Punch-bugging Feminists

I have probably been a feminist my entire life. At least as long as I can remember. My parents raised me to believe that my gender wasn't a disability nor should it prevent me from achieving whatever goal I set for myself---and of course, that my mind was just as capable of genius as a man. My Dad made sure Chrissy and I could bait a hook, shoot a gun, drive a stick shift, or change a tire. My Mom raised us to believe in self-reliance, self-sufficiency, and self-respect. From infancy, we were raised to believe that the gateway to all of our dreams was through an education. No one could take it away from us and no matter what, with an education, we wouldn't be forced to rely on anyone for help in life. There is no better confidence booster than knowing that you can provide for yourself.

Obviously, I want Maggie to know that she is entitled to all of the same rights and privileges as her brothers. I want her to demand equal pay for equal work, to never set her sights any lower than the very best in education and to know her value and her worth are defined by her own expectations, not those of others. I think it is very empowering for a girl to grow up with that attitude--the one that my parents so graciously helped to shape for me.

However, if I am doing my part for the empowerment of women, I will do my very best to teach my boys these important lessons. I want all of those those same things for them. But I also want them to believe that  their sister and women like her are entitled to these same basic rights. It will make them better husbands and fathers, classmates, and maybe even bosses, one day.

If only life were as perfect as it is in my head! I really do tell the boys that girls can do the same things that they can do. I provide examples with those degrees and certifications hanging on the wall. And my ability (to Ian's amazement) to drive Josh's truck (which has a stick shift). I am not afraid of frogs or lizards (I proudly hang lizards on my ear lobes like my Uncle Lee always demonstrated when I was a child). Josh and I  show it in our partnership marriage where we both care for the children, clean the house and contribute to the family income. However, I never really know if they get it.

Today I am driving with Will and his friend Madi. Will yells, "Volkswagen Yellow!" I say, "Yes, punch-bug Yellow! Good job Will" (Thanks April for resurrecting this timeless classic). Madi yells out "Punch-bug." Will responds, "You can't say that. I am the KING of punch-bug." (and he really is. The kid can point out a Volkswagen from miles away). So she counters, "Well if you are the King, then I am the princess." Will thinks about it for a minute and counters back, "No, Madi. You can be the King. Girls can do all the same things as boys so if I can be the King, you can too." Ahhh...melting heart moment for me.

I also know that growing up with a sister will reinforce so many of these lessons for the boys. She thinks that she can do all the same things that they do and because they love her so much, they are more than happy to let her tag along. And if ever a boy makes her doubt her self-worth, I am sure Will is more than happy to use these punch-bugging skills on that boy's face.

Alive, Getting Well, and Turning Gray...

The last week and a half has pretty much stunk.

Good News: The Burgess Bunch is still ALIVE!
Bad News: The entire Bunch has been sick with something EXCEPT Ian! I am convinced he is the carrier rat.

We have battled stomach bug, nasty colds and strep throat in our house for the last week. What a great way to usher in the school year. I hate sickness and germs. But sickness and germs apparently LOVE me and my house. We spent last November thru March constantly sick. I do not want a repeat of that cycle again this year. My kids are great at sharing, especially their germs. So I spent the entire weekend cloroxing, washing, and lysoling everything in our house. Maybe I can get the germs to leave. I sure hope so.

Our pediatrician (despite her less-than-stellar office staff) is so wonderful. We were her first patients on Saturday morning. She welcomed me with a hug and said, "I was afraid I would see you again this week." I practically live in her office. She gave us another script of antibiotics and told me to call her if Ian needed one too. So far, so good.

Antibiotics make Will bounce off the walls. Literally. The kid gets the jerks if you try to make him sit still.  I kept him home from school today just to be sure he was better. He talked my ear off. He has also learned that sick=mommy feels sorry for me=all the ice cream and Popsicles he wants=even more hyper child. I felt like I had the jerks by the end of the day.

In other news, I noticed last night that my hair is now more gray than whatever is my natural color. I don't mention this because because of vanity. I mention it because of how shocking it was for me to notice. Josh changed the lighting in our bathroom and it made the gray far more obvious than the dimmer lighting we had before. Bring back the dims, please! My parents are both beyond white-headed (sorry I outed you Mom), so I knew it was going to happen. I just didn't know it would happen before my 30th birthday. I blame my kids.

And maybe I blame Ian's schoolwork.

2nd grade is hard. Far more difficult than I remember it being. The teacher sends home gobs of instructions and charts and graphs for me to record our reading, writing, math AND even more stuff for me to sign. I realize it isn't her fault. She has to deal with government accountability and slack parents who don't even look in their kids' backpacks. But all of these rules and charts and graphs give this perfectionist Momma heart palpitations. Seriously. I already went to visit the teacher on Thursday so that we could talk through all of it so that "we can ensure that Ian isn't getting overwhelmed." Insert Momma for Ian. I think I got a handle on it but it is a lot to keep up with. And it is all very time consuming.

I am sure it is for all parents. But for us, especially, because Ian has dyslexia, dysgraphia, and dyscalculia. Basically, he struggles in reading, writing and math. He is super smart and can remember just about everything, but I have to take the work she sends home for him and rework it in a way that works best for him to understand. This afternoon, we spent 3.5 hours doing homework. I try to make it fun; we play word games and do math drills with yummy treats but it requires a lot of me. And him.

And as if spending 3.5 hours of my afternoon doing math drills and word blends wasn't enough, Maggie pulled my laptop off of my desk and Will dropped my Droid into the bathtub...filled with water. My laptop seems OK, although the screen blinks occasionally. I am not sure I will be able to say the same for my phone.

Oh well, I can replace it. Just like I can pay to hide the gray in my hair. But I can't pay to get the moments back of "Uh Oh" when my laptop crashed to the floor, or Will's "Oh Man" when my phone went for a swim, or even the many hours I spend with Ian agonizing over reading, writing, and arithmetic. It was a bad week but along with the sniffles, I got a lot of snuggles, and "I love yous" and "You're the best Mom," as bribery for more ice cream. Believe me, as hard as it is to live sometimes, these really hard moments are some of the most rewarding of my journey in motherhood. And although I am not loving the gray hair part, if I have to have it in order to have these kids, it will be worth every trip to the salon.

Pediatrician Kind of Monday...

Last night, I got to spend the entire night watching BREAKING NEWS coverage of the chaos in Libya. Not just because I am a total, self-admitted news junkie. As if a weekend of Josh and I both being sick wasn't enough, we thought we would start this week sick too. Fun.

Maggie woke up around 11 last night screaming and yanking on her ear. Seeing as she is my 3rd child, I know this means ear infection. Despite Motrin, warm rags, etc., we didn't do much sleeping. So we watched the events unfold in Libya and counted down the minutes until we could call the Pediatrician's office at 8am.

Now to call the Pediatrician is an art form in and of itself. If you call at 7:59, you get the machine. Once you redial, you are like 15th in line to talk to a receptionist. Call at 8am, sometimes you get the machine and sometimes, you are lucky to be 4th or 5th. I have found with my substantial experience in the matter, it is best to call at 8:01. There is little risk of catching the machine and you usually end up higher than 5 but less than 10 in line to talk to the reception. Art form. Seriously.

So I dial at 8:01, Maggie is crying as I walk her around the house and get Will ready for school. The scary robot voice tells me that there are 5 callers ahead of me. Golden. 10 minutes pass and we finally get a human. Not bad. Nameless receptionist lady asks me if I can be there at 8:40. I ask back, 8:40? Yes, she answers, 8:40. I agree to take that appointment. Best to get it over with than listen to Maggie cry all morning. That gives me half an hour to get she and I ready, get Will down the street to Madi's house so he can carpool with them and get to the doctor's office on time. No problem.

Then I look in the mirror. Total hot mess. I can't go outside the confines of my car (I did drive Ian to school this morning. He never commented on my appearance. Maybe because he knew I wasn't getting out?) looking like this. So I tell Will to entertain Maggie for 3 minutes while I jump in the shower. All I heard was banging on the door and screams from her for me to hold her. She lived until I got out. She wouldn't let me blow dry my hair without holding her so I did the best I could. I threw on some clothes that actually matched, dressed her, grabbed bags and loaded everything (kids included) into the car. I had 7 minutes to get to the doctor. Went back in to grab my phone and purse, took a glance in the mirror. You guessed it. Still a hot mess. The only difference was my hair was still a little damp and I smelled better. Oh well.

Believe it or not, I made it to the Pediatrician with one minute to spare. We signed in, talked to the receptionist, and sat down in the sick area. We waited. We chatted with some people we knew. We waited. We read 2 books. We chatted with some more people we knew. We waited. People we talked with when we got there were leaving. 40 minutes into my wait, I went back to the receptionist lady to inform her I was still waiting. She asks our name. I give it. She informs me our appointment is at 9:30. Sleep deprived and without a single ounce of Diet Coke in my system, I felt the rage welling to my throat. I didn't yell but I was very loud. This is not the first or third time this has happened to me. It's more like the 5th. I love our doctor. I do not love the people who work in her office. I don't think they mean to screw up but they do. A lot.

My semi-hissy fit accomplished nothing but an apology. We waited until 9:30 to get called back. Maggie, luckily, was totally patient the entire time. If this had been Will, the story would have been much different.
After learning that Maggie weighed 29 pounds and I told the nurse the diagnosis. I looked down to notice that my shoes don't match my outfit. I didn't even care. We waited another 25 minutes to see our doctor. As unhappy as I was about the whole thing, it really didn't matter in the scheme of the amazing love and attention our doctor gives to our children. She apologized profusely for the entire thing but honestly, I can deal with her office staff because of the wonderful care we get from her. (She is the kind of Dr that calls you at night to check on your child after a visit to her office). Ear infection it is. Drops and antibiotic and she is doing fine.

It was a rough day but we survived. I even got to hear Will say prayers tonight. Instead of laughing, his tender words brought tears to my eyes. It was a prayer I needed to hear. It definitely cured my bad case of the Mondays!

God Made TVs?

One of my favorite things about parenting is watching (and hearing) my children talk to God. Their innocence and honesty is amazing. So is their humor. My kids don't seem to hold back with God any more than they do with me. As Ian has pointed out to me before, "God sees more than you do, Mom. It's best to just get it out there." Yes He does. They talk to God about their day, their worries, the things they are grateful for, and the people in their lives. Sometimes, their talks with God enlighten me to fears I didn't know they had or comfort me in knowing that they understood the lesson I was trying to teach when they made a mistake. Sometimes, even with my best efforts, I can't help myself and laugh out loud at the things they tell God.

Will already knew his Bible verse from school this week (God Made Me. Psalms 139:14); at least the scripture itself. He didn't know the Psalms part. When I tried to get him to learn it, he said, " Mom, I don't need to learn that part. I can't read. Besides, why would I look it up in The Bible? I already know it." Pretty good logic.

As you know if you read this blog often, Will starts ALL prayers with God Made Me....So last night, he is saying his nightly prayer with us and he says, "God Made Me. Thank you for my family. God made Ian. God made Mags. God Made Mommy. God made Daddy. God made socks. God made shoes." At this point, I am biting my lip for fear that I am going to start laughing. With each thing that he said, I saw him stealing a look at me to see my reaction to his words. I was trying hard to hold it together. Josh was too. He continued, "God made pajamas. God made Maggie's diapers. God made wipes. God made couches." I could feel my face starting to crack. I sneak a peek at Josh and he has his face buried in his hands. He can barely hold it together. Will must have known we were about to lose it. He continues, "God made TVs" and there the giggles began. Josh, Ian and I all fall over in giggles. Will joins in. I realize this is completely inappropriate and not very mature of us. It is probably disrespectful too. But honestly, I think God was laughing too.

Shortly after, we got our acts together and continued on with prayers. It was all serious business from there. And during my prayer time, I thanked God for the humor that He has allowed in my life through these three precious souls. I don't think He had much to do with providing us with TVs but He had everything to do with the three most important creations in my life. I am grateful, humbled, and always chuckling because I get to be their Mom.

3 Hours of Vacation...

It's a day I have been looking forward to all summer; marking off the calendar patiently with X's. Today was the first day that all 3 children were going to be in school for 3 hours of the day. Hooray!!! I worked really hard yesterday grading papers, cleaning and washing clothes so that I could relish this first day of independence.

I had it all planned out. I was going to drop the kids off, wander around Hobby Lobby, come home and go for a walk, do a little pleasure reading (I have a new book on the Progressive Era that I am dying to get into), and just relax. I felt like all of my hard work over the last few weeks reorganizing the house (and of course, spending the entire summer with the kids) made me deserving of 3 hours of vacation time.

But alas, my life never goes according to plan. Here we are 3 days into the school year and illness has already taken hold of my house. Yesterday afternoon, Josh came home violently ill with a stomach bug. I quickly quarantined him to our bedroom and Lysoled/Cloroxed the house down behind him. Afraid of spreading sickness, I didn't think Maggie should sleep in our room. Will volunteered to let her sleep with him. She was so excited to sleep in his big boy bed. She snuggled up right next to him and went to sleep. A few hours later, she kept waking up crying because she had a stuffy nose. She can't suck the pacifier with a stuffy nose so she was miserable. One day in the vicinity of other kids and she already had a runny nose. Fabulous!

After a while, Maggie came to bed with me. Josh spent the night in the bathroom (bless his heart). Between her struggle to breathe and Josh's sickness, I got very little sleep. When I got up this morning, I was trying to remain positive. On the bright side, none of the rest of us woke up with the stomach bug. Small victories.

Determined to at least enjoy some of my time, I reworked my schedule for the morning. I took the kids to school, made a trip to the grocery store to get Gatorade and soup for Josh, and then went to wander around Hobby Lobby. I nixed the walk and attempted to read. I was so tired, I didn't get 3 pages into the book before I was asleep on the couch. After a 20 minute power nap, I made me some brunch and washed some clothes. And my 3 hours were up.

Josh was feeling good enough this evening to keep an eye on the boys while I went for a 2 mile walk after Maggie went down for the night. Tomorrow, I am back to the grind and will have to Clorox the entire house. But for today, I am grateful for a few hours of time to myself. I don't do it enough. And I could get used to it---so much so, I already have next Thursday morning planned!

School is Back...

It's the most wonderful time of the year. No, not Christmas. BACK TO SCHOOL!

I love being home with my children. We have so much fun, they entertain me, and I love getting to spend so much time with them. But, after three long short months together, I am ready for them to get back in school. And I will be honest, I was more ready for August 15th than my sister. (August 15th happens to also be the opening day for Deer Hunting in the Lowcountry of SC). We were prepared, we had our supplies and new clothes. We knew who our teachers were going to be. All the kids had to do was show up.

Bright and early yesterday morning, I woke Ian up and got him moving. He has to be at school at 7:30 (too early). He was excited to see his friends. I was a little nervous simply because Ian didn't go with me to Open House before school started because he was with my Parents. He didn't know where his classroom was and didn't really know his teacher. So, I suggested that I would go in with him and get him where he was supposed to be. Ian vetoed my plan: Mom, I don't need you to go in with me. Me: But Ian, you don't know where your classroom is. Ian: But Mom, I DO know where the 2nd grade classrooms are. All I have to do is go there and look on the doors. When I see "Mrs. Thompson" on the door, I will go inside because I will have found my classroom. I dropped the conversation for the moment. When we were almost to school, I resurrected it again. Me: Ian are you sure you don't want me to walk in with you? Ian: Mom, just drop me off in the circle. I've got this.

So I did. I needed him to know I trusted his judgment and honored his independence. But it broke my heart a little lot. However, I didn't cry. I was trying to be strong for the other little ones in the car with me.

Now Will, he was a wild card about school. Last year, he went to preschool 3 days a week. He cried every time I dropped him off and almost the entire time that he was there from August until November 1st. It was awful. I kept sending him because everyone said it would get better. And it did, finally. Like a light switch, he went to school on November 1st and loved it. Never another tear. So this year, he asked me to send him every day. I signed him up for it but honestly, I wasn't crazy about him going every day (even for just 3 hours). But he wanted to do it, begged me to let him, and honestly, the activity is good for him. When Will  is bored he writes on the walls and couch, dumps powder on the floor, jumps off of things and ends up in the ER. This seemed like a simpler plan.



Will and his teacher, Mrs. Kendra



He was so excited to go to school yesterday. He picked out his own clothes, helped me pack his backpack, was up and ready long before usual. On the way to school, I asked him if he was sure he wanted to go to school every single day. Will: Yes. Me: Are you sure? Will: Mom, I'm a big boy now. You are just gonna have to accept that.

I did accept it. There were no tears from either of us yesterday. And when he got home, he assured me that going every day was the right plan for him. At least the house will benefit!

CHEESE!

And then came Maggie. I didn't want to put her in any program this year. I stay home for a reason. But, the reality is that I am working two jobs and I often work late into the night so that it doesn't interfere with my care for the children. On top of that, Maggie doesn't ever play with kids her own age. And she never plays with little girls. When the boys are gone to school, she sits next to the window, waiting for them. She is bored. Will's school offers a Mom's Morning Out program. I decided it would be in both of our best interests for her to go two mornings a week. That way, I can work at the office one of those days, and the other day, I can do things that I never seem to have time for. You know, like go to the doctor or clean the house.

Playing as soon as we
walked in!

She seemed very eager to go to "Big Girl School" because every time we went into Will's classroom, she cried when we left. So I was hopeful that today, she would be just fine. And she was better than anything I could have hoped for. She walked right in, started playing and waved goodbye when I left. I then walked back down to Will's room to tell his teacher something and Will wanted to know all about how Maggie was doing. Will: Mom, how is Maggie? Is she crying for me? After reassuring him that she was fine (and his teacher offering to take him down to check on her in a little while), I left. I held it together until I got to the car. And then, the tears sobs came. I called my Mom and cried with her. Then my mother in law called to check on Maggie (and me). I cried some more. I finally pulled it together just in time to walk in to our Staff retreat at work. There were no calls for me to come get her. She was just fine. And eventually, I was too!

As much as I look forward to the start of school, it is hard to believe that another calendar page is turned in their lives. They are growing up so fast and I really wish that I could just press a pause button and keep them this little forever. But like Will says, I just have to get over it. I can't freeze them in time. So I just settle for the summers of fun and the celebration of school returning. Just 20 more years of this and Josh and I can celebrate a new phase in life: Empty Nest!

I just loved this one! Will was trying to get her to take a picture
with him and she was screaming, "NO!" because she
wanted the camera to be all on her! DIVA!

Reprogramming the Stinky Rotten

After over a week with my Mom and Dad, the boys have come home! I missed them! It is amazing how quiet the house can be without all of their bustle, noise, and fighting. Maggie missed the boys more than I did, I think. By Thursday, she was pining for them. On Friday, she spent most of the day looking out the window, anxiously awaiting my Aunt Sherry's car to pull in the drive-way. She was beyond ecstatic to see them.

Will wouldn't admit to me that he was ready to come home but I know he missed Maggie. After all, that is who he always wanted to talk to when I called to check on him. He would talk gibberish with her for several minutes and she would bubble over with even more gibberish. He seemed so grown up when he got back. Mom tells me that in his own mind, he became a man while at their house. He took to sleeping only in his underwear and even told my Dad there was only room for one man in the bed with my Mom and it wasn't him. Ouch. When my mom asked him what made him a man, he told her that men have hair on their chests. So she asked him where was his hair. He pointed to the peach fuzz and said, "I got a wittle bit wight here."

Great.

The hardest part of having them back is reprogramming them. It is obvious that they got to do whatever they wanted while at Hana and Poppa's house. And I know, it is the grandparent's complete right to endlessly spoil their grandchildren. My grandparents spoiled me too---I practically lived with them every weekend of my life until I left for college. But my kids came back stinky rotten. Will actually had the audacity to instruct me that I am not allowed to tell him what to do. He apparently has amnesia as to whom is in charge around here. When it normally takes me twice to get them to listen, now it takes around 10.

The people that they stayed with this past week must have amnesia too. Those people--my parents, now more commonly referred to as Hana and Poppa--are not the people that raised me and Chrissy. MY parents had rules and bed times and sugar-intake allowances. "Fun" wasn't really a word that my mother ever used when growing up. Oh but these people, the imposter's in my parents' body, oh these people have a lot of nerve. They took my kids to WalMart and let them buy whatever they wanted. The kids report that they went fishing and swimming and shopping. They got to "eat chicken nuggets like every day" and go to "Mexicans" and eat a whole entire carton of cookies in one sitting.

Fabulous.

Dad took them to the Serpentarium on Edisto and they got to hold a "real snake. A Boa." Poppa bought each of them a fake snake, which scared the begeezus out of me this morning when I pulled back the shower curtain and saw two very real-looking fake snakes curled up in the bottom of the bathtub. Can you say heart attack? Will was most excited to report to everyone that he got to shoot a gun for target practice. "A real one. A rifle. And it was awesome." Granted, it was mostly Ian doing the shooting (Will just pulled the trigger once) of the .22 but the point is to inform me that they got to do something they know I wouldn't let them do myself.

Duh.

From the looks and sounds of it, they had a blast. They came home with more trinkets and treasures than Christmas. These few days surely cost my parents a small fortune. But of course, it was the time that mattered. They have stories and memories that will last them a lifetime. That is what spending those untamed, unrehearsed, and unruly times with grandparents are all about. And believe me, I am grateful. Not just that my my parents are still here to spend time with them but that they get to learn lessons and make memories with the people that taught me everything I know about life. So even though Hana and Poppa aren't quite like the people that raised me, they managed to make the boys extremely happy over the last week. Knowing that makes the difficult task of reprogramming them a little bit more tolerable.

Organized Pack Rat

If I didn't live with Josh, I am pretty sure I could be a hoarder. His influence and my overall dislike of shopping keep me from crossing over into an A&E television episode. But I am a pack rat. I think maybe it's because I am a historian by training. I always think in terms of archives, museums, catalogs. I recently completed a strengths training seminar for work and my top strength in the five-strength set was Context. That strength has everything to do with knowing, understanding, and cataloging the history of everything in life. This training confirmed what I already knew. Packratting is my personality. It is in my DNA. I always hold on to something "just in case." Couple this "strength" with my stacking habit (organized chaos), filing systems and my distaste for cleaning up those stacks and we have a nest of stuff that only I can decipher. I am organized, but completely in my own way.

This system drives Josh up the wall. I think it probably gives him the hives, too. I feel bad that he has to live with me. Sometimes, it drives me crazy too.

When it was time for me to come back from my parents' house, the boys decided to stay and spend some time with my Dad. They have been fishing and swimming (and exhausting my parents). Since it was just Mags and me, I decided that it was time to clean out, organize, and start the year off on the right foot. (Josh also strongly encouraged me to clean out my office. There was something about trash bags and not giving a damn about what was in the stacks). It was time to unpack some of the rat's nest.

Maggie was a great help to me. She pulled all of the trash out of the bags so that I could put it back. She also pulled off all of the sticky notes from a pad and stuck them all over herself, the TV and the floor. She pulled notebooks off the shelf as fast as I could put them on. She modeled ZTA bags around the room and pulled out all of their contents. She got tired of my cleaning and begged for my attention by bringing me baby dolls to rock and feed and change. It was great fun!

And the good news is that not only did I clean the office, I reorganized it to the point of OCD. It is magnificent. Empowered by my success with the office, I started cleaning closets, drawers, cabinets. I am on a roll. I bought organizing cubes and canvas storage containers. I even bought hooks for backpacks and a new extension rod to hang in the boy's closet so I can reorganize everything in there.

I know when Josh asked me to clean my office, he didn't expect me to purge the house of so much stuff. In a few days, when the boys come home and mess up all of my magic and I get too busy again to care about it all, he will be proud of me. At the moment, though, he is in the laundry room hanging hooks and assembling my cube cabinet. And probably cussing me for being an organized pack rat.

Josh putting together my Cube Cabinet Organizer

I got 17 of these at Target today for $2.50 each.
That is a deal!

My new office organization!

Welcome to the World of Idiocy

I am an idiot. College degree? Pointless. Maybe if it had been in child psychology and not history, it would have been helpful. Master's Degree? Also pointless. Good thing I thing I didn't waste money for that doctorate. I am sure they would have deemed that pointless as well. The time has come, for Ian at least, when I no longer am the smartest person on the planet. I am not even the smartest person he knows. I have been replaced by someone far more experienced; far more learned in the ways of the world. Who is this fine courier of knowledge, you ask? Well none other than Ian himself. That's right. He knows EVERYTHING. I, well, I know absolutely nothing about everything.

It is almost time for school to start back. (Thank goodness). So today we braved the mobs of people to save a few dollars on taxes to get our school supplies. We started out with clothes shopping. I had already bought most of Will's stuff but Ian really needed new shirts. I was pretty sure he was hyperventilating with all the huffing and puffing he was doing over my choices. Foot stomping and eye rolling were thrown in for good measure. A polo shirt is classic. Why is that no longer an acceptable choice for clothes? I was completely confused. He was picking out shirts with skateboards and skulls across the front. I was trying to stick to classic attire--Polo's double as church shirts too. But OMG, you would have thought that I was asking him to wear a straight jacket to school. I finally made an executive decision--after all, I was the one buying them--Ian, I am buying what I want to buy. If you don't want to wear this, you can go to school naked for all I care. Ian: Naked it is then. Those clothes are for grandpas and daddies. I am not a grandpa or a daddy. Me: Well you keep it up with all the extra commentary, and you won't have to worry about ever becoming either.--And then it came, as fast as lightening striking. Ian: Whatever mom. You don't know anything.

Wait, what? Was that adolescence punching me in the face five years early? I think so. In the end, I bought the Polo's. And I really don't care if he goes to school naked. I am not the one who has to go inside. I know he will come around when its time to make the choice. This is why kids should have to wear uniforms. We did uniforms when Ian went to private school. So much easier and cheaper in the long run. But, I digress.

Off we go for the real supplies. Pencils, paper, notebooks, card stock, paper towels, Clorox wipes. Huh? When did I become responsible for ALL of the things one needs to run a school? So much for my tax dollars. I was relieved to find that toilet paper wasn't on the list. Glad they managed to spring for something.

Ian wanted a new backpack. He has a really nice one that I bought for him from LL Bean when he started Kindergarten. There is not a thing wrong with it. It's biggest affliction? It is absent of some "fad of the moment" cartoon character that they are advertising in hopes of getting parents to buy their child an overpriced backpack that won't last the year. I ain't that Momma. Because I won't buy the backpack, I am "awful" and "ridiculous." I suggest that if he feels that strongly about getting a Captain American/Transformers/Star Wars/Cars/Hulk backpack (or whatever he wanted), he should buy it with his own money. After all, he has a couple thousand sitting idly in the bank. What was that? Oh, you really didn't need a backpack after all. That is what I thought. In an attempt not to be totally "awful" I do concede the purchase of a Transformers lunch box. He really did need a new one. If it makes him think I am a little less ridiculous because it has Transformers stamped on the side, so be it. However, I still wasn't all that great because I couldn't pick out a pencil bag, pencils, or composition notebook to satisfy him. Since when did they make composition notebooks in any color besides black and white marble? What does it matter if it is black, blue, pink or yellow? It is what he is going to be writing on the inside that counts, right? That is what is wrong with kids today---too many choices.

And you bet, I told him all about how there was only ONE choice for a composition notebook when I was in school and it was black and white. The biggest choice that one got in picking school supplies was the design of their lunch box and their trapper-keeper. Everything else was standard issue. He doesn't care if I walked to school both ways uphill in the snow. He cares that I am ruining his life because I don't let him buy whatever he wants. Get a job, buddy. Get your own house. Then you can make the rules. Trust me, life is a whole lot easier when Mommy is the one making all the decisions. Don't rush growing up.

So I have arrived. Idiot of the town. In his eyes, for the next 15 years, I am going to know nothing. At least on most subjects. I did redeem myself a little tonight at the blueberry field. I tossed a blueberry into the air, turned around and caught it in my mouth with my eyes closed. That was "awesome." But awesome isn't the same as smart. I know that. It took me a long time to figure out that my Mom and Dad really were as smart as they thought they were. I can patiently wait for my genius to return. In the mean time, I plan to enjoy making him hyperventilate...because as long as I am buying, Polo's it is!

Can I Just Get 5 Minutes, Please?

Sometimes, I just want 5 minutes to myself. Is that too much to ask? I feel like all three children are tethered to me at all times. I go to the bathroom, here they come. Today I said, "Will can you give me two seconds to just go potty by myself?" He sat on the edge of the tub and said, "I will just sit here and talk to you. Privacy is overrated." Sure it is.

I get in the shower and as soon as I dip my head under the flow of water, I see the curtain pull back. It's Maggie, bringing me her sippy cup for a refill. Sometimes, if I don't catch her as soon as the curtain opens, she will climb right in with me. Clothes and all. If I sit down to eat a sandwich, one of them suddenly thinks a sandwich sounds yummy and insists on a bite. If I made them their own sandwich, it wouldn't have been nearly as appetizing. When I want to take a breather and sit in a chair to check my email or watch the news, my lap is immediately overtaken with some one's hiney. Never fails. Not even my bed is a sanctuary. Little arms and legs envelope me all night long. As soon as I move them over toward their Dad (who never seems to be tethered to a child or bothered by their octapus limbs at night), they immediately notice their body has become detached from mine and like metal to a magnet, here they come.

Don't get me wrong. I love them dearly. Really. I do. And even though I would love just 5 minutes to myself during the day, I don't ever question my decision to stay at home. I do question my sanity--regularly--but never the choice to be with them. I just want 5 minutes. That is all.

The last couple of days, Maggie has been difficult. She is becoming independent and stubborn but yet, she wants to be clingy. Tonight, I felt like my patience were pretty thin.

Ian knew it. For an 8 year old, he has a very keen sense of other people's feelings and needs. He is compassionate. And he always seems to know when I have had my fill. After dinner, I am working to put away laundry. Maggie is following me all over the house and Will is, well, being Will. When I come back to the kitchen, I find Ian at the sink, washing the dishes from supper. I didn't ask him to do it. He just did. I said, "Thanks, Honey, I appreciate you washing the dishes. You know that you don't have to do it. Momma will get those in a few minutes." He responded, "I know. But someone needs to help you around here. You shouldn't have to do it all by yourself." He is going to be an incredible husband and father some day. Rather than trying to talk him out of washing them, we cleaned the kitchen together. He fed our dog, Molly, and helped put up toys and laundry.

I never got those 5 minutes to myself today---and probably won't get those 5 minutes until Maggie leaves for college--but I did end the day feeling pretty good. Ian's simple act made me feel like at least some of the time, I am doing a good job raising them. I might lose my sanity in the process, but it will all be worth it.

He is such an incredible kid! Love him to pieces!

Shark Week Obsession



What a beautiful animal!

 In the midst of all of the debate on whether or not to raise the debt ceiling, the second favorite Holiday of the Burgess Bunch arrived--and no I am not talking about the celebration of JK Rowling's birthday. IT'S SHARK WEEK BABY!!

Ever since Ian was a tiny tot, he has been interested in animals. Not just their names and the sounds they make but their species, genus, family, order, class, phylum, kingdom (that is all I remember from biology. Sorry Mr. Barton). And from an early age, he had a very incredible ability to remember large amounts of facts and data about all sorts of animals. Marine life are among his favorites; sharks and whales his most favorite. (He says he wants to be an FBI agent but I wouldn't be shocked if he was working as a biologist one day). Hence, our love of Shark Week was born and each year, we all veg out on the couch for hours taking in every show that Discovery has to offer about sharks; even ones we have seen many times before.

This morning at 6:30 am, Ian came to my bedside to ask me what channel he needed to punch on the remote to get to Discovery Channel. Seriously. Obsessed. So we got up and started watching it. I left for the office and they had it on when I got home. Poor Will was so exhausted from 'shark watching' that he fell asleep on the couch early tonight while we learned about Shark migration patterns. Which turned out to be a good thing because Rogue Sharks ended up being quite gruesome. I even had to reassure Ian that he had a better chance of being struck by lightening than being attacked by a shark. I think he believed me. If not, he might not be a biologist after all.

And honestly, I am not a huge advocate of my kids watching a ton of TV. I believe in hours of play in the back yard. But Shark Week is an exception. For one, it is hot as blue blazes outside and I don't feel like having to sit in the heat to watch them play. Two, we really are learning a lot about science, sharks, marine life, and conservation. Even though his stomach turned a little when we watched the man literally be carried ashore with the shark still attached to his leg, Ian understood that it really wasn't the shark's fault. Thanks to programs like this and steady guidance from my conservationist Dad, the boys really have a deep respect for the fact that animals share the planet with us. Just like they know not to kill a snake (even when poisonous) because he is just as afraid of you as you are of him, they know that if you swim into a shark's habitat (ocean), you can't blame him for taking a test bite hoping you are a seal. That is an amazing lesson of appreciation for our planet to learn at such an early age. They know their outdoor pleasures (hunting and fishing) aren't just for sport, but really are about conservation; keeping numbers in a healthy realm to protect from overpopulation, disease, food supply, etc.  It makes me very proud of them.

So as we celebrate Shark Week, we hope that you will take the time to do your part to be a leader in conservation on our planet. Recycle. Plant a Tree. Respect Wildlife and their Habitats. Educate. Preserve. Conserve. And most of all, watch Shark Week. Trust us, you will love it!

Checking out a Copperhead at the Farm with Poppa.
It turned out to have been run over by a car but if not,
 we would have let him be!