Tag Archives: parenting

Why I let my son take a ‘day off’ each week.

Posted on March 26, 2013 by Ice Scream Mama

“Is it Thursday yet, mommy?” My five year-old asked, looking fetchingly into my eyes.

“Uh no, honey. It’s Monday. You know that.”

“Can I take a day off of school today?” More wide-eyed hopefulness.

“Sweetie, we’ve just come off the weekend. You take your day off on Thursday.”

“How long till Thursday?”

I sighed. “You know the days of the week. You figure it out.”

It was time for the bait and switch. “Hey, let’s go check out that new cereal you picked out in the supermarket the other day.”

“Yeah!” He exclaimed. “I wanna mix the Trix and the Mini-Wheats and the Honey Nut Cheerios!” His curls bounced as he skipped toward the kitchen. Mission accomplished.

It’s the same every week. In fact, almost every day. Julius enjoys pre-school, but obviously, he’d rather be home, which is why I let him have a day off each week. It doesn’t bother me. After this year, he’s in Kindergarten and there are no more weekly ‘days off’. I like hanging out with him, and Pre-school, while important, is not as important as hanging out together.

At least to me.

“What? Another day off?” His teacher says almost every Friday when we go back to school. She smiles at Julius, but looks at me like I’ve just fed him bugs. “I should give you a spanking,” She jokes.

Yeah. Not funny.

My mother and husband also take a page from her book.

Husband – “You are such a sucker.”

Mother – “I don’t think it’s a good idea. You’re not setting a good example for what his responsibilities are regarding school.”

Even some of the other school moms raise a brow.

To all of them I say a big wet, “PPPPPFFFTTTTHHH!”

Am I missing something? For the life of me, I can’t figure out what the problem is. I let my nursery kid take a day off to spend with his mommy each week, and everyone has something to say about that. Since when is quality time with your child open to negative scrutiny. Pre-school is just that. Pre School. They are not learning academics; they focus on socialization and structure. It’s preparation. It’s laying the foundation. It’s not a mandatory. It’s just become the popular norm.

My son knows what ‘clean up’ time is. He knows how to build blocks with another child without throwing them. He can sit in a circle and participate. He knows his ABC’s, 123’s and all that. He’s got Pre-K down.

This is the last hoorah for me and my baby, while he’s still – okay not really, but let me pretend for this last year – a baby. There’s plenty of time for classrooms, and not enough time for ice cream and playing with Mommy.

So on Thursday, when he looks at me with his big brown eyes and asks, “Mommy is today my day off?”

I’ll nod yes, happily. Because I love our days off just as much as he does.

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Posted in Every Day Scoops and tagged days off, no school, parenting, quality time, special days, truancy. Bookmark the permalink.

Congratulations! You have a girl! Nah, just kidding.

Posted on March 22, 2013 by Ice Scream Mama

His tie was the kind you find on crazy people. Or comedians. Turns out he was both. Except he was also one of the OB/GYN’s in my practice. We were supposed to rotate through all the doctors, since technically, you never knew who would be on call when you went into labor. Somehow, I didn’t get around to meeting Dr. Biden until I was 7 months pregnant.

“Hey there.” He said, sliding his stool in between my open legs. “How’s my girl doing?”

My husband and I exchanged a glance. We had never met this doctor, and he was looking at my vagina. He couldn’t be talking to my vagina, could he? That might qualify as inappropriate.

Wait. Maybe he meant the baby? But we had decided not to find out the sex. We were big into the surprise, no matter how much it irked my grandmother.

“Excuse me,” I interrupted. “Are we having a girl? We don’t know the sex.”

He dramatically rolled his stool away from my open legs and snapped off his rubber gloves. I closed up shop, and sat up, looking at him expectantly.

“Oh, I don’t know.” He shrugged, “But that’s all I deliver.”

What was he saying? My husband and I looked at him apprehensively.

“Yep. I got two girls at home, and that’s all I deliver.”

Was I in the psych ward? I couldn’t stop staring at his Sylvester and Tweetie tie. Someone was definitely a bit Looney Tunes.

“Okay,” I braved cautiously and slowly. “So… what if I have a boy?”

“He does it.” He pointed to my husband.

“Me?” Howard asked, appalled. You couldn’t take Howard’s pulse, without him getting woozy.

“Yup, you.” He stood up to leave. “Got any other kids?”

“One. A boy.” I answered automatically, still confused and distressed by this entire encounter.

“What’s her name?” He asked, with half his body out the door.

“It’s a boy.” I repeated. “His name is Tyler.”

“Well, she’s going to be a big sister soon!” Wide crazy grin, and he’s out.

“What the hell was that?” I asked my husband.

“That was crazy.” Howard concurred.

“Do you think he was just covering up for accidentally telling us the sex of the baby?”

“Definitely possible.”

“I really hope he’s not on call when I deliver.”

“Copy that.”

March 22, 10:30am.

I got to the hospital already 7cm dilated. Howard ran thru 3 red lights to get us there, which is so impressive for my by the book attorney husband. If I wasn’t about to have a baby, I might just be turned on.

Through major contractions, I struggled to answer the questions required from a nurse who was as impassive as I was aflame. While I grit my teeth and writhed in pain, she apathetically repeated her unanswered question. “Allergies?”

Before I could scream my answer, a new question from a new voice interrupted.

“How’s my girl?” I heard, taking my pain to a whole new level.

My doctor had arrived.

“If you think you’re in pain,” He joked. “Try being shot three times.”

WTF? My face must have been quite the contortion of agony and horrified bewilderment.

“Oh yeah,” he continued, moving to lift his shirt, “want to see my scars?”

“No!” me, my husband and several of the nurses shouted simultaneously.

“Ignore him.” One of the nurses said to us, “He’s always messing around.”

“How bout you and I mess around?” Dr. Biden said suggestively and I think my amazement actually momentarily overrode my contraction.

It went like that for bit, one inappropriate comment after another. We were assured multiple times by the nurses that he was in fact a real doctor. And a good one. When the time came, my baby was out in three pushes.

On the last, I saw the doctor pull back from my body and motion to my husband. “Come here, now.”

My husband, already woozy from just being in the vicinity of a bleeding person, looked as if he were going to pass out. He shook his head.

“Come on, someone has to.” Dr. Biden pulled away from my body further, and there was a beat of panic in the room.

Shakily, Howard moved in, seemingly at the last moment, and brought our baby out into this world. With the help of a nurse, he placed our newborn on my stomach.

“Congratulations! You have a girl!” Dr. Biden announced.

“We have a girl.” I thought, full of emotion and joy.

“Uh, no we don’t.” My husband’s voice interrupted my baby is out of my vagina euphoria. I snapped back to crazy, hormonal new mom.

“What the hell do I have!!!???”

“I’m looking at penis here.” Howard said and we both looked at the doctor wearing his best ‘who me’ face.

“What? I told you, I only deliver girls.”

Happy birthday, my feisty, green-eyed boy with the mischievous smile and fetching charm. You could put the sun out of business, the way you light up a room and warm my heart. You have been the happiest surprise right from the start.

*When I went back to the office at 6 weeks, I heard Dr. Biden was out on medical leave. I’m betting on psychiatric.

Can you stand that gorgeous face?!

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Posted in Every Day Scoops and tagged bad medicine, birth, birthday, doctor, humor, labor, love, parenting. Bookmark the permalink.

Like the fingers on my hand, each one is different

Posted on March 13, 2013 by Ice Scream Mama

“Mommy, look, my hand is almost as big as yours!” Julius exclaimed, placing his little hand against mine.

I studied the smooth, five year-0ld fingers, stretching themselves out, trying desperately to seem bigger. I folded my fingers over, covering his. “You are so big!” I say, looking into his earnest, brown eyes. “How did that happen?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugs, and breaks free from my hold to bounce up and down. A jumble of dark curls bounce with him. “I just growed.”

“You certainly did.” I want to cry, but it’s breakfast time, not crying time. I place a bowl of mixed cereals by his place at the table, but he is still bouncing around me. I actually think the only time he stops moving is when he’s sleeping.

My seven year-old enters. Fair skinned, fair-haired and light-eyed, Michael’s expression is the only dark thing about him. He does not greet the day with a smile. “Hey, baby.” I tip-toe around his moods, but it’s hard with Julius hopping like a bunny at my feet. “Want pancakes?”

“I don’t want anything.” He scowls at me, but his eyes are so green and his face is so delicate and small, that I have a hard time not just grabbing that face and kissing him, which he would hate. “Okay, let me know when you change your mind.” I sing like Snow White, which is annoying to me, so I’m not surprised when his response is a growl.

I check the clock. Crap. My 10 year-old still isn’t down. I woke him twice already. Or, at least I thought I woke him. I race the stairs.

“Tyler. Come on, baby! Get up.” He is such a good, deep sleeper that I always just want to leave him be. Of course I don’t, but looking at his relaxed, boyish face snuggled under covers, reminds me of the baby he is, I mean, was. I hug him awake, and he responds with a sleepy grin.

“Mornin’, sunshine.” He really is sunshine. His eyes are gold. His hair is gold. He has always been a golden boy. I try to extract myself gently, but he pouts for more hugging. Finally, against my inner needy mommy, I push him off. “Let’s get moving.” I toss his clothes on top of him. “Don’t forget your socks.” I call as I head back down to the kitchen.

I am greeted by Michael demanding pancakes and Julius circling me like a puppy begging me to play Legos. Tyler slumps in, still sleepy, reaching for another hug. I give him one, along with a granola bar.

I marvel at each of my sweet babies at the table and my late grandma’s words echo in my ears, “Like the fingers on your hand, each of them different, special, yet part of the same.” These are my children. Whoever they are. Whoever they grow to be. And I will hold their hands until I have to let go.

Different in every way, except in how much I love them.

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Posted in Boys!, Grandma and tagged a mother's love, birth order, children, grandmothers, growing up, inherited traits, parenting, siblings, we are who we are. Bookmark the permalink.

TKD puts my parenting to the test

Posted on March 12, 2013 by Ice Scream Mama

My seven year-old son, Michael, started doing Tae Kwon Do when he was three. I loved that hour watching him in his crisp, white uniform through the foggy glass partition. He did his stance and said, “Yes sir!” He tried to mirror jumping jacks, not quite coordinated enough to get his arms and legs moving together. He learned his five basics. He was a tiny figure of strength and determination. I couldn’t get enough.

Almost three years later, Michael’s uniform may not have been as crisp, but his love with TKD was still fresh. It gave him confidence and a sense of pride. I wasn’t as in love with the overly disciplined environment, but I couldn’t argue the results. Plus, any small bump we hit, Michael high jumped right over. Now, he was getting ready to test for his purple belt, pretty impressive for just six years-old.

Before the test…

The TKD tests are like a military recital in a sweaty, tense room stuffed with family, instructors and kids, for well over an hour. The Master sits at a platform, scrutinizing and shouting orders. He could be tough on the kids. In the right (or wrong) mood, he pushed the kids and even taunted them. An imposing figure and an 8^th degree black belt, he didn’t have to try too hard to make them nervous. He certainly made me nervous.

It was only Michael and two other six year-olds testing that day for Purple. The three had gone up through the ranks together. Small but mighty. I sat on the sidelines, biting my nails while watching him at the center of the mat, being ordered to display his mastery over his moves. Unlike me, Michael was confident and poised. He and his friends breezed through their requirements. I breathed. It was a mistake.

“20 push-ups!” The Master yelled, and the boys dropped to the floor and did their best imitation of a push-up, while shouting out the count. They struggled, but with effort made it to 20.

They waited in push-up position to be released. Instead, the Master ordered, “10 more push-ups!” Shaking slightly, the boys did 10 more, their push-ups more like just-ups. They could barely even go down.

The Master shouted again, “You want more push-ups?”

Together they screamed, “No sir!”

“10 more push-ups!”

Their little bodies struggled once more. It was turning into a sorry display. People were beginning to look away. I wish I could look away, but my welled-up eyes were glued to the center of the mat and my son’s intent, determined face.

“You want more push-ups?” The Master tested again after they finished.

The instructors circled, mouthing something to the boys.

“No, Sir!” Their tiny voices squeaked. One of the boys was visibly crying.

“10 more!” The Master yelled again and down their blonde heads and tiny bodies went, no longer shouting, almost sobbing till they pitifully reached 10.

I was torn, completely torn. I wanted to stand up and scream, “Stop this! Who the hell do you people think you are?” But I sat there, with all the other parents, tears streaming down my face, my 6 year-old holding it together better. I just couldn’t believe what I was witnessing along with about 50 other people. Was this okay? This didn’t seem okay at all. It seemed like abuse. Why were we all just watching?! Why wasn’t I stopping this ridiculousness?!

It pains me to admit, but it took another round, with all the instructors and me shouting the correct answer at them, before the boys actually understood that they needed to say “Yes, sir!” for the Master to stop punishing them.

Finally, it was over. I was horrified, disgusted and ashamed. I had failed my child.

What could I do to make it up to him? I walked to him sheepishly, my arms wide open, where my mouth had stayed firmly shut. After a hug, I told Michael he could quit if he wanted to.

He shrugged it off and me as well. “It’s okay, mom.” Then, he beamed radiantly and proudly lifted his hard earned prize. “Look at my new belt!”

I smiled through my tears. “You did amazing. I’m so proud of you.” And I was. I just wanted to kill the Master. Instead, I ushered my kid out and took us all for ice cream.

Michael passed his test that day, but I still wonder if, as a mother, I passed mine.

This year, getting his brown belt. He and the Master still friends. I still want to kick his ass.

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Posted in Every Day Scoops and tagged Bad parenting, Letting children struggle, parenting, setting goals for children, Tae Kwon Do, testing children, TKD. Bookmark the permalink.

Play dates or Pre dates…?

Posted on March 5, 2013 by Ice Scream Mama

“Mommy, we’re going to play in here. You stay out!” orders Julius, my five-year old with my four year-old niece Layla, standing behind him like muscle in a pink tutu.

They are in my seven year-old son’s bedroom looking extremely cute and extremely suspicious.

“Hey, not so fast Bubs. What’s going on?”

“Nothing, Stinky Pants.” My niece pipes up with the softest, sweetest voice. Think Snow White on helium.

“We’re just playing puppies, Mommy. Now go way!”

He almost pushes me out the door and then those extremely cute little rats move to shut the door in my face. Well, that’s not going to happen. I place a firm hand, stopping it. “Puppies, the door stays open. No shutting the door. Okay?”

“Okay!” They are just a few years short of rolling their eyes, but their “okay” is dripping in barely concealed superiority and irritation.

I give them a warning look, but it holds no bite, they are just so damn cute.

I leave them to play and walk into my bedroom to fold laundry. Giggling and hushed voices are my music. I fold a few shirts but their giggling is so giggly, I can’t concentrate. I sneak over and peer into the other room.

They are rolling around, like puppies, I guess. Or maybe like dogs in heat? I don’t know. They are innocent babies but still, it doesn’t look good. Yeah, we need to break this party up.

“Knock knock, little puppies!” I call out and walk into the room. “What’s going on here?”

Julius comes over, looking a little sheepish, but I’m not sure if it’s because I’m ruining the game or because I’m ruining his game, if you know what I mean. “We’re just playing puppies.” There’s a sheesh that doesn’t verbally come out, but I hear it.

“Okay, but no more rolling over each other. I don’t want any puppies to get hurt.”

“Okay.” They nod, their curls bobbing up and down in unison.

I head back to fold the laundry, but I’ve got my ear on the other room. There’s some pounding and running round. There’s a bunch of laughing and then nothing. Quiet. Too quiet. I realize I’ve paired three pairs of socks and I haven’t heard a peep from them. Time for a check in. I pad my way over.

Oh no.

Layla is laying on the carpet immobile, her shirt is somewhat lifted and Julius has his hand on her belly.

“Puppies!” I call out a little too loudly. “What is going on here?”

Julius is quick to explain, “She got hurt and needed to go to the puppy doctor.”

Of course. I mean come on, they’re in nursery, but still, I was beginning to feel a little uncomfortable. We’re a close family, but we’re not into kissing cousins.

The cutest couple …of cousins!

“Listen pups, how bout we head downstairs and I get you guys a snack. You must be very hungry puppies. Maybe I’ll make s’mores?”

That did it. Both puppies were up, wagging their tails and bouncing over. Once again, sugar saves the day.

Later, Layla is back home and my older pups come bounding in from the bus.

“Mom!” Michael, my second grader yells, dropping his backpack and heading straight for the phone, “I made a play date with Sarah and Gillian.”

“Both of them?” I ask, although I shouldn’t be surprised. Michael loves the ladies.

“Yep, they’re coming over.”

And they do. Two adorable, sweet and shy seven year-old girls.

Immediately, the three of them pound up the stairs to his room. Boom boom boom. Slam.

Sigh. Here we go again. With three boys, I’m sensing big trouble in the future.

I walk the steps slowly, preparing for my second intervention of the day. There’s that cute giggling again. And it looks like the lights are out in his room.

Big. Trouble.

“Who wants s’mores?” I call out and open the door.

Well, at least they’re not related.

Michael and one of his best gals. Trouble. Big.

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Posted in Every Day Scoops and tagged boy and girl playdates, boys playing with girls, first dates, inappropriate behavior in children, kissing cousins, parenting, play dates, Yeah write. Bookmark the permalink.

From one mother to another

Posted on February 26, 2013 by Ice Scream Mama

“So tell me something you remember about me from your childhood.” My mom asked casually. “Anything.”

Oh no. I smelled a trap. This was definite trouble. I struggled to come up with something. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but my memories of childhood are basically a dead zone. I don’t remember spending much time with her at all, and my father was a mix of random play and me stepping over his drunk body. I do remember them fighting. Hmm. I don’t think that’s what she’s looking for.

“I knew it.” She concluded from my hesitation. “I was a terrible mom.”

Crap.

Okay, so I probably could have had a better childhood, but at this point, who remembers? Oh man, the pressure. Think! Think!

“Tell me something you remember.” I countered, stalling for time.

That stopped her. “Oh, okay.” Pause. Then, a giggle. “I can’t remember anything.”

Disbelief. “You can’t remember anything from my childhood?”

More giggling. “Where was I?” she asks. Like I should know?

I don’t know if it’s funny, but we are both amused. “That’s a good question, mom.”

“You were so precocious. You just raised your cute little self.”

“Apparently.” Well, it was the 70’s.

We giggled some more about it and then moved on to lighter subjects, like how full she was from her over-sized dish of vegetables or how cute my boys are.

It’s good that we can laugh about the past and move on. Our relationship has evolved so much since the times I don’t remember, or my brain chooses to forget. I’ve grown and she’s grown as well. Emotionally, at least. There was a time when she wouldn’t even think to ask such a question. Not because she didn’t care, but whether it was her youth, immaturity or overwhelming circumstance, she just didn’t think of it.

I still remember a couple of years ago when I was telling her about a friend of my son’s whose parents were divorcing, which coincidentally was around the age my parents divorced. She said, “Wow, that must have been really hard for you.” I was shocked. It was the first time she had directly acknowledged my feelings about that time. Okay, so it was almost 30 years later, but still, I was touched by her, albeit belated, concern.

Physically, she’s gorgeous, strong and energetic, but tiny, topping out at about 5’1, and I’m giving her that inch because I love her and I know she’s just arched her back and is standing up a little straighter reading this. I can hear her bemoaning her stature all the way from her house. “Oh, why am so short?” 65 years and she hasn’t come to grips with her height. She is eternally cute.

It has taken years to come to this point, but our relationship steadily improved around the time I got married and markedly improved after my first child was born. I honestly didn’t expect all that much given our history, but she completely surprised me. Devoted, loving, generous. She dotes on each of my boys. They are such a joy to her and she is so attentive and wonderful, that I can’t imagine that she wasn’t always this way.

Later, my phone rang again.

I answer, “Hi mom.”

“Hi, I was just wondering if you thought of anything.”

“Uh no, mom. I haven’t been thinking about it.”

“Of course. Me neither…” She switches to her favorite subjects. “Hey, did I tell you how good the boys were the other night? And Julius did the funniest thing…”

I don’t know what happened back then. I can’t remember what I did five minutes ago. What I do know is that today, right now, she is the absolute best mom possible. I wouldn’t change a bit of her.

She, of course, has a list of things she’d change. But that’s another story.

A grand mother is born

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Posted in Grandma, Mom and tagged childhood, grandma, memories, memory, mothers, mothers and daughters, parenting. Bookmark the permalink.

Girl of the House

Posted on February 19, 2013 by Ice Scream Mama

I’m tucking my three boys into bed. They are all naked, except for their underwear. It’s how they sleep. It’s how their father sleeps. The cool temperature of the house doesn’t seem to affect them at all. Not that it’s freezing or anything, but we sleep with the thermostat set at 67 or 68 degrees. I am in sweats, a sweatshirt and fuzzy socks. They are baby bear cubs (minus the fur) rolling all over their beds as I try to shove them into the warm cave of blankets. We do not seem of the same species.

I often feel that way, being the only girl in my house. I’m constantly the odd, uh, man out. I want the house warmer, they want it colder. I want to bake cupcakes; they just want to eat them. I want to read them stories, they want to build a house out of the books. Sigh.

The differences don’t end there. In fact, they’re just beginning, leading me to believe that in fact, we may very well live together but exist in different worlds. Case in point…

I’m the only one at the dinner table eating greens. They just look green if I make them eat any.

I am the only one who sees things. I actually did an experiment here. Not one of my boys or husband noticed the Monopoly game dead center on the floor of our hall for days. They walked past it, stepped on it and even tripped over it, actually kicking it across the floor, but no one ever thought to move it.

I am also the only one who can find things. It’s a string of, “Honey, where are the keys? Mom, where is my basketball shirt? Where is my lego guy? I can’t find the mayonnaise. Did you see my hat?” I mean come on people, “Table, drawer, under bed, fridge, on floor by shoes.” Duh.

I am the only one who can just roll up my sleeve and take a shot or give blood. They wrestle and beat each other to the ground, no problem. They can come home with scratches on their face, but no memory of how it actually got there. A tiny prick in the arm? Babbling, snot bubbling tears. Really?

I am the only one who can tell time. No husband, 9:30pm at night is not when we start a game. No son, 10pm is not when we remember we forgot homework. Nor is when we decide to be hungry. And kids, whether you are finished with what you’re doing or not in the morning, the bus for school does not care. 8:25am. Get your butts out there. No, you cannot have just one more minute. Just look at the clock.

There are also simple differences. They all favor vanilla. I am chocolate through and through. They love the ocean. I am land locked. They are all good at Math. I don’t even trust myself with a calculator. They beat each other up. I just beat myself up.

Is it gender inherited? Is it learned behavior? I tend to believe that they are who they are, just as I am who I am. Trust me, I tried to turn them to the dark side, of chocolate of course, but they couldn’t be swayed. I try to open their eyes, but they just can’t seem to see the same things I see, and not in the same way I see them.

It may just be that boys will be boys, and girls will be girls. Totally different, yet, most of the time, living together in harmony. So, while I may be destined to be the only person in my house who can find anything, at least I know that no one is going to be stealing my ice cream.

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Posted in Every Day Scoops, Uncategorized and tagged boys will be boys, gender differences, girls vs boys, humor, Ice Scream Mama, men vs. women, only female in the house, parenting, woman of the house. Bookmark the permalink.

My children are never going sledding again

Posted on February 14, 2013 by Ice Scream Mama

We had the winter’s first snow this past weekend, and there was new puppy excitement all over my house. There would be snowmen and sledding and hot cocoa with marshmallows.

As they do every year, the town flocked to the local golf course to enjoy the winter playground. Of course, we weren’t supposed be there. But this kind of snow can’t be squandered. It must be raced on and sledded down. It must be as covered with red cheeks and happy smiles as the hills are with dazzling bright snow.

The day before, in anticipation of the coming blizzard, my husband went in search of new sleds. No cheap plastic ones would do. No sir. We went to no less than four different stores before finding the acceptable vehicles for complete sliding satisfaction.

I bundled the kids’ energy into snug little suits and sent them off with their dad. I don’t enjoy sledding at the golf course. For one, it’s cold. Second, it’s too crowded and dangerous. I’m wincing with every run. Teenagers take too many risks. Kids are racing back up the hills, where sledders are racing down. Many are without helmets. Children are unsupervised. It’s fast and wild.

The near misses make you cover your eyes and exhale with a cold puff of visible relief. And then we all laugh, because we got a thrill, the day is brilliant, and it’s all good. Except this time. What should have been a near miss was a direct hit. One second, a beautiful little girl was laughing, speeding down the hill with her friend. The next second, horrified silence. The unimaginable. The moment where life changes forever.

So many adults and kids witnessed, even commented, on the danger of those slopes. But we do as we always do with risks that we take every day – I’ll just type one text while driving, I’ll just leave my kid playing on the lawn for one minute to answer the phone, I’ll just let a few boys jump in the trampoline together – we close our eyes and assume that nothing horrible will happen. How could it, on such a brisk, stunning day? How could it, to such a perfect little girl?

It could have been any number of people hurt that day. In fact, there were quite a few injuries. It could have been my kids. It could have been anyone’s. But it was a sweet third grader who I am now praying for with every ounce of hope that fills my soul.

My kids are never going sledding again.

Or snowboarding

Or snorkeling

Or biking in the street

Or on a trampoline

Or, uh, crossing to the bus

Or going on the bus

Or climbing trees

Or swinging high on swings

Or jumping on beds

Or playing sports…

Crap.

I know. I know. It’s a slippery slope.

But that’s a risk I’m willing to take. At least when it comes to sledding at the golf course.

They’re already back in storage.

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Posted in Crap that makes me eat too much ice cream and tagged blizzard, helmets while sledding, parenting, sledding, sledding accidents, winter sports. Bookmark the permalink.

First Snow Meltdown

Posted on February 12, 2013 by Ice Scream Mama

All night the snow fell in big fat flakes, layering our streets with glittering magic. It was the first snow of the season. A blizzard they said, causing us all to scurry to the gas stations and supermarkets for water, milk and wine, you know, the necessities. After Hurricane Sandy, we don’t take chances.

When all was said and done, we got about 15 inches. I’d love to say my children were jumping up and down with glee, too excited with the fresh powder to contain themselves, but really, it looked like any other Saturday morning in my house, with them in their undies and their eyes glued to multiple screens.

They gave the snow barely a passing glance till their allotted game time and mommy service of pancakes, cereal and Nutella toast had run out. Then finally, as they came to life, the snow did for them as well.

They waited impatiently until Howard finished clearing our walkways with a borrowed snow blower. It was the first time I’d seen my husband pushing the contraption. Something about it evoked suburbia more than any other thing I’ve seen him do in the eight years living here. I almost expected a neighbor to walk out and hand him a cup of cocoa. Wait, was I supposed to do that?

Finally, Howard finished and it was time for sledding. That’s when the real excitement began.

Thermals, socks and hats flew all over my hall, and the children fidgeted with now unrestrained eagerness.

“Tyler!”My husband barked, “Stop swatting your brother with your socks! Put them on!”

“I can’t find my boots!” Michael wailed.

“This suit is hurting my marshmallows.” Julius complained, tugging at the crotch of his snow jumper.

“Oh, your marshmallows?” The older boys taunted and danced around him, swatting him with socks.

My husband looked at me, exhausted and extremely aggravated. “Can you do something?”

Do something? I was in the middle of the mess as well, getting them clothes, shoving their bubbling boy excitement into snug little suits. Trying to contain them was like trying to stop corn kernels on high heat from popping. But I still had the picture of him out blowing snow while I played on the computer, so I tried harder to get them organized.

Now if I could only find Michael’s boots. I looked around the mess of crap, searching.

My husband looked more aggravated.

Tyler and Julius were stomping around the house, fogging up the screen door like dogs, impatient to be let out. I was at a loss. I checked all the places I thought they should be. We hadn’t worn our boots yet this year, so I had searched for them just the other day to make sure we were prepared. I even went to the store yesterday to pick up a new pair for Tyler who had outgrown his. I really thought I had a pair for Michael.

Michael began to whine. “Forget it! I don’t want to go!”

Sensing trouble, I raced upstairs to look again and found a pair that might still fit Julius. If Julius’s pair, which was Michael’s last year, would still fit him, maybe we were in business.

Julius’s boot was tight on Michael. He complained even before we tried pushing his foot down. Julius was more game. Like Cinderella’s step sisters, he tried with all his heart to shove his foot into a shoe that was clearly too small.

Michael lost it.

My husband lost it.

Desperate, I pulled out a pair of Timberland boots. They weren’t snow boots, but I walked around Albany in winter with ones just like them. Besides, how long were they really going to be out there? “How about these?” I called hopefully. “Can Michael wear these?”

Didn’t matter. Michael wouldn’t even put them on.

Frustrated, Howard decided on a solution. “Come on, we’ll go into town and just get a pair of boots. Let’s go!”

“No! I don’t want to buy boots!” Michael screamed.

Howard blows up. “Fine! Don’t go! Stay home!” He stomped out. Julius and Tyler followed.

Michael melts down. Crying, he throws all the ill-fitted shoes at him as he goes for the door.

I run upstairs in a last ditch attempt to find the boots I know were there.

And then, a snow miracle.

“I found them!” I scream and run downstairs, almost tripping but catch myself. “I found the boots!”

Quickly, I help Michael get the boots on. Howard, of course, really hadn’t gone. He wouldn’t leave Michael.

“Where?”Howard asked.

“In Tyler’s closet. I have no idea how.”

Michael is finally ready. The other boys are already in the car. Calm has been restored.

My husband looks at me. “Ready?”

Me? “Uh, I’m not going?” Not me. I’m no good in snow. I get so cold. I just wind up sitting in the car with the heat on. I’ve learned. It’s no fun for me. Nope, not going. I grit my teeth, waiting for the backlash, but he just looked annoyed and left.

For about a minute, I feel guilty, but only for a minute. I pick up the accumulation of clothes covering my floor. It’s so peaceful now, inside and out. I get myself that warm cup of cocoa and happily sit down to write about what the snow blew in.

we’re’s the snow blower? wait, i guess that’s me.

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Posted in Every Day Scoops, Uncategorized and tagged blizzard, meltdowns, Nemo, parenting, sledding, snow, snow blowers, snow boots, Yeah write. Bookmark the permalink.

OMG – Feels Like Teen Spirit!

Posted on February 5, 2013 by Ice Scream Mama

The phone rings. I immediately recognized the number of one of Tyler’s friends. Not really wanting to, I pick up.

An extremely bored but familiar voice says, “Hey.”

“Hey,” I respond back and wait, but that was all I was getting.

“Do you want to speak with Tyler?” I prompt.

“Uh, yeah.”

Uh, fabulous.

Rolling my eyes (I am years away from them getting stuck there), I yell, “Phone! Tyler!” but there is no response.

Tyler is a very focused boy and I happen to know that he is watching an extremely important episode of Sponge Bob. “Tyleeeeer!!! PHONE!”

That did it. Something penetrated. My shaggy haired boy slides in. “What?” He asks, clueless.

“Here.” I hand him the phone. Instantly, my son becomes animated. I listen in fascination to him planning some complicated play date. Uh, I mean, hang out. At 10, it’s a hang out. My bad.

Tyler finishes his conversation which consists of a bunch of “yeahs” and “okays” then reports to me.

“Okay, I’m waiting for Jack and then I’m going to Rick’s. We’re going…” The phone interrupts and Tyler immediately answers.

“Oh hi, Luc.”

He instinctively walks into the other room for privacy, where some heavy negotiations are in play.

After a few minutes, he returns. “Okay, Jack is going to Luc’s, so I’m going…”

The phone rings again. I’m guessing there has been a breakdown in the talks.

“Hold on.” He grabs for it and then runs into the other room.

In one minute, he’s back. “Okay, this is what’s going to happen. Because Jack talked to Luc first, now we’re both going to Luc.”

This is what’s going to happen? Who is this kid?

Unbelievably, the phone rings again. I don’t even look it. “For you?” Tyler smiles sheepishly and disappears. The negotiations resume.

When he returns, it appears there has been a settlement. “Okay, so Jack is coming here and we’re walking to Luc. Rick’s out of the picture because Jay called him, but didn’t call Luc and they don’t want to hang out with so many people because Brian was already going there. It’s okay, because when Rick and Brian are together sometimes it gets, you know, anyway, so we’re just going to Luc’s.”

I’m speechless and exhausted, but have enough strength to raise a brow.

He gets it immediately. “Is that okay?”

“That’s fine.”

He smiles his goofy, boyish smile. I am wildly in love. He is still so much my baby and so solidly boy, and the next stage stands knocking at the door.

“Mom! Jack’s here! Can we go?”

I follow to where his friend waits. They exchange a very cool and manly, “Hey.”

I stand at the screen, watching them go. They start off walking. By the second house away, they are arm in arm, skipping for the half block to Luc’s. Then, there’s some pushing. Tyler’s friend is on the ground. Wait. He’s up. They’re arm in arm again, a skipping to Luc’s house they go.

My heart skips with them. My first real pre-teen moment. Sigh. I was on the verge of serious sappiness, when the phone interrupts my thoughts. It has begun.

Part of the posse, just hanging around.

74 Comments

Posted in Boys!, Middle School and tagged friends, growing up, humor, parenting, pre-teens, puberty, tweens, Yeah write. Bookmark the permalink.

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