July 31, 2006

ready or not

The boys were jumping off the furniture in my parents’ house today, so my mother and I took them to the park to play Hide and Seek in the wilderness. Henry loves hide and seek because he is all about outsmarting me. And he’s good at it; the last time he hid, we could NOT find him. I was terrified and proud, all at the same time. Welcome to parenthood!

Charlie, on the other hand, sucks at hide and seek. He hides in the same place every time (today it was in a tree) and then when you announce “READY OR NOT, HERE I COME!” he yells, “I’m over HERE! Come and FIND ME!” If you pretend not to know where he is, he will give you directions. He is INCREDIBLY excited when he’s found, and will cheer, “You found me! You found me! Hooray!” And then he says, “Let’s go get Henry!”

Because all he REALLY wants to do is find Henry.

Explora, Albuquerque, New Mexico, 31 July 2006

July 30, 2006

are we there yet?

Friday night we went to a going away party for my friend Krista and her husband. They’re moving to Kansas City. The nerve.

That’s Krista in the purple, and Christa in the white. Confused? So were we. Oh, no, wait, we were just drunk.

I can’t even begin to write about how much I will miss Krista, or about what a tremendous friend she is or how much I adore her. Because then I will cry and that would be BAD. But it’s all true, and more, and I miss her already.

Sniff.

We had a great time Friday night, pretending like we were just dressed up and drinking for FUN! and not because some of our favorite people were packing a truck and driving out of town. It was quite a party.

When my mom saw the pictures she said, “Where were the guys?” In the other room, of course. The girls were all in Christa’s living room, talking about our boobs and licking each other, while the men hid in the family room and talked about sports and politics. Or maybe about boobs. But I doubt there was any licking.

While we were taking pictures, Christa kept saying, “ARE YOU GOING TO BLOG THIS?” And I kept reminding people, “I have a blawwwg, you know!” I said it just like that. And everyone laughed, because I’m so funny! And also, we were DRUNK!

People said some really hysterical things to me on Friday night, many of which were, indeed, about boobs. Several people also said, “OH MY GOD PLEASE DO NOT WRITE THAT IN YOUR BLAWWWWG!” Sadly, I was too drunk to remember what exactly was so funny, so all I have are the pictures. You girls can breathe a sigh of relief. Your secrets are safe with me, thanks to the nice people at Kendall Jackson my incredible loyalty and discretion.

Saturday morning I woke up feeling a little, er, peaked (that’s peak-ED, you know, which is MUCH prettier than HUNG OVER). Five Tylenol and a bottle of water later, I was able to start packing; after three cups of coffee, I thought I might not die in the car on the way to Albuquerque. Because really, it wasn’t a great idea to go drinking with my girlfriends the NIGHT BEFORE we drove the 547 miles from my house to my parents’ house.

And now you’re wondering, how long does it take to drive 547 miles? Well, I’ll tell you! Wade and I, alone, can do it in just over seven and a half hours; with the kids, it takes us about eight and a half. My kids are great car travellers; they prefer not to stop, if it is at all possible. Just like their daddy. The last time we drove to New Mexico, Henry said, “When we get to Amarillo, let’s just drive through and eat our lunches in the car.” I think he would pee in a cup rather than stop to go potty, if only we would let him. Which we don’t.

So yesterday, we get on the road and we drive and drive and drive. Charlie spends the ENTIRE first hour asking, “Are we in Albuquerque yet? Are we in Albuquerque YET? Are we in ALBUQUERQUE YET?” I thought seriously about leaving him at the first rest stop. Only because I was hung over, you know.

We drive and drive and around 4:00 we drive into Tijeras Canyon, which is the last stretch before Albuquerque and my parents’ house; it’s usually at this point that we call and say “Opent the wine! We’ll be there in half an hour!” The canyon comes through the Sandia Mountains; it’s beautiful and the speed limit is 65 and there was a wreck on 140 east bound that had the traffic stopped. COMPLETELY STOPPED. We got off onto Old Route 66, which is the only other way through the mountains, and for TWO AND A HALF HOURS we inched along at three miles an hour. The boys watched Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets and Henry figured out how to skip from scene to scene so they probably watched most of the movie twice. Charlie kept saying, “MY BOTTOM HURTS! I WANT TO BE THERE!” Every time he said it, I gave him a chocolate chip cookie. We called my mother to tell her what was going on, and she said, “I hope no one has to go to the bathroom.”

I said, “Well, now I do. Thanks.”

The last time I went on vacation, we spent the day stranded in the airport. This time, we spent the day stranded in the car. DO YOU SEE A THEME?

Do not ever vacation with me.

July 27, 2006

good lord, I have no idea what this is all about

I had a hard time getting dressed this morning; I’m totally blaming Pantene, by the way. And Old Navy. And the people at Playmobil.

Charlie has some new Playmobil pirates–122 pieces! that I assembled! while the boys ate bagels and said, “ARE YOU DONE? ARE YOU DONE? ARE YOU DONE?” four million times–which SHOULD have kept everyone happy for the twelve minutes it takes me to shower and put my makeup on. And yes, they were indeed busy, because it takes a LOT of energy to fight about who will have which pirate and which dagger is the NEW dagger.

I finally negotiated a truce and got in the shower and realized that I had bought the WRONG shampoo which was why my hair has looked so crappy all week. No moisturizers! Moisturizers are bad! Moisturizing shampoo makes my hair all weird! So I had to lather rinse repeat and then repeat THAT with ANOTHER shampoo that just happened to be in the basket. So now my seven minute shower is running a little longer than I planned and I can hear the boys fighting. I figure I should put some clothes on before I go break it up, so I grab a tank top and pull it on and . . . get stuck. I can’t get the damn thing over my HEAD and I’m thinking oh my god I ate so many Hershey Kisses that now my stretchy TANK TOP doesn’t fit! Then I realize that the hem is sewn wrong and doesn’t stretch. At all. Whaddya expect for like five dollars?

But! I have ANOTHER white tank, somewhere! I pull out the entire pile of tanks from my closet (because I have like 20, I wear them ALL THE TIME) and I have every other color you can imagine (two hot pink! two VERY SLIGHTLY DIFFERENT hot pink tank tops!) but no white. But! There is white laundry in the dryer! Dry, unfolded white laundry! My OTHER tank MUST be there!

So I run through the house in my undies. I’m trying NOT to be seen by either my kids (who are fighting over Playmobil pirates) or my neighbors (who are elderly and sit outside watching each other’s houses ALL DAY LONG) because I’m topless and all my blinds are open. Although I did stop to put some flip flops on because you never know what you might step on in my kitchen. I dig through the laundry and NO TANK TOP.

Just fifteen pairs of little boys’ underpants. Dammit.

Run back to the bedroom, yelling, “STOP FIGHTING OR I WILL TAKE ALL THE PIRATES AWAY!” Find a camisole that hugs every single fat molecule in my stomach. One of my contact lenses is folded in HALF. IN MY EYE. Go into the bathroom to take the lens out; realize that I’ve never put any makeup on and I have a zit the size of a dime between my eyes and that my hair is sticking STRAIGHT UP, probably from all the washing.

Think to myself, SHIT, GOOD THING I’M NOT GOING TO BLOGHER. Because apparently I would have shown up mostly naked.

Oh, wait, that’s like the whole point, isn’t it?

Eventually, I got dressed and got some mascara on and tamed my hair (sort of) and implemeted a cease fire between the warring pirate factions and fed the wild children and . . .

And then my sitter came. For THREE HOURS.

I’ll say it again: THREE HOURS without my children.

When I came home, Charlotte said, “Did you get a lot done?”

And I said, “Yes!” And I did! I exchanged the faulty tank at Old Navy (and possibly picked up two more tanks), went shoe browsing (no buying), flipped throught the new InStyle and drank a grande mocha frappuchino at the bookstore (dear InStyle editors, high waisted jeans are NEVER coming back, love, Susan), ran into Leslie and her boys (who asked “Where are your KIDS?” because apparently they were afraid I had sold them on eBay), stopped at Target and picked up bread and frozen fajita strips and shampoo (this time, I bought the right one).

We’re going to Albuquerque on Saturday, for a week, and I still haven’t done laundry or paid bills or picked up all the toys because my housekeeper is coming while we’re gone. Plus my guest bed is COVERED with baby clothes that I’m sure my dad doesn’t want to sleep with while he’s here. Oh, and we’re going to a party tomorrow night.

Huh. Maybe I should have done some really USEFUL things with my three hours. Nah.

July 26, 2006

meanwhile, I’m trying to forget that I’m not going to BlogHer this weekend

Wade’s been on a business trip this week, one of those seven-airports-in-four-days, wake-up-in-a-different-city-every-morning trips. He called me every night and said, “Are you okay? Really, are you OKAY? I just want to know if you’re okay.”

I was fine. The weather was good, the kids were great, and we went swimming every day he was away (because my goal, when I’m alone with the kids, is to WEAR THEM OUT so they will fall asleep early and sleep late). This time, I learned the secret to getting by without Wade, and no, it’s not booze or drugs. It’s sunscreen.

Specifically, Coppertone Continuous Sport Sunblock Spray.

On a normal go-to-the-pool weekday, I make Wade put sunscreen on my back before he leaves for work. This isn’t a completely terrible system, but it’s not great; Wade leaves around 7:00 and the pool doesn’t open until 10:00, so by the time we get ready to leave the house, I need to reapply which I can’t do without help, which is why I have Wade! Charlie is always willing to smear a little lotion on me, but he loses interest fairly quickly and usually leaves me covered in goop.

And then I end up sunburned. Which I HATE, especially if there’s no one to rub aloe on my back. Where’s the spray aloe? Someone needs to invent THAT. Soon.

But THIS week, I was able to hose myself down with the Continuous Spray action, which was FANTASTIC! No sunburn!

But I’m really glad Wade is home.

The boys and I drove Wade to the airport on Sunday and dropped him off; Charlie spent the whole ride saying, “But Daddy! I don’t WANT you to go!” That evening, while the boys were eating their dinner, Charlie asked how many sleeps until Daddy came home. “Where’s Daddy?” Henry asked.

I assumed he was confused because Wade was going to be so many places, so I said, “Well, right now he’s in Memphis because his flight was cancelled, but later he will be in Newark, and the tomorrow he will go to Raleigh . . . “

Henry looked at me and said, “When did he leave?”

“What?”

“When did Daddy leave?”

“Today.”

“Oh. How is he getting to New Jersey?”

“On an airplane.”

“How did he get to the airplane?”

“We took him to the airport. Remember?”

“We did?”

Five minutes later, when I mentioned the babysitter (who has BEEN HERE BEFORE, more than once) Henry said, “Do I know Charlotte?”

Charlie said, “Henry, you remember Charlotte!”

And Henry finished his milk and said, “Okay, Charlie, just help me remember.”

“The last time she was here you sprayed her with the hose,” I told him.

“Ooooohhhh!” he said. “I know her! She’s nice.”

Tonight, when Wade was tucking Henry into bed, he said, “I missed you, buddy. Did you miss me?”

Henry said, “Sure, Daddy.” Then he thought about it and said, “I don’t remember missing you. But I think I did. I guess I did. I’m sure I did! Don’t you think I did?” Then he got up like ten times to see if Wade was still here. I think he missed his daddy,but it’s hard to tell, since he seems to have some sort of VERY-early-onset Alzheimer’s, most likely caused by the spray-on sunscreen.

July 25, 2006

sometimes, we frolic in the grass

School starts in twenty-two days.

What more is there to say?

July 22, 2006

less whine, more lobster*

Wade and I were invited to two–TWO!–swank dinner parties this weekend. When I started drafting this post in my head, I was going to tell you how we were invited to TWO dinner parties and weren’t going to EITHER, because we coudn’t get a sitter! I was going to tell you all about how I called FOUR babysitters and three were busy and the fourth NEVER CALLED ME BACK, because clearly she hates my kids! I mean, why wouldn’t she! I was going to tell you how I had a good cry this afternoon, while Wade and Charlie were at the bookstore and Henry was playing in his room (”Thanks for offering, Mom, but I really just want to be alone right now. Would you like me to help YOU find something to do?”) and then fell asleep on the sofa and woke up crabby and ate some pasta because Wade INSISTED and I was too crabby to argue. I was going to tell you how I went to Old Navy the grocery because we’re out of milk AGAIN and I guess I need milk if I’m going to be STUCK AT HOME with these damn kids tomorrow night . . . .

Then my phone rang; it was Wade, calling to tell me that the AWOL babysitter had called and yes, she CAN come tomorrow night.

So now I have to come up with a whole new post. Also, something to wear to dinner.

Thank you, all of you, for your comments and e-mails. Sometimes I hate that the Internet is a virtual neighborhood, because if you all lived on my block, my life would be so fabulous. I would make each and every one of you a margarita slushie. Thank you.

Wade and I spent some time last night talking about What To Do Next (translation: I rambled on and on about how TIRED I am and how FRUSTRATED I am and how worried I am about the boy and the other boy and our family and my sanity and . . . . Wade LOVES those conversations, by the way). We’ve decided to stop Henry’s medication, because that seems to be the cause of his Satanic behavior. Our next step is to go back to the beginning and start over. Again. With ANOTHER new medication. Which may or may not work.

In the words of my very very smart friend Candace, “Trying to find the right medication is like trying to run uphill while wearing ice skates.” Doesn’t that sound fun?

It’s not, just so you know.

I am not good at asking for help for myself. When I need help for the boys–a referral to a medical specialist, for example, or a school–I have no problem asking. But when I’m the one who needs help, it’s harder. I don’t know why; I do know that not asking for help means that I am often pushed to the limit. Or past it! Occasionally. The really stupid part is that I am surrounded by people who would LOVE to help me.

I’m just too big a dork to ask.

Today was a better day. Tomorrow will be even better. Now tell me what to wear to dinner.

*Molly and her husband (hi, Miles!) served lobster–from MAINE!–at dinner tonight. I consoled myself for missing that by eating popcorn and M&Ms, which was TOTALLY not the same (but very yummy).