go in to snuggle before bed, he’s apt to pull the band from my hair. “Better.” He’ll sigh.

I don’t know why, but I decided to stand in front of the mirror and I really study the look. I mean three boys were out and out saying they didn’t like it, I should it take under consideration.

Look A with hair down – I’m young and carefree, pretty and relaxed. I smile.

Look B with hair back – I’m busy. I’ve got things to do. Hurry up, I’m saying. This is serious. Chop chop! I’m a librarian, a school teacher, an ugly mom. Ew!

I flung the band from my head. They’re right. How could I not have seen this before? I blew the curls away from my eyes. Probably, I just didn’t care. And there again was the truth, I realized, and I tied back my mop, because ugly or not, I ain’t putting this pony out to pasture.

Fabulous

Hmm…

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Mornin’ Sunshine

Posted on August 17, 2012 by Ice Scream Mama
Mornin’ Sunshine

It’s the first thing I want to see every morning. I’m drawn to it like Jen to Brad, like Brad to Angie, like Angie to voodoo. Usually I could find it in the dark, with my eyes half-closed and make it work its magic, but not this morning. This morning, the worst thing has happened, my Keurig is on the fritz.

My Keurig coffee maker has been my morning happiness for over five years now. I see it and Om, which is the exact opposite of my state at present. I’m desperately opening the front hatch and closing it, ineffectually pulling out the plug and restarting, but so far, my dealer won’t deal. I shake it. Where’s my cup full of happiness, damn you!!!

Wild-eyed, I’m staring at the little coffee pods, trying to figure if I can open one, dump out the grinds and just add hot water.  It could work, I reason.  I’m in the process of ripping off the top of one with my teeth, when Tyler catches me.

“Whatcha doing mommy?” Tyler asks, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

Maybe he’ll just think mommy’s madness is a bad dream. “Nothing.” I say in a high pitched voice. I sound wired, when I am anything but. “I just can’t get this dang thing to work.” I fake a weird laugh. Now I’m Snow White meets Marilyn Manson.

“Oh.” He is unaffected. “Can I have breakfast?”

“Sure.” I distractedly put a bowl, a carton of milk and a box of cereal on the table in front of him and turn my aggravation back toward the machine.

Two minutes later, I’m still futzing, repeating the same obsessive tactics to no avail when I again hear, “Can I have breakfast?”

I turn. “Tyler. It’s right in front of you.”

He doesn’t even look at it. “But you usually pour it for me and everything.”

I do? Hmmm. Suddenly even with the fuzzy, caffeine-withdrawn head, I’m having a moment of clarity. “Uh baby, you’re 10. I think you can pour your own cereal.”

“But you do it better.” He almost whines but manages a cute, sleepy smile again.

Two other boys bound in. “Hi mommy!” They chime. “Mommy I want pancakes! And bring them in the TV room. With milk.” Michael orders. “Me too.” Julius mimics. “And I want cereal too. All kinds, mixed together.”

They bound out. I look around confused. Did they just place their order as if I am their waitress? I look to Tyler for validation. He looks at me with an equally dumbfounded expression, then says, “Uh mommy. I’m waiting. And you forgot the spoon.”

Wow. I’m still reeling from the breakfast orders when Howard strides in, talking full steam ahead. “You’ve got to pick up the dry cleaning today. And do you know where Tyler’s chest guard is? If it’s in the dirty laundry you need to have it clean by tonight. I might need you to pick me up at the train and bring a sandwich or something. And remember the bags and water and stuff.”

I nod absently as he rushes out, places a quick kiss on my cheek. “See you later.” He pops his head back in. “We also need crickets for Smiles.” Then he’s gone.

I’m processing my second set of orders when there’s a yell from the other room.  “Mommy!  Where are my pancakes!”

“And cereal!” a little voice adds.

Tyler is still looking at me expectantly. I ignore him. I’m having a moment. I might explode. All it will take is one more…, “Mommy,” Tyler interrupts. “Did you charge my iTouch last night?”

That was it. He has no idea what he’s in for. I’m about to tell him that that if he can’t pour his own cereal, he certainly can’t have an iTouch that he can’t even be responsible to charge! He needs to start doing things for himself. I can’t believe I let this go on so long. What was I thinking?!

“Tyler,” I open my mouth to speak and simultaneously hear the sound of liquid dripping into a cup. I quickly cock my head like a soap opera character listening to her contemplative inside voice. Something is calling me. I cannot resist. I move in and smell the warm, rich aroma filling my cup. Breathe. Breathe. I watch it gurgle to its finish, add a splash of milk and sip. Mmmmm. Om. Happiness. I lean up against the counter, hearing nothing, seeing nothing, just enjoying my moment. I am right next to the silverware draw. Unconsciously, I pull it open and take out a spoon for Tyler. It’s all good.

Mornin’ Sunshine.

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Life’s a beach… And then you die!

Posted on August 8, 2012 by Ice Scream Mama

I don’t want to go! That’s what my head is screaming as we drive with a car load of crap and crying kids to have a fun, happy day at the beach. First off, for me, the beach is not a relaxing place. It’s the place where Jaws murdered all those people. The place where unknown creatures lurk under ominous rising waves of foamy death. It’s where slimy, green things stick to your feet and make you jump in disgust and fear before shaking them off with aversion.  It’s where a million grains of sand scratch between your toes, up your nose and in your nooks and crannies. And with kids?? OMG. Forget drowning, I’m going to die of a heart attack. Turn for just one second and there are a thousand little boys who look like mine. I’m twitching in panic just thinking about it. A million people on one end, the angry sea on the other, glaring sun overhead. Really, this is fun??

Do I seem abnormally anxious about the beach? It’s possible, but I have it on good authority that I drowned in a former life, so I’m totally within reason here. Also, I was taken to see Jaws at the very impressionable age of five. I’m sure I was ready for it though. I only spent the next three years throwing books across my green carpeted floor, which I imaged to be shark-filled waters, so that I could safely step from bed to door. I’m sure everyone did that. And who, at one time or another, hasn’t had a fear of sitting on the potty because they think a shark might come up and bite them in the ass, right? Totally normal.

Da Dum Da Dum Da Dum

I love when people say, “But you’d cruise, right?” Uh no! Why would I surround myself with the object of my fear? Eating every day for 12 is appealing, but you can’t have everything. Hasn’t anyone heard of the Titanic or read the newspaper? Big ships, little ships, boats, ferries, they all sink, people. And then guess where you are?!

So that’s my mindset for family fun day at the beach. I look at the vast, dark waters and the endless sand filled with people and tell myself, “It’s going to be okay” And it is – for them at least. Howard, the boys, my sister and brothers-in-law and the cousins are laughing, playing and, yeah, frolicking. Obviously I’m the only one keenly aware of the lurking dangers, and I alone will shoulder the anxiety, a solid stick-in-the-sand in a swim dress.

Speaking of swim dresses, that’s another reason I have to stay off the beach. Less important maybe, but it doesn’t help matters. Could you really blame me? It’s right here in black and floral.

Way hot sister-in-law
Uh, yeah.

Come on beach, one way or another, you’re just killing me.

 

 

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