For a perpetual control freak, summer does not conjure up feelings of joy for me. I am typically relieved that the spring semester is over, but summer means transition and plans heavily tied to a weather forecast.
I have this wonderful vision of carefree kids enjoying the perks of summer. To Jared, that means swimming and ice cream every day. To Jacob, it means nonstop time on the DS.
Is there a guidebook out there for moms to create carefree summer experiences for kids? Is it OK if I let Jacob play the DS for 10 hours a day (my instincts scream a huge NO! here, so he's probably out of luck).
Do I simply agree to cool the yard and quit bugging them to shut the front door? How many times should we go to the pool? When should we do errands? How do you arrange quality play dates when most of their friends are in day camps because their parents work? How much unstructured time is good? There is a difference between unstructured and unscheduled. And then, they bug me to death to play the Wii, DS or be on the computer.
I remember some adventures from my summers. There are things we did at grandma's house that I would probably faint even imaging one of my boys doing. How do you find the balance between protecting them and letting them grow up and have some non-mother-approved fun?
And, who is the nut who says summer is fun and relaxing? Hmph!
Showing posts with label mother rants. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mother rants. Show all posts
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Yo-Yo's and Fevers
Last night, as Gene went pink for volleyball, I dragged the boys to Jacob's end of season, flag football ceremony. It began at 7 p.m., so I was fairly confident it would be short. I mean, organizers are well aware that kindergarten and first grades participate.
Things moved right along and we eagerly awaited the special guest. Enter Salina native, Brent Dellinger, yo-yo extraordinaire. His tricks were quite impressive, and I was amazed more than once at what this 21 year old could make a yo-yo do. At some point, I began to tire of the tricks, perhaps after the plug for a $17 yo-yo. Or perhaps as Jared grew increasingly impatient next to me. I clapped happily at the end and was still naive to think I might exit the church with some dignity.
My boys go to bed at 8 p.m., sometimes it is 8:05 p.m. It is never 8:41 p.m. As we prepare to leave, Jared launches into his killer fit routine. My purse is heavy as it contains my camera and various other junk, but still I manage to scoop up the fireball and attempt the long journey to the car.
He does not go quietly into the night. Threats do not work. Pressure on his behind does not work. He kicks, punches, contorts and screams. I consider my options as I encourage Jacob to pay attention to the various cars leaving the parking lot. I practically drop Jared on the sidewalk and remark that he can just stay here if he chooses. Cue the sorrowful crying. OK, now maybe he will allow me to carry him in a somewhat calm matter. Ha! The little con artist resumed his torrential fit the moment I scooped him back up.
Looking back, I realize an important truth. That 8 p.m. bedtime is as much for me as it is for them. Jared is DONE. I am rapidly getting there. He requires a quick spank before he will sit up properly in his car seat. He avenges this by screaming at the top of his lungs for the entire trip home. I am surprised the glass in the car windows survive his pitch.
I am tired. My head is pounding. I am losing any commitment I might have held previously to motherhood. Enter Gene (thank you Lady Blues for winning quick!). As Gene steps into the hot seat, I fold the laundry on our bed at a feverish pace as I try to regain a piece of sanity.
This morning, Jacob comes into our room a bit before 7 a.m; he's had a bad dream. As he slides next to me, I realize immediately, as most mothers do, that my baby has a fever. But, I make Gene get up and confirm it anyway. After all, it is my birthday.
Things moved right along and we eagerly awaited the special guest. Enter Salina native, Brent Dellinger, yo-yo extraordinaire. His tricks were quite impressive, and I was amazed more than once at what this 21 year old could make a yo-yo do. At some point, I began to tire of the tricks, perhaps after the plug for a $17 yo-yo. Or perhaps as Jared grew increasingly impatient next to me. I clapped happily at the end and was still naive to think I might exit the church with some dignity.
My boys go to bed at 8 p.m., sometimes it is 8:05 p.m. It is never 8:41 p.m. As we prepare to leave, Jared launches into his killer fit routine. My purse is heavy as it contains my camera and various other junk, but still I manage to scoop up the fireball and attempt the long journey to the car.
He does not go quietly into the night. Threats do not work. Pressure on his behind does not work. He kicks, punches, contorts and screams. I consider my options as I encourage Jacob to pay attention to the various cars leaving the parking lot. I practically drop Jared on the sidewalk and remark that he can just stay here if he chooses. Cue the sorrowful crying. OK, now maybe he will allow me to carry him in a somewhat calm matter. Ha! The little con artist resumed his torrential fit the moment I scooped him back up.
Looking back, I realize an important truth. That 8 p.m. bedtime is as much for me as it is for them. Jared is DONE. I am rapidly getting there. He requires a quick spank before he will sit up properly in his car seat. He avenges this by screaming at the top of his lungs for the entire trip home. I am surprised the glass in the car windows survive his pitch.
I am tired. My head is pounding. I am losing any commitment I might have held previously to motherhood. Enter Gene (thank you Lady Blues for winning quick!). As Gene steps into the hot seat, I fold the laundry on our bed at a feverish pace as I try to regain a piece of sanity.
This morning, Jacob comes into our room a bit before 7 a.m; he's had a bad dream. As he slides next to me, I realize immediately, as most mothers do, that my baby has a fever. But, I make Gene get up and confirm it anyway. After all, it is my birthday.
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