Scout's Day Off

So my son had cub scout day camp last week.

For those of you who do not live around me, note that not one day was less than 94 degrees Fahrenheit.

There were no - and I mean, no -- indoor facilities.

They fished with cane poles and worms, in the hot sun.  The resolve!

They practiced archery and target shooting.  The focus!

They learned water rescue techniques.  The strength!

They concentrated on the fine details involved in tying 5 different kinds of knots.  The concentration!

They survived "water fun" day which meant every single peer was armed with a loaded super-soaker all day long.  The perseverance!

They even submitted to performing skits, singing camp songs, and doing their "den wild call."  My son's, rather unfortunately, required him to make monkey calls and monkey arm gestures.  The mirth!

All this, he could do.

But this week, there is no cub scout camp.

He is home.

With me.

In our air conditioned home.  (The heat wave continues, ugh.)

So this morning, after his long, leisurely breakfast in front of his favorite cartoons, I asked him to clean the patio doors.

I equipped him with plenty of paper towels and cleaner and even demonstrated the technique.

Where is my scout?  Where is the strength, the focus, the resolve???


It seems my son, practically an expert marksman, is unable to aim the Windex nozzle with any accuracy.

And the arms that deftly climbed a rope ladder and even pulled a comrade from danger in a most excellent water-rescue feat last week have gone limp, barely able to muster enough strength to scrub off the slightest dog-nose smudge.

It took almost 40 full minutes, gritted teeth, and warnings . . . and, really, the door is still not how it should be. 

Camp?  Self-reliance?  Confidence?  Perseverance?

I call for a "Mommy-Scout Day Camp."

Everyone:  Get your boots on!

Thursday Thunks

I am participating in Thursday Thunks this week, albeit a day late.  If you like prompts or would like to read other's answers, check them out. 

Here goes:
 

1. It became officially summer on Monday. What's your favorite part of winter?  Christmas, homemade soup, and sweaters.

2. What was your worst summer vacation ever?  Every childhood summer of mine was marred by suffering in the form of swimming lessons. 

3. Kimber's husband just got the dream job that he's hoped for. So a big shout out to her and Anthony! Tell us about the best job that you ever had.  Once I worked for a large banking corporation, part-time with great pay and full benefits.  Ah, the good ole' days.

4. Who is probably talking a load of crap about you right now?  Hauntingly, my own parents.

5. An alien appears and offers you the opportunity to repeat one year of your life. You will still know everything that you know now. He explains that no matter what you do differently, when you are returned to the present nothing will have changed. What year would you pick and why?  What a wonderful question, fascinating to think about, impossible to answer.  Perhaps I would choose a year out of my childhood (if I could minus the swimming lessons), because now I know how wonderfully uncomplicated it can be when you are a child.  But, then again, maybe I would choose the first year I knew my husband -- wildly in love with lots of time on our hands and minimal responsibilities.  Above all, though, I would probably choose the first year of my son's life.  I would hold him and kiss him and rock him and not let one moment of it pass by without savoring it . . . because now I know how fast it goes.

6. Name three things you have on you at all times. Explain why.  Simple gold earrings, because I don't usually think to change them.  My grandmother's ring, because I miss her and it reminds me of her which makes me happy.  Toenail polish, because my husband likes it. 

7. When was the last time you wrote a letter to someone on paper and mailed it?  Christmas time.  I had neglected to thank someone for a kindness they showed me; I wrote out my heart and, thankfully, the person forgave me.

8. If you could have everyone in the blogosphere read just one of your posts, which post would you pick and why?  I don't know that I've written it yet. 

9. I recently read that the music industry continues to decline at an alarming rate. In the last year it said the sales of Michael Jackson's and The Beatles' music are the only artists who sales continue to climb. The article stated that the two are holding up the industry. Have you bought a CD or mp3 of either artist recently?  Nope.

10. What radio ad right now do you find so annoying that you'd rather have a tooth drilled than hear it again?  Those OnStar ads, especially the ones with emergency sirens -- radio commercials with sirens should be illegal because they are so distracting to the driver.

11. Berleen walks into a bar on a hot Minnesota day. At the bar sits a priest, a rabbi and a minister. A ten foot duck walks into the bar right after Berleen. What drink do you think Berleen orders?  A Bullshot.  No idea why.

12. There is a knock on your door. It can be anyone in the world. Who would you want it to be?  My grandmother.

13. What would be the worst entertainment or sporting that you could be forced to watch?  Olympic curling.  (come on)

Happy Friday!

Death of a Kiss

Edith Shain died yesterday at her Los Angeles home.

Don't know Ms. Shain?

Sure you do.

She showed us all how to give in to the moment and receive a great kiss:

Long live the spirit of joy, romance, and patriotism depicted in this V-J Day kiss, circa 1945.

Confession and Recommitment

I have a confession to make.

I have not been a very faithful person.

I have walked out, more than once, on a commitment.

In general, I like to think I'm a good person, but there is one person to whom I am not faithful and have not been loyal. In fact, I have left this person three times in the past three years. I know. I usually just become overwhelmed by the closeness and the intensity of our relationship. I feel like this person pushes me too hard and expects too much.  And I just cannot measure up.

And then I give up.

But I'm ashamed of that, and I have recently resolved to try again.

And this person has welcomed me back with open arms, holding no grudges.

That's right, FlyLady.

It's been 3 days now.

And I'm beginning to feel overwhelmed again.

All the emails.

All the lists.

All the encouragement.

It's already too much.

But I resolve to hang in there.

My house needs it.

I'm off to shine my sink.

My Husband the Father

We took our kids fishing Friday evening. 

Our kids are young and enthusiastic, but inexperienced and uncoordinated.  And I hadn't been fishing in a few years, myself. 

I watched my husband bait hooks, replace hooks, cast, reel, unhook fish, encourage, and reassure my kids tirelessly for three hours.  I was awed by his endless patience and ceaseless enthusiasm.   

He calmly unwound my daughter's fishing line from my son's head and then rather patiently reminded my daughter that she was to wait before trying to cast by herself.

He helped my son change bait at least 10 times each hour and good naturedly  indulged my son when he insisted that he use the biggest lure in the box.  He also removed it two minutes later when my son  realized his father had been right, and never said a word.

He constantly reminded my daughter to watch the bobber and didn't seem to mind that she was becoming more interested in picking up rocks and kicking dirt.

He ran the fifty yards between my two kids, attending to all their needs, never once refuting my son's intuition that the spot he found so far away was "lucky."  

And he just laughed when my son gave up fishing in favor of engaging the ducks.


He baited and casted and untangled and rebaited, all in good spirit.  

All on a sprained ankle.

All evening long.

And, all the while, his rod remained on shore, dry and unbaited .  Not once did he get a chance to drop a line of his own.

And yet he spoke from his heart when he insisted that he was having the most fun of all.

Here's to you, Honey, and to all fathers everywhere . . . for it was Friday night that I finally realized, there were many afternoons when my own father never got in his own line . . .

You make my children better people,

You make me a better woman.

I love you.

Mutiny On the Bounty Aisle

 
The balance of the universe has been upset.

Leaders overthrown.

Mayhem.

Can you feel it? Has everything been a little askew for you since last weekend?

Me, too.

Here's what happened:

I was sick last weekend.

We needed food.

My husband went to the grocery store and took the kids with him.

Now, my husband does not get to the grocery store very often at all and almost never with the kids. He was like a babe in the woods . . . a babe in the woods escorted by two sharks.

A few years ago, when my children were preschool age and in the middle of a raging sibling rivalry, I established some ground rules for grocery store conduct.

1.  No one pushes the cart, but me.

2.  No one rides on the cart. (My daughter can't stay on, and my son is so tall I can't see past him.)

3.  No one grabs anything off the shelf, but me.

4.  No one puts anything in the cart unless I expressly ask them to. (Grabbing things out of my hand while offering to put them in the cart is not helpful and not appreciated, because it only provokes the other one to grab more quickly next time resulting in my virtual mugging every time I pick an item off the shelf.)

And 5.  My daughter (as the chief offender) must walk slightly behind my son. (This method makes racing impossible and reduces cut-offs drastically.)

These rules may sound harsh, but they are not as harsh as my tone of voice and mood upon exiting the grocery store before said rules were invoked. Harmony for all, that's my motto.

So my poor, innocent, naive husband returned from the grocery store, the kids sheepishly following behind him. Once I confirmed that he did, indeed, get my juice and cough drops, I remarked on the notable tension in the room.

My husband choked out, through gritted teeth, "These two were just terrible. They drove me nuts the entire time."

I looked at them.  They averted my gaze.

I looked back at my husband.  "You didn't let them push the cart, did you?"

"Well, yeah, why?"

Why? Why???

All the things I have worked so hard for . . . the peace, the harmony, the order . . . all down the drain . . .

My son pushed the cart.

My daughter "helped" by putting things in the cart.

My son began "correcting" the order of things in the cart.

My daughter resented said correction.

Bickering.

Racing.

Cut-offs. 

Toes run over.

Limping.

Tattling.



Mayhem.  Just may.hem.

All rules thrown over.

Power has shifted back to the sharks.

All in one innocent trip to the grocery store.