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Spring 2008
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Life's a picnic -- and other things that will make it impossible to start school
The third time my son whipped around the house on his bike yesterday morning, I realized that summer has ruined fall. We have had such a wonderful time of doing nothing -- or nothing that involves much organizing, planning or responsibility for my children -- that starting school is gonna hurt more than usual. For all of us.

Last week, I admitted publicly that I tried to fit to summers into one this year with trips up and down the eastern coastline and, perhaps, one or more too many visits to our community lake. I did what I felt I had to do. And I'd do it all over again, no matter how hard it's going to be to get back into our school year routine.

Worsening the blow is that our school year doesn't even start for another two weeks, because of construction at the school. So while the rest of the world is buying up all the school supplies at Staples, we are still squeezing out the last of the sunscreen around here. And the longer it takes to get back to the books, meetings, practices and homework, the more it's going to hurt when it starts.

But today, we just don't care. Today, we have yet another picnic to attend, yet more sunscreen bottles to squeeze. And as my son takes his third trip around the house for the day, that's okay with me. At least it doesn't hurt...yet. Posted by Jen, August 31, 2008 at 11:14 a.m.

Picture windows capture swinging hockey sticks...just in time
I am pretty certain that our architect didn't consider the practical ramifications of adding the large picture windows to the back of our house when he drew up our renovation plans. He probably thought it would be nice for us to look out over the woods at the edge of our backyard, a bucolic scene like something from a "Welcome to the Pine Barrens" postcard. Only, this isn't the Pine Barrens. Rather, this is where children swing hockey sticks in the general direction of each other's heads.

I know this, because, thanks to the picture windows our architect so thoughtfully planned for the rear of our home, I have now broken up not one, but two incidents of hockey stick swinging in my backyard this morning. This, in the very same spot where, several years ago, a similar incident ended up with one child creating the need for the other child to procure several stiches just behind his ear. If only we had had our wonderful picture windows back then, I might have observed the activity before the hockey stick drew blood. Instead, I ditched the dinner I was making and rushed to the E.R.

But now I have picture windows that provide a wide screen view of the goings-on in my backyard. It's like High Definition TV in real life. First, I witnessed two children "removing weeds" by wildly hacking at them with large wooden hockey sticks while standing not quite far enough from each other's swinging radius.

I yelled out one of my picture windows to stop it.

Not twenty minutes later, I saw two children begin imitating the U.S. Fencing team, only minus the protective gear and with, of course, hockey sticks.

I yelled out one of my picture windows to knock it off.

The hockey sticks have been put away -- for now. This, so they can play some sort of game involving the throwing of some sort of pine cone at one another. Compared to the hockey sticks, this is, well, child's play. And so, I reluctantly allow it to continue -- as long as none of said pine cones are thrown toward my picture windows. When that happens, I'll yell out the window again. Or maybe, I'll pull down the shades.
Posted by Jen, August 28, 2008 at 10:31 a.m.

Re-Writing History on the Duck Tour
My son doesn't remember when I changed his diaper in the women's locker room at my alma mater, me in my shin guards and old college soccer jersey, gasping for breath and thrilled to have an excuse to sub out of the alumni game. But I do. And he vaguely remembers visiting the Boston University bookstore after his father had run the Boston Marathon. I had pointed how close I had once lived to Fenway Park, and let him marvel at the "T," the trolley that rolls through campus. I think he'll remember his trip to Boston this time, though, if nothing else but because he got to drive the Duck Tour boat on the Charles River. But I'll remember it because it's the first time Boston no longer was just mine.

I signed my family up for the Duck Tour so that we could get a little Boston history beyond my own: "And here's where we practiced playing soccer. And here's where I took classes. And here's where we had a blowout party...er, never mind."

If you've never seen the Duck Tour, it's an amusing tour of a city via World War II amphibious landing craft that rides on land and then on water. Our Boston tour took us past many of the historical sites, including the Boston Common, Beacon Hill and several old churches. I learned things I hadn't known even while living in the city for four years, things beyond the best restaurants for New England clam chowder and where to buy beer.

Then we rode on the Charles River where both of my kids got a chance to "drive" the boat. I snapped pictures as the tour boat operator asked where everyone was from. "New Jersey," I answered, though a part of me is from Boston, too. But I didn't tell him that. As we pulled up river nearer to my former campus, I realized I'd never been on the river before. I'd crossed over it. I'd played soccer next to it. I'd watched over it from my dorm room. But this was the first time I'd ever gotten into a boat and pulled out on it. And it was my kids' first time, too.

After the tour, we took on the obligatory trip to the B.U. Bookstore, now a Barnes & Noble, where I bought a new BU t-shirt and a BU soccer ball. Outside, I pointed out my dorms and where I took classes, and I showed the kids how close I had lived to Fenway Park. And this time, it meant something to them. This was their trip. Their memories. Their Boston.

And then we left Boston, and a little bit of Boston left me, too. Until next time.
Posted by Jen, August 27, 2008 at 9:09 a.m.

Summer Trip Rules, According to Grandma
Summer Trip Rules, according to my mother, who took the kids and me to Baltimore last week:

Stash gum in your purse, just in case.
Talk back to the GPS system you brought along which has been named "Lucy."
Bring along DVD player with two sets of headphones -- one for each kid. (Brilliant!)
Mumble choice words about road construction so that only your daughter can hear it (thankfully).
Pretend to be disappointed that the hotel rooms aren't adjoining.
Feed the child who sneaked into other bed Oreos at 11 p.m. Shhhh.
Provide more detailed information about the Olympic standings than the hotel's complimentary USA Today.
Spring for most of the tickets and meals.
Regale table full of relatives with stories from back in the day.
Chat up guy sitting in next seat at Orioles-Red Sox game, thereby learning his life story.
Manage to persuade daughter and grandsons not to see a fort on the way out of the city.
Plan next year's trip already.

Thanks, Mom! And Lucy. Posted by Jen, August 24, 2008 at 10:37 a.m.

Hanging on to Summer
I wonder if this is mom-blasphemy to say this. Still, I've got to: I don't want summer break to end.

It is now day 69 out of 93 of our extended summer break -- the one that's three weeks longer than usual, because of construction at the school. And though I could do without the mid-day saxophone practice and the "Mooooooom!", I am surprisingly content to have another three weeks-plus until school starts up again. What's wrong with me?

I feel like summer break just started, and yet, we've done so much already. We had trips to Baltimore, Philadelphia and the Jersey Shore. We barbecued at our local lake, popped into Manhattan for a video game testing event and watched the kids perform in a play. There was summer camp, several playdates and night after night of watching the Olympics.

What there wasn't was missing homework (except one night at religion camp), rushing to soccer practice, test anxiety, back-to-school night or report cards. I'm not ready to monitor backpacks, rush home for the school bus or search for shin guards. Not yet. Not when we're having so much fun this summer.

We'll see how I feel two weeks from now when the rest of the world is back at school and I've still got mid-day saxophone practice and "Moooooom!" But for now, I'm glad school starts late this year. Shhhh. Don't tell the other moms.
Posted by Jen, August 22, 2008 at 10:40 a.m.

The Man Mobile
"Opa built a go cart!" my son told me last night on the phone.

Uh oh. Not a go cart. I remember what my brother-in-law told me about his go cart from 30 years ago. His father (now known as "Opa") saw an ad for a cement mixer engine and thought, "Hey! I'll put it on a go cart." So they built this go cart with the cement mixer engine and the story ends with my brother-in-law getting in trouble with the police for delivering newspapers on it.

"It has an engine?" I asked my son with trepidation.

"No," he answered. "We push each other on it."

Phew.

They painted it pink and called it "The Man Machine." But my niece was allowed to ride it anyhow.

So my husband got on the phone with our son, who told him about the Man Machine.

"How fast does it go?" my husband asked.

"As fast as we can push it," he answered.

I guess eBay was out of cement mixer engines this week.
Posted by Jen, August 19, 2008 at 7:11 a.m.

That's Work, Too: Mom's Propaganda Works.
On Saturday, I decided to take a break from feverishly writing the final 10,000 words of my parenting book, due on September 1st. So I told my son, "I'm not working today. I'm just going to go fold laundry."
He replied, "That's work, too."

And there it was -- years and years of propaganda paying off. I refuse to raise sons who take housework for granted, the kind who sit on the couch and watch football and eat chips while someone else vacuums under their feet.

So, I've been sure to (repeatedly) explain to them why it is indeed work -- and not just women's work -- to put away the dishes, sweep the kitchen floor, cook dinner, dust, take out the garbage and fold laundry, among other household chores. Rather than take care of the house while they're in school, I wait until they're home, so they can see what it takes to get things done around here. Also, so I can put them to work.

So, when I shut off my computer and headed upstairs to catch up on several days of laundry, I told my son, "You're right. It is work." And then I made him put his clothes in the drawer and clean up his floor. I'll bet that he, too, would rather be writing 10,000 words. It might not be easier, but it's a lot more fun. I'll teach him that, too.
Posted by Jen, August 18, 2008 at 9:18 a.m.

Bad Movies, Good Mom: May the Force Be with You
New rule: Don't read reviews of movies you've already promised to take your children to see. If only I'd made this rule before "Star Wars: The Clone Wars" came out, because then I wouldn't know what's in store for me this afternoon. Here's what reviewers are saying about this animated film, which came out today:

"This new 'Star Wars' saga completes the franchise’s divorce from photography-based cinema, as well as from any relationship to credible human feeling." -- The New York Times
"An awkwardly paced and dumbly scripted hodgepodge of battles and chase scenes, a first-person-shooter video game under the guise of a movie."
"Anyone older than 8 with the majority of brain functions intact will have a bad feeling about this." -- The LA Times
One of the " cruddiest animated films of the year." -- The Chicago Tribune

So now I have to figure out what to do with one hour and 38 minutes of what I've been warned is "uninspiring" and "forgettable."

I can't bring my laptop, because the screen will light up the whole row.

I can't bring a book, because I won't be able to see it.

I can't chat with the other bored moms. (If only there was a Starbucks in the back of the theater with sound proof glass.)

So, I will do what I did for other forgettable movies like "Thunderbirds" and uh, I forget the others: I will nap. I will bring a sweater as a blanket and lean my head against the wall and doze off until the credits roll.

Maybe I will check reviews next time anyhow. At least I'm excited about today's pending afternoon snooze.
Posted by Jen, August 15 at 2:01 p.m.

" Drama Camp isn't Just for Girls
My son didn't get the lead in drama camp this year. It's a good thing, too, because they're doing the story of Esther.

Instead, my boys each got four or five parts with a handful of lines per character, plus a few songs. The plum parts went to the kid down the street, who will play the king, and the gaggle of teen girls who outnumber the boys both in bodies and in veto power, I'm sure.

I'm wondering how old the boys will be when it's no longer cool to do drama camp. Or when they'll sign up just so they can be with the girls all week. All I know is that they've got several different parts to memorize by this weekend, and I've got a car full of boys who want nothing to do with girls...yet.
Posted by Jen, August 12 at 11:13 a.m.

Thank God Religion Camp is Over
Is it blasphemy to say out loud that you're happy that religion camp is over? I think not. I think God understands that "camp homework" is an oxymoron. And yet, one of my sons had homework every night for two weeks. The other son, and all the boys in our carpool, had no homework. Just the child who has troubles finding his shoes. Just the one who thinks the fax machine was invented for children who have forgotten to bring the math worksheets home (again.)

And so, we did homework. We said prayers together and talked about Job and how God is in our lives. He learned about the Holy Spirit. I prayed that he'd remember his religion book each night.

We made it all the way to the last day of camp when he realized he'd left his book at a friend's house the night before. He tried to do his homework in the car, but he couldn't finish it. I didn't get any notes home from the teacher, and I never brought it up except to put my hand on his shoulder and say: "When school starts in the fall, you're on your own, buddy." No reminding him to bring home books. No saving him from his errors. No way, no how.

I'll bet he's praying a lot now.
Posted by Jen, August 11 at 9:40 a.m.

The Household Stuff Relocation Project
In the past week, I have stumbled upon the following items in the main living areas of our home:

2 plastic Army helmets
a Santa hat (in August? Really?)
pieces of paper with cryptic drawings and messages on them that wouldn't be out of place in a capsule sent to outer space, telling aliens about our existence
our Guitar Hero guitar, minus the Wii controller that makes it work
the Wii controller, minus the batteries that make it work
a bunch of dirty socks, none of them a match
crumbs, and lots of them

This is a sure sign that it's August, of course. Things get relocated, kids get bored and leave them there before clocking each other and screaming "He started it!" only to calm down and tell me they're bored.

And yet, because of construction at the school, we still have 40 more days of summer break left. To put that in perspective, that's 12 days longer than the Thanksgiving-Christmas shopping season, 2 1/2 times the length of the Olympics and exactly how long it rained on Noah, trapped in that ark with all those stinky animals.

Forty days of Santa hats, dripping water guns, games without batteries. Forty days of dirty socks, crumpled papers and hockey sticks in the kitchen. But at least I don't have to find the kids' backpacks...yet.
Posted by Jen, August 6 at 10:56 a.m.

Husband Runs Across New Jersey for the Swag
My husband runs marathons for the free T-shirt. That's got to be it, because I see no other reason why a person would choose to run 26 miles unless they were outrunning a bear or yardwork. But he's still got to do the yardwork.

So when my husband, Pete, and his crazy running club friends decided to run across New Jersey -- literally -- on Saturday, I figured it was because they gave him a nice T-Shirt and a hat. Free! Why else would seemingly normal people -- people with jobs and families and normal looking houses -- agree to run 92 miles across New Jersey in a relay race? In August. In a thunderstorm.

They left our community at 4 a.m. to drive to the starting line on the Delaware River. I don't even want to get up at 4 a.m. for something fun. Then one person ran a leg of the race while the rest drove in the "support cars," trying to decipher the maps with directions like "At the Burger King, go East" and "Turn right at the Seven-11."

My husband had two eight-mile legs to run in the race that ended at the ocean. Lucky for him, he missed the thunderstorm, which left one of his teammates praying he wouldn't wind up a headline in the newspaper as a casualty of the race. People are going to read that I'd been hit by lightning while running across the state and think "Idiot," he told himself. Please God. Don't let me go this way.

He survived. They all did. Not only that, they won. Well, they won their division of both genders, over 35, called "Mixed Masters." I call them "Confused Old Folks." But they don't care, because this time, they didn't just get the free hat and T-shirt, they got a trophy, too. And so, there'll be no living with them -- until next August when they pile in their cars at 4 a.m. to head to the Delaware River.
Posted by Jen, August 4 at 10 a.m.

Duct Tape and Honey Masks
At the American Idol concert last night, my niece Erin, 12, showed me pictures of the sleep-over she'd attended with several other girls the night before. They made facial masks out of honey and avacado and did their nails.

I thought about my afternoon with five boys in my house, some playing Guitar Hero while the others created a go kart from a skateboard and some hardware supplies they'd asked me for and asked my brother, "What, no duct tape and rope?"

In Erin's photos, the girls were sitting long enough to be photographed without causing blurring.

At my house, boys raced through the house, trying to find something to "tie onto the back of Colin's bike so he can pull me on the go kart."

In Erin's pictures, they made a mess and then cleaned it up.

At my house, I had to point out why we shouldn't leave the scissors and a plastic blue police light on the garage foor where Dad might run over it later.
I'll bet Erin doesn't even know where the duct tape is kept. I do, though. Now, it's on the gargage can in the garage.
Posted by Jen, July 31 at 3:15 p.m.

But My American Idol is Playing at the Other Stadium!
Springsteen's in town! Here in New Jersey, the Boss' home state, that's like having the Pope visit Yankee Stadium or David Hasselhoff on a European tour.

News reports say he brought down the house last night at Giants Stadium, where I saw him in concert numerous times before, including twice during his Born in the USA tour.

To this Bruce fan, it's so exciting, so fun...so crushing, so sad. Because though I'm going to a concert this week, it isn't Springsteen's. It's the American Idol Live Tour. I've got tweens, and we've got tickets.

In hindsight, I suppose I could have brought my children to the Springsteen concert. There were plenty of kids at the Meadowlands when I got a sitter for the kids and took my husband to The Rising Tour in 2002. But when I play Bruce on my car radio, my 11-year-old tells me to "turn that off." It's like driving with a miniature version of my father in the back seat.

So, instead of finding out why the Star Ledger said, "It's hard to imagine [Bruce Springsteen and the E Street band] playing better, or meaning more to its longtime fans, than it does right now," I'm heading to an arena filled with screaming tweens who were born when Bruce was already middle aged. My Springsteen records -- yes records -- are a good 15, even 20 years older than them. If American Idol's David Cook played "Thunder Road," they'd probably download his version onto their iPods and then wonder who that old guy is playing the same song on their father's radio.

Instead of a rousing version of "Rosalita," I'll be exposed to what one newspaper referred to as "the 10 finalists from Season 7 reprising their well-worn karaoke routines." Rather than three hours, 12 minutes of rock classics, new and old, I'll hear hours and hours of covers of Queen and Aerosmith, like I'm at a local bar on a Saturday night, only without the alcohol. And judging by the reviewers' words used to describe the AI Tour -- "limp," "headscratching" and "one long drone," I might need some alcohol. And ear plugs.

So, I'll suck it up and take my kids to see their very first concert. And then I'll wait for Bruce to find his way back to cap off his tour at home, and I'll get tickets. And a sitter.
Posted by Jen, July 29 at 11:53 a.m.

Leftovers
Dear mom who invited my son over for dinner last night:

When you set dinner out on the table last night, you probably thought you wouldn't have to cook again tonight. Surely there'd be plenty of leftovers. I mean, how much can one extra kid eat?

Oh, all of it. I'm sure you realize that now -- now that you're probably working on your shopping list for the trip to the supermarket you didn't think you'd have to make today. I mean, really. What kid eats cabbage and meatloaf with the kind of enthusiasm children usually reserve for foods shaped like cartoon characters or ice cream with sprinkles? I know of one, and he's mine.

He's only nine and yet he eats like a teenager who just ran a 5K on an empty stomach. But you see that now, and will likely not invite him over for dinner again anytime soon. Or you will, only you'll double the recipe next time. I understand. Welcome to my world.

I will try to return the favor by inviting your son over for dinner, but I suspect that your "picker," as you called him, will need three meals to equal my son's one meal. How about tonight? Because we've got leftovers. I'm sorry that you don't.
Posted by Jen, July 27 at 10:41 a.m.

Headliner
At church this morning, after the cantor stepped down from the pulpit where he'd pretty much sung about how Jesus is the one we're all supposed to look up to, his toddler shouted with unabashed excitement, "DADDY!"

Jesus might be his savior, but Daddy is a rock star.

After church, when I suggested we all wash my car, I got nothing nearly that kind of reception. But I did get the Goldfish crackers out of the car seat cushions.
Posted by Jen, July 27 at 4:49 p.m.

My Son Joined the Mob on Sim City.
All of a sudden, I heard a man's voice.

"Nick?" I yelled. "Is that coming from your computer?"

"Yeah!" my 11-year-old replied. "I got a jet and I'm blowing stuff up!"

Wait a minute. He was playing Sim City 4, the game where -- I thought -- players built cities and drive garbage trucks and create social order and other non-destructive, borderline educational activities.

So, I walked over to see what he was up to.

"I got this jet and now I'm destroying buildings for money!" he cheered.

"Why are you getting paid to blow up buildings?" I asked, reluctantly.

Well, it turns out that if you need money for your town, you can strike a deal with "the evil guy," who pays you to destroy things.

That's right: My son joined the mob on SIM City.

"You couldn't make money legally?" I asked.

"That takes too long," he answered, and blew up a factory. "What?" he said when I stuttered. "My town needs the money!"

"Are there people in the buildings?" I asked. His face went white. He hadn't thought of that. He mumbled, while I went to check on the ratings for the software. A quick Internet search assured me that it's Rated E, for Everyone. One site gave it a green light for kids 8 and up, citing its cultivation of "decision making skills, civics, politics," adding, "This game provides education in a wide scope of topics." No mention of evil missions.

Finally, I found one site that explained that though your evil missions raise a lot of money, they lower your mayor ranking. I asked my son about it, and he said that it's how people think of you as the mayor of your Sim City. Then he added, "I'm not really doing that anymore, Mom. I was just checking it out."

So, maybe he learned his lesson about taking money for doing bad things. It's just not the "education in a wide scope of topics" I was expecting from a Rated E computer game. On the other hand, maybe it's the perfect lesson for someone on the brink of his teenage years -- and for a mom who won't rely on ratings so much anymore.
Posted by Jen, July 25 at 10:40 a.m.

Homework in July
Darn you, baseball camp people. Why must you assign HOMEWORK? In July. From camp.

You may have thought that my son's homework assignment to write down ten things he learned yesterday would make me feel like I was getting my money's worth out of your camp. But really, all I expected from you was to teach him to hit and throw better and to fill him full of grilled cheese sandwiches at lunchtime.

But my son forgot to write his list last night, and I forgot to remind him, because it's summer, and we don't have homework, unless you count his ongoing list of characters from his favorite book series, "Warriors." He sorts the cat characters by "clan," "type of cat" and "favorites vs. villains." But that's more of a lazy summer day activity than homework -- the homework I reminded him to do at breakfast this morning. The homework he promptly forgot on the kitchen table.

I will bring his homework to you when I pick him up this afternoon. But if you ask him to write down, say, "20 ways to catch a ball" or "a dozen things available for lunch," well, he's not turning it in. Tomorrow's the last day of camp, and then his summer really begins.
Post by Jen, July 24 at 2:34 p.m.

Baseball Camp
Me: "How was baseball camp?"
Child: "I had two grilled cheeses, a banana and 10 pieces of watermelon for lunch!"
Me: "Did you get enough for breakfast?"
Child: "Obviously not."

After I heard about what was on the menu, I actually got a short run-down of what happened at baseball camp, albeit a condensed version of the story: "They make you hit off the tee, even though we can hit just fine, but I got a triple, Mom! Some of the coaches are teens, but one guy's been coaching for 23 years. We're in the 8, 9 and 10 year-old group, only there's no 8 year-olds this week. One 10-year-old was so good, they moved him up to the 11 through 13 year-old group. Some kids say bad words, and it's been very, very hot. But there are burgers for lunch!

Because it's all about the lunches.
Post by Jen, July 23 at 10:06 a.m.

Re-entry Phase
At our vacation rental last week, other people emptied the dishwasher. The laundry got done, largely because all we really needed cleaned were our beach towels. We went out to dinner often, and everyone else cooked but me. Well, unless you count the bacon I heated in the microwave for our poolside lunch on Friday and a few bowls of cereal. We ate too much ice cream, and drank too much of everything. It was hard to come home.

We lugged giant rafts up numerous flights of stairs at the water park, where the "Beast of the East" turned out to be a high-speed neti pot. I felt sorry for the kid manning the bottom of the ride. A middle aged woman in a pink swim suit slide into a pool of water at high speeds can't be a pretty site.

We walked up even more stairs -- 168 of them, according to my son -- at the Cape May lighthouse. I would have loved to land in a pool of water at the end of that. Instead, I took pictures of the ocean from up high.

We went out for lobster and stayed in for hot dogs. We went for walks, and we won useless junk in the arcade. We laughed, we relaxed, we had fun. And now it's hard to come back. But at least we got to go in the first place. And for that, I am grateful. Also, for the lobster and the good company.
Post by Jen, July 21 at 11:20 a.m. Got change?
A child just asked me if I have six dollars in quarters. Silly girl. How could she think I'd have that many quarters when the Deal or No Deal game costs $3.00?

Ah, but it was worth it, because I won 210 tickets, plus another 230 on other games. Thanks to our big winnings, we now have a plastic toy fighter jet and a pair of glasses with fake nose and sunglasses.

Six dollars in quarters. Ha!
Post by Jen, July 17 at 8:54 a.m.

Tennis Ball Trees
I figure that I'd probably save money if I just threw 10-dollar bills into the woods.

Huh?

See, instead of getting in my car and driving to Sports Authority to purchase tennis balls, which my children invariably hit deep into the woods from both our driveway and the community tennis courts, I could just skip the part where I pay for gas, and just put the money for the balls in the poison ivy out back.

If only tennis balls grew into tennis ball trees.
Posted by Jen. July 13, 2008 at 11:29 a.m.

Go Team!
It took six grown-ups to pull it off. We had to get four, sometimes five, Cub Scouts to and from the bus to Cub Scouts camp every day this week. This meant that spouses had to trade cars, people had to adjust schedules to reach the bus on time, and we all had to endure several children singing their version of "The Addams Family" theme song, complete with fart noises in lieu of snapping. My husband had the brunt of it; he had most morning shifts. One otherwise pristine car wound up with a filthy foot print on the console, and they all smelled like sweat, swamp and boy. Certainly, we're all planning bigger holiday gifts for our kids' school bus drivers this year. And staying home for a while.
Posted by Jen. July 12, 2008 at 10:15 a.m.

Game Show Contestant
Sometimes, like this morning, for instance, being a parent is like being a contestant on a wacky Japanese game show. Here's how you play:

With 12 minutes on the clock until it's time to leave for damp, child informs you that the counselors want you to switch to backpacks from the bags you had already packed so neatly.
You tell both children to dump everything out of their school backpacks, which had been sitting in the closet untouched for a month.
You pull everything out of the neatly packed bags while simultaneously eating a bowl of cereal and tying your shoe.
A cricket jumps out of one of the piles of stuff and onto your hand.
You scream and shake it off, promptly losing track of where it went.
You stuff a rain jacket, towel, lunchbox, waters, bug spray and...where's the sunscreen?
You retrieve the sunscreen from a child and stuff it into a backpack along with all the other stuff while simultaneously finishing breakfast and tying your other shoe.
You manage to get bags packed, shoes tied and breakfast eaten with one minute to spare!
You win a quiet morning alone in the house. Congratulations!

Posted by Jen. July 9, 2008 at 8:58 a.m.

The Loser Cruiser
I can't help but find it amusing. My husband took my mini-van today so he could drop the boys and two of their friends off at Cub Scouts camp on his way to work. His car won't fit that many kids, so he borrowed my van. That's right: He voluntarily drove the Loser Cruiser without the Home Depot or camping as his destination. And, he drove carpool.

He usually confines his driving duties to carting our two kids and maybe one other kid. And I've always done most of the carpooling. But today, he gets his very own merit badge for taking a car full of boys hopped up on the promise of shooting BB guns and swimming (not at the same time... I hope). Though the ride home is rowdier (and smellier, thanks to pre-adolescence and swamp). But today, I don't have that shift, because my van is in the parking lot at my husband's office, along with the other Loser Cruisers. Rather, that merit badge goes to another father, who drove his wife's van to work today. Which, of course, amuses me.

Cub Scouts isn't just for the boys. It's for the men and their Loser Cruisers, too.
Posted by Jen. July 8, 2008 at 10:56 a.m.

Will Work for Wraps
A deer and her two babies have circled the house three times already today, eating grass along the way. All I could think was: My God they don't stop eating. And I thought I had it bad with my nine-year-old, who eats as though his stomach is a gas tank, and he's riding on a long, empty stretch of road: Better keep it at least a quarter full, just in case.

An hour after eating, he'll tell me he's hungry. As soon as we get to the lake or to piano lessons or in the car, he says, "I'm hungry." Every night, he eats a bowl of cereal an hour before bed, and every morning, he snacks mid-way between breakfast and lunch. At the bagel shop the other day, he order a grilled chicken caesar wrap, as though he's a businessman on break. Only, I'm paying for his expense account. The bagel shop offered him a job: Cleaning in exchange for food.

I know he's a growing boy, but he's also just that -- a boy. If he eats this way at 65 pounds, what will happen when he's a teen and pushing 160? Well, there's a job waiting for him at the bagel shop. Maybe he'll break even.
Posted by Jen. July 7, 2008 at 3:06 p.m.

Get Under the Umbrella
We were trying to pretend the rain hadn't started up again. One by one, the parents at our community lake looked up at the sky, then toward their children and then at each other. A bunch of parents moved to under the trees in the picnic area. My husband opened up the top half of a yellow beach umbrella, which turned out to be a huge chick magnet. He stood by the bonfire, umbrella in hand, and the women moved in next to him.

Lucky for us, the heavy stuff didn't come down until after we'd left the beach. Also, that today is fireworks day at our lake, though the gloomy skies are foreboding. We're going to brave the beach again and hope for the best, probably with an even bigger umbrella. It makes my husband happy. Posted by Jen. July 5, 2008 at 12:22 p.m.

No Brawls Yet -- No Whammies!
By 9 a.m. yesterday, my kids had already gotten on each other's nerves. Granted, they've had a lot of time together, and it was hot and "He's making faces at me!" and "He started it!" and well, you see what I mean. Add to it the sheer joy of sitting in line at the inspection station, and you can imagine what the afternoon was like, too.

Silly, silly me, I actually thought AGAIN this year that summer mornings would be easier because we don't have to rush out to the school bus stop like we do during the school year. But I had AGAIN forgotten about the Summer Break Factor: 2 children x endless hours together x 90 degree sticky weather x 93 days = a little infighting to the nth degree. And I get caught in the crossfire -- when I'm not hiding.

Today, however, everyone is getting along much better...so far. I attribute this to two factors: 1. They were out late watching a baseball game and, therefore, were tired.
2. They're playing with friends now, so they're not together at the moment.

All I know is that the summer is young, but it might make me feel old if the hostilities continue. All I can do is dole out the consequences, keep them separated as much as possible and, of course, hide.
Posted by Jen. July 2, 2008 at 1:26 p.m.

Please Take My Children to Work Day
Tourists took pictures of me this morning. I was on the outdoor set of CBS The Early Show, waiting to talk to Maggie Rodriguez about my holiday for full- and part-time at-home moms, CafeMom.com about whether at-home moms deserve a day off. Of the some 30,000 moms who have chimed in so far, about three-quarters say "Yes." Another 15% say "No," and nine percent say "Maybe a half day." Can you imagine someone's boss saying, "You've been working hard. Take a vacation day...but be back in the office after lunch."?

Thanks to my neighbor, Ken, for watching my kids this morning so Mom could blabber on on television. And thanks to my parents for taking care of them now, so I can come off my TV high and crash in peace. And then it'll be back to the job of at-home motherhood again. But at least I got to talk to grown-ups.
Posted by Jen. June 30, 2008 at 12:07 p.m.

Custom Made
It always seems like a good idea at first. I ask for a few quiet moments in the house, and the kids ask for a few empty boxes and my packing tape. I blog. They make a race car out of cardboard. Everybody's happy....until a few hours later, when the kids lose interest in their creation, which now takes up room in the kitchen.

I step over it to get to the garage. I step over it to get back. I step over it to use the bathroom. I step over it on the way back.

It's like a greeting card: When is it okay to throw it out? Answer: Long, long before September.
Posted by Jen. June 27, 2008 at 12:40 p.m.

Taking Care of Business
We don't have a town square, but we've got the mall. It's not really a mall -- not by New Jersey standards where we have major malls seemingly at every intersection. But it is a group of stores under one roof, and it's where we take care of business.

Yesterday, I scouted out a babysitter with a neighbor who knows all the teenagers in town. She rattled off a list of names and even provided phone numbers, so I can text them.

Another mother gave me a lead on a baseball camp, and another tipped me off about a fourth of July party. One more advised me of the sale on blueberries in the supermarket.

Without the mall, I wouldn't get as much done. And my kids wouldn't have to say, "Can we gooooo nooooow?" Just a second, kids. I see someone who knows when bulk recycling day is...
Posted by Jen. June 26, 2008 at 7:14 a.m.

"R" Us
I was ironing my shorts today (because I never pull my laundry out of the dryer before the wrinkles set in) when I noticed my husband's perfectly pressed shirt hanging nearby. He's so good at ironing, I swear he could work for a clothing catalog photographer or Martha Stewart. His shirt had not one wrinkle, no corners sticking up, no collar askew. And frankly, it made me jealous. How did he get the ironing gene, while I walk around looking like I've just rolled out of bed, even after I've ironed?

And that's when I noticed it: His oh-so-perfect button-down shirt, which he'll probably wear to some important meeting this week, was hanging on a little white plastic hanger with the words "R" Us printed on it.

Tee hee hee.
Posted by Jen. June 24, 2008 at 10:09 a.m.

Parting Gifts
I didn't know how lacking we were until we visited several gift shops at various attractions in Philadelphia last week, and returned with a whole bunch of stuff, including: a felt bag full of replica silver coins from a pirate shipwreck, a pen that says "Christopher" on it, a miniature New Jersey flag, a mini U.S. Marines flag (even though we have no Marines in the family, nor have any children expressed any aspirations toward the military), a map of coastal Australia, two rubber ducks dressed like pirates and a mini replica Liberty Bell that rings.

I have not run into anything like these items in our area, and yet, you could find them at just about any tourist trap in Philadelphia. And now, in our house.

We have a few more trips planned for the summer. I can't wait to find out what else we've been missing. Oh, and I do hope it rings.
Posted by Jen. June 23, 2008 at 3:18 p.m.

Where Were You?
At dinner the other night, I made an announcement I thought was important to my family. I told the three males I live with that I would begin working out on Wednesday mornings with my personal trainer friend down the street.

It was important to me, because it meant that I would finally take then next steps in getting back in shape after chemotherapy and radiation took their toll on my body.

I figured it was important to my husband, because he needed to know what time I'd get home so he could get to work.

I thought my boys would want to know where the heck Mom would be.

So, last night, I asked my husband to set the alarm clock a little early. I laid out my workout clothes in the bathroom, so I could change in there and not bother my husband. Before I went to sleep, I asked my son to remind his father to set the alarm clock, and then I put my sneakers near my bed.

This morning, when I returned from my workout, one son was playing the Wii.

"Where'd you go, Mom?" he asked. I reminded him about my workout with my friend down the street, and he replied, "Oh," as though he was pleasantly surprised.

When I got upstairs, my husband was brushing his teeth. He looked at my workout outfit and asked, "Going swimmin'?"

I reminded him where I was, and he shrugged.

"You had no idea I'd left the house, did you?" I asked, and he shrugged again.

"Don't you remember I was working out with Cheryl this morning?" I asked.

He shook his head.

"Didn't you wonder why I asked you to set the alarm early?" I asked.

"I figured you had a radio show or something to do," he replied, spitting out his toothpaste.

"Is it that you don't care, or that you fill in the blanks?" I asked. "I'm just trying to figure out what goes on in your head at times like these."

"Not much," he answered, and left the bathroom.

The third male in the house didn't even know I'd left at all.

Next time, I'm going on vacation.

Posted by Jen. June 18, 2008 at 10:43 a.m.

Day 2, The Summer Break Experiment
You know it's summer break when you look forward to going to the dentist so you can put your feet up.

I finally made it to my teeth cleaning today, having cancelled it twice for various flu bugs running through the house in recent weeks. When I finished, the kids swam in my parents' pool and then my mom took us out to lunch.

If only it were that easy every day.

We'll head to the supermarket today to stock up on provisions that we are sorely lacking. I'm thinking that batteries for the Wii will come in as handy as swimsuits that actually fit, rather than last year's leftovers.

Meanwhile, the yard has been absent of the usual band of boys who roam through the property, leaving hockey sticks and buckets along the way. Maybe they don't know we're here. Or maybe they're at the dentist with their mothers.
Posted by Jen. June 17, 2008 at 3:12 p.m.

Day 1, The Summer Break Experiment
It's become quite clear just hours into this excursion I'm calling "The Summer Break Experiment" that we don't have enough provisions. Not enough milk. Not enough bread. Not enough Annie's Cheddar Bunnies.

So far, the children have not argued with each other. I can assume that this is because my older son is wearing headphones while he jams on the keyboard -- and yet, I can hear the music. Must speak to husband as to why the keyboard had been relocated to the area just outside my home office door.

The other child was still in his pajamas the last time I saw him as he carried a Bionicle around the house, singing to himself. You usually only get to see that sort of thing in the subway in Greenwich Village late on a Saturday night. What a treat.

No one else's children have appeared at the sliding glass door...yet. But it's early in the day. Indeed, it's early in the summer. We have 92 days in this Summer Break Experiment -- 92 days until school starts in mid September. And not enough Cheddar Bunnies.
Posted by Jen. June 16, 2008 at 9:57 a.m.

No Particular Place to Go
The parents at last night's baseball game looked lost. Hours earlier, school had ended for the summer and soon, baseball season would be over as well. We asked each other what our plans were for the exceptionally long summer -- 13 weeks long, thanks to construction at the high school. But when we answered, our eyes started to glaze over and then our voices trailed off.

On the one hand, we are thrilled to put away the backpacks and skip the rigid school year scheduling that keeps us and our minivans moving from September until June. On the other hand, THIRTEEN WEEKS?! That's longer than boot camp on Parris Island. Marines could be fully trained and ready to deploy before school starts again here in mid-September.

We parents mumbled about day camps and short trips and "just hanging out," which all sounds wonderful now, but by August, let's face it, kids get bored, parents lose their patience and the weather gets too hot. And then we'll all long for the rigid school year schedule. Silly, isn't it?

For now, though, I'm thrilled not to be rushing off to a baseball game today, and my kids seem content to just hang out. If I don't do the summer break math, it sounds great to have no particular place to go. Then again, it's only Week One. Uh oh. My eyes are glazing over and my voice is trail...
Posted by Jen. June 14, 2008 at 9:39 a.m.

Creature Feature
I can't find the spider. Not that I really want to find the two-inch monster of a spider I saw an hour ago in my basement. But if I'm going to see it again, I'd like it to be on my terms, and not when I'm passing by it -- in slippers -- on the phone and carrying hot tea. I think I have caused mild hearing damage for my friend on the other end of the phone when I screamed not unlike Jamie Lee Curtis in "Halloween."

Last week, I had a bat fly into my home office. This week, it's a jumbo-sized spider by the stairs. Don't bats eat spiders? Then again, I think this spider could take the bat, and then I'd have a battle like something out of a Japanese monster flick right here in my house. And I'd be collateral damage. Also, I'd stay out of the basement until the first frost.

The bat is gone (I hope), but the spider? He slinked away to I-DON'T-KNOW-WHERE. I keep checking under my desk, just in case. And I've put my hard-soled shoes on. I really don't mind if he stays in the boiler room, but out here is my territory. And man, can I scream loudly. Also, I'm armed with a tennis racquet and fear. Look out, spider. Look out.
Posted by Jen. June 12, 2008 at 11:16 a.m.

95 days
Thanks to construction at the high school, my kids will have an extra long summer break this year. As a result, today is their last full day of school, and therefore, the last time I'll be able to post something at 2 o'clock in the afternoon without having to shout, "Leave each other alone!" while I type.

In fact, there are 95 days until the next full day of school around here, sometime in mid-September. To put that in perspective, in 95 days, you could:

Hike the Appalachian Trail.
Compete in the Iditarod 10 times.
Climb Mount Everest 19 times.

And while summer break with two kids might not seem as grueling as these activities, I beg to differ. Consider this: At home with the kids for 95 days, I'll need the endurance of the Appalachian Trail hiker (as well as the food stash), the ability to break up dog fights like the Iditarod drivers and, unlike the Everest hikers, I have no Sherpa to carry things for me. I should line up the medical help just in case.
Posted by Jen. June 11, 2008 at 2:09 p.m.

The Hominator
It took my niece until she was two-years-old to figure out that my mother, whom we call "Hommy," was her grandmother. She had left my mom's house, only to return moments later to say, "Oh. You're my grandma!"

This is because my mother isn't your typical grandmother. She is, rather, a six-year-old kid trapped in a suburban woman's body. Because a typical grandmother wouldn't buy two pool toys that shoot water up to 20 feet called "The Eliminator." And a typical grandmother wouldn't jump inn the pool -- in her clothes -- to try to wrestle the Elimator away from her children. But my mother did.

Yesterday started out as a simple impromptu pool party, but, thanks to Hommy, it soon turned into water brawl. First, it was the Eliminator, and then hand-sized balls that were perfect for decking other swimmers in the head. My kids, my niece, my brother and I put all those to good use, especially after Hommy dove into the pool and tried to thwart the Elimator's powerful stream with a SpongeBob kickboard -- until my brother and I figured out we could attack simultaneously from two directions and still get her.

Then the Kids vs. Grown-ups pool volleyball game started. My mother sure can spike. Good thing my son was wearing protective goggles. Also, good thing my brother is six-foot-two with arms nearly as long, or the kids would have crushed us.

Whenever my father went into the woods to retrieve the ball for us, we did the wave in his honor. Then we went back to smacking each other with the ball, Hommy first. What a sweet grandmother she could have been if she didn't have such a strong right arm. We now call her "The Hominator."

When we went home, I had to nap for two hours. I still have water in my ears. On Father's Day, I'm getting to the Eliminator before Hommy does. It's my only chance.
Posted by Jen. June 9, 2008 at 9:28 a.m.

Pain in the Neck
I know we didn't really need to go to the pediatrician last night, but we went anyhow, largely because it would end my phone conversation with the nurse on the help line. I was just trying to find out what I should look for that night in my son's sore neck, but frankly, it was easier just to go there and talk to the doctor.

Nurse: "Can I help you?"
Me: "I don't really think this is anything, but my son has a sore neck and a fever, so you can imagine why I'd want to call you."
Nurse: "He has a sore neck? Please hold..."
Second Nurse:"Hello. Can I help you?"
Me: "I was talking to another nurse about my son's sore neck."
Second Nurse: "Hold on..."
First Nurse: "Hello?"
Me: "I'm the one with the kid with a sore neck."
First Nurse: "He's got a sore neck?"
Me: "Yeah, I'm pretty sure he got it on a carnival ride last night, but then he got a fever, so I'm calling you."
First Nurse: "Well, a carnival ride wouldn't give him a fever."
Me: "True, but meningitis does. What kind of signs should I look for tonight?"
First Nurse: "Can he move his head...?"
Me: (shouting to child with sore neck) "Can you move your head?"
Child: "It hurts to turn it to the left."
Me: "It hurts to turn his head to the left."
First Nurse: (talking to someone else in a low mumble)
Child: "The right is better."
Me: "His right side is better."
First Nurse: "Can you come in?"
Me: "We need to come in? I think he just hurt his neck on a carnival ride and then caught a virus from his brother. He has 5th disease."
First Nurse: "How about 6:40?"

The doctor's diagnosis? He hurt his neck on a carnival ride and caught a virus from his brother, who has 5th disease.

Hello, can I help you?
Posted by Jen. June 7, 2008 at 6:07 p.m.

Pity the Parents at the Town Carnival
Two-and-a-half mozzarella sticks are still sitting at the bottom of my stomach 14 hours after I ate them. Plus, most of a hot dog. I was smart enough not to share my kids' blue cotton candy at the carnival last night, and not to get on the Gravitron and shake it all up. If I had, I'd feel worse than I do now with the mozarella sticks weighing down my intestines.

Like most of the families in my town, we spent much of last evening at the carnival that passes through our high school's grounds every June. And, like most of the families in my town, we came home stuffed with greasy food and covered in a film of dirt and pollen.

The rain held off, but the marauding bands of tweens with blow-up Yankees and Mets bats didn't. They were roaming the grounds, smacking each other with the bats they'd won a the "How Fast is Your Fastball?" game. For three bucks a pop, you could throw three pitches. If the last one is your fastest, you win a prize that will give you something to annoy your brother (and therefore, your parents) with all night long. Most kids were smart enough to hold their fastest pitches for the end, hence the proliferation of three-foot long plastic weaponry, carnival-wide.

We also came home with a yellow squooshy ball sporting a smiley face, a little stuffed penguin and a toy that looks like a frog or perhaps a toad. All for just about a bazillion dollars.

We did not, however, join the many others carrying bags of water and goldfish to their cars, a feat I attribute to my ability to distract my children any time we got near the goldfish table. (i.e. "Look! No one's at the ferris wheel!")

While the kids were on the rides, my husband and I caught up with other parents. I found out about today's Cub Scout meeting, and got roped into supplying snacks to the 4th grade end-of-year party. And, of course, we all threatened to take away the Mets bat if our kids didn't stop smacking his brother with it.

The carnival is in town for two more nights, but we're done, thank you very much, until next year. If I'm lucky, I'll digest the mozzarella sticks by then.
Posted by Jen. June 6, 2008 at 10:54 a.m.

Can I Have a Lift?
For the second time in a month, I was lost in suburbia without a car. This time, at least I was carrying two clarinets, which weigh much less than a tenor sax in a jumbo hard case.

If only the guys who had taken my car to figure out what the whistling sound in the transmission was had told me they'd be keeping my car for a few days. Then I wouldn't have set up my son's first clarinet lesson at 5 p.m. yesterday. But they didn't. And so, I was stranded at home with the kids and the clarinets.

I made a few calls, but no one was around. Then I found Janet.

My next door neighbor Janet just happened to be taking her kids and another one to karate, which is next door to the music store where my son's lesson would take place. She did the math, and figured out we could all fit into her mini-van. So, one son wedged himself between two kids who were in karate outfits, and my other son sat in the middle next to Janet's five-year-old daughter. I sat in the front with the clarinets.

When we got there, we ran into the last mother to take pity on our carless selves and drive us home. She laughed, "Who drove you here this time?" Sheepishly, I pointed to Janet. She laughed some more. We had our lesson, and Janet drove us all home.

I cleared my appointments for today and set up a ride to tomorrow's Parent vs. Kid kickball game at the school. After that, I think I'll just stay home until my car comes back. Need a lift?
Posted by Jen. June 5, 2008 at 11:06 a.m.

Horn Lessons
Soon, the squeaking will stop. Or at least I hope so. My third grader has chosen the clarinet for his instrument to play in next year's band. My father gave him his old clarinets, which my son has been "playing" for a week now.

The clarinet, if you don't know, is a difficult instrument to get the hang of, so you can imagine what it sounds like when an enthusiastic nine-year-old gets a hold of one and plays it for the first time. And the second time. And the third time...

He jams along with his Frank Sinatra CDs, but then I can't hear Frank. But you've got to start somewhere, and he's going to start tonight. At my father's urging, I have signed my son up for four weekly clarinet lessons throughout the month of June. If I'm lucky, the clarinet will stop squeaking quite so much by July. Frank Sinatra will be waiting -- and so will I.
Posted by Jen. June 4, 2008 at 11:17 a.m.

UFO's
Please Lord, let the black object that just flew into and back out of my home office be a bird and not a bat. Also, please let it find the two WIDE OPEN doors I have just offered up and leave immediately. If I could witness this exodus, that would be fabulous because then I could leave my office for lunch and to put a load of laundry in. If not, I just might sleep down here tonight. Finally, please let it refrain from pooping on anything. Or at least on any costly electronics.

Amen
Postscript, 12 minutes later...The bat -- yes a bat -- flew back in and landed on the floor to stare right at me. Flying shoes and books didn't deter him or persuade him to head out the WIDE OPEN door.

I scooted around him, shut my office door and ran up to the garage to get our Bat Removal System -- a tennis racquet and a plastic net from the beach. When I returned, it was gone. At least, I hope it's gone... I'm leaving the door open all day, no matter how many flies and bees drop by to visit as a result.
Posted by Jen. June 2, 2008 at 10:30 a.m.