Pry away

It's been a tough haul these past few weeks, what with packing and moving and sickness (oh my). Yesterday piled on the last couple straws, and I, in desperation and with many tears, broke down in an I-cannot-do-this-any-longer moment. After which I pulled myself together and promptly, well, did all those things I was sure only a second before I couldn't do. Isn't that the nature of the job? And not the writing job, sweet boy, but maybe the other stuff I do around here.

What I realize, when this happens, is that I haven't been relying on God enough, or, if I'm going to be really honest, at all. I recognize this. God has the ultimate strength, the endless energy, the focus and patience and determination to get this done, if I just willingly tap into it. He can carry me in a way that no one else can. Yep. Again, I recognize this. But in practice--in the trenches, so to speak--it's so much more difficult.

I think of the common platitude: Let go and let God. Okay, sure. But (bear with me for a minute) let go and let God... what? Mop the floors? Change the sheets? Figure out how to put handles on our cabinets without getting any crooked?

I know: pray. Listen. Trust. They are all huge, beautiful, awesome things. Easy things, really. But it's hard for me to focus on those when there seem to be a billion other things that want to be focused on instead. Or, in my usual fashion, focused on for about two seconds until I get distracted by focusing on something else for two seconds. My pastor had a great moment in his sermon on Sunday that we should be asking ourselves not what God would have us do in general but rather what He would have us do today. Just today. How could I minister to my world today? But this is my ministry, or one of them, to take care of our home and children. And right now, it's getting the better of me. I feel my fists tightening around that ministry, and maybe that's the whole point to the platitude. Prying my fingers off one at a time might be the first step to not choking the life out of it.

Of course, God, I might find it a little easier to focus, minister, trust, and serve if I could possibly sleep past 5am. But look--it's six and the sun is rising, with small children soon to follow. Another day, another opportunity.

Hair today, gone tomorrow

When you* are in the middle of a crazy move, and tolerating unexpected additional amounts of stress and torment, you might think that this would be a great time to get a haircut, because it will immediately boost your spirits. DO NOT. Have chocolate or take a long walk. Do anything else, because if you go and get your haircut in the week of "If it can go wrong, it will", well, just take a guess at what will happen.

If you do, against all good sense, get yourself into the sort of crying/miserable shock, try not to focus on the fact that the hair you have been so patiently growing out is now up to your ears. And especially ignore that it's only some of that hair, leaving you with a mullet-y sort of poof. Instead focus on the positives, like hair will grow, and the key to your new house is sitting on the table, and you can finally pack up all those last bits because, come Monday, you'll be starting new. Starting new is good.

*I mean, "me," of course. Because who else would get into this situation? But it feels better to make it into some sort of helpful lesson for others. Makes it slightly less like a personal dump, anyway.

Because it's important to challenge yourself

Just in case this week wasn't crazy enough, let's add an ear infection! Oh, what the heck--let's add two! And while we're at it, throw some asthma on top of it! Let it keep us up all night long! Insert additional witty exclamation here! It masks the lack of sleep! And insanity!

This storm's got a bite

We had rain today. This wouldn't be news in any other part of the country, but here in sunny San Diego, I can guarantee that just about every other San Diegan blogging out there will have some crazy rain story. Like how San Diegans don't know how to drive in the rain, have no effective rain clothes, and look on the flooded back patio to find odd things like power tools and shoes left out to soak. This is mine:

Over the weekend, we thought it would be fun to look at rain boots (Note to self: never take kids to look at $17 totally unnecessary wear for one week a year rain boots, because when you find they have kitties and fire badges on them, you will be buying them anyway). So since the kids had rain boots, we took them for a walk in the rain today. It's all fantastic puddle jumping fun until you spot a stray Black lab across the street. The kids are not particularly keen on dogs, and were especially nervous about one on his own. We all paused, unsure of whether to try walking past or go back, when the dog came over to our side. I moved my umbrella forward to give us some space, then tried a gentle "Shoo, Shoo" technique. The dog moved back accordingly. Then he started to growl. I backed the kids away and suggested we head back the way we came.

Apparently backing away was the wrong move.

We made it about fifteen feet before the dog, who had been barking with increasing ire, came charging at us with teeth bared. The kids, of course, began shrieking in terror. I put the umbrella in front of us, pulled the kids behind, and screamed for the first time in my life with bloodcurdling intensity. The dog was deterred by the umbrella and came around on the other side, at which point I screamed again, desperate for help, and--God's grace--managed to frighten the dog, who ran off down the street.

We salvaged the afternoon with more puddle jumping, hot chocolate, and a quiet project by the fire, but I'm still shaken by the whole thing. I think about what could have happened--I'd almost left the umbrella at home--and the fact that no one, despite my screams for help, came to our aid. As much as I love the rain and those darling rain boots, it just makes me want to hunker down in our house for sunnier San Diego days.

All that, and we get a shot too

Do you ever have those moments when you hear yourself being totally irrational, and yet you just can't manage to stop it? It's like a movie, where you see the killer closing in on the door and you want to tell the innocent coed to RUN while there's still time!

Today we had one of those moments.

I took the kids to get flu shots (I know: thimerisol/GBS/toxins/unreliable/etc. We get them anyway. The horror!). They told us it would be a 15 minute wait, which was fine. We had lots of time before we were supposed to meet friends at the park at 10am. We sat down in the waiting room very patiently. After forty-five minutes, countless songs and memorized stories and a few escalating protests, I politely asked how much longer it would be, pointing out that they had promised only 15 minutes. "Soon," they told me. So we sat back down. I tried to call my friend to give her an update, only to find my cell phone was dead. Surely we'd still be there close to on time. Then again, they were going with the Biblical meaning of 'soon.' After another twenty-five minutes (don't ask me how we got through that with no food and no books and clear dissatisfaction in the catalog of my memory of children's songs and stories), I went back up to the desk, two unhappy but rightfully so kids in tow. The girl at the front asked if we got our shots yet, and I told her that we had not, and as a result I was about to lose it.

Then I lost it.

I found myself crying, pounding the counter, and calling for someone in management to hear my complaints. In my heart, I knew there was very little that they could do, so when she came out, heard my statement, and apologized without actually being able to change anything, I just felt all the more ridiculous. How could I have let myself turn into the child? I'd just thrown a regular tantrum, and received the same response I give to my kids all the time: I'm very sorry, but there's nothing I can do about it.

To tell you the truth, that answer really sucks.

And it sucks to feel like after all these years, after thinking I was grown-up enough to be a mom, that there's a little toddler in there still. I'd like to hope it happens to the best of us, but maybe it's really that I'm just not one of the best. In any case, I feel very human today, and thinking thankfully that God loves me just as I love my kids, even when they're being irrational and ridiculous.

In the end, we got our flu shots, albeit with a small dose of shame. My friend had canceled our playdate--if only my phone had been charged, I would have had the message at a more useful time--and we went shopping instead. The kids got to pick something fun (police car and baby--of course) and I bought myself three kinds of candy for gingerbread house making. By the time we left the store, I was singing Christmas carols to the kids and talking about how much I love the holiday season. So there's some good to having a little toddler lurking inside: she was pretty easily distracted. God bless those short memories.

Everything's coming up rosy

Since K is now using M's twin bed, she's been stuck with his old blue sheets. I really did try to find her cute girly sheets, but everything I could find was only a cotton/polyester blend. Which just doesn't fly for me. Really, am I supposed to prefer wrinkle-free sheets to soft cotton sheets? Unless this means I won't get more wrinkly, I'll pass.

So being the resourceful (i.e. cheap) person that I am, I bought some fabric dye. After a long and stressful process, I produced two batches of dark pink sheets. Brilliant! K was so very pleased to have her very own sheets, and she didn't seem to mind at all that they were all different shades of dark pink and none of them the pretty pink purple I promised. Good thing kids have short memories. I myself was extremely proud that I managed to dye them without dying myself or anything else, and that my washer did not, at any time, produce another load as pink.

Until now. Apparently I celebrated too soon, because now I have a load full of pinkish clothes, including the sheets to our bed, a pair of B's jeans, and one very pink M sock. I couldn't even luck out and have two pink socks, so that K could use them. So this weekend's project? Un-dyeing, which feels just as stressful/water-wasteful/tedious as the original dye job. Cotton/polyester is sounding better all the time.

Pencil in this

This is one of those "I just realized, at 11pm, that I failed to post today" posts. Go ahead and lower your expectations accordingly. It's been a tumultuous week: school lunch! gardens! babysitting! driving! visiting! burglary! police! repetitive fire truck video! more driving! picnicking! wine! conference! dreaded public speaking! exclamation points! I feel a bit like a wrung rag. The worst part is that I'm only in the middle, with more engagements to stumble over on the downhill side, and my whole being already exhausted.

I'm can't complain, because I'm the one who makes my schedule. I spend a lot of time lately looking at that schedule and scratching my head. Whatever made me think that it was a good idea to fill in every single open spot I can find? Ah, well they all sound fun, in theory. They are all great things to do with great people. And I hate when I'm trying to do these great things with great people to have to say, "Gee, I think the best time is really three weeks from now." I don't want to be one of those people, who make others feel like you simply don't have time for another friendship. So I squash them in wherever I can, becoming the person who is all burned out and over scheduled. I don't want to be that person either. I just want to be me, enjoying my kids and the people we love and the beautiful place we live. It's just that there's a lot of enjoying to be had there, and apparently not nearly enough time.

I'll take good over fair any day

We arrived at the park this morning to see my dear Long Beach friend, who has recently graced this world with yet another beautiful baby girl. When we parked along the street, M became very concerned. See, back in June when my parents watched the kids for us, my mom's car was totaled while parked along the street at their local park. I explained to M that was a completely random, very rare occurrence. "Those kinds of things don't happen often. Our car should be very safe here."

The car was safe. My wallet was not. We spent the morning playing, had a nice picnic lunch, and finished up taking turns on the monkey bars. When I say "taking turns," I mean I held each child's legs as they hung minimally from the bars while we worked our way across. My friend finished nursing her baby and came over. We talked for a few more minutes while the last ones took their turn, then we gathered our stuff to leave.

At the car, I realized my wallet was missing. I hadn't noticed anyone else at the park, so I hurried back, assuming I'd dropped it. When we realized it was well and truly gone, we spent the next hour and a half in the hot sun, phoning the police and the cell phone company and the Honda dealer and the banks. See, I have a super wallet that has my cell phone and keys with it too. Not so handy when they all get stolen together.

Poor M snuffled around the entire time, utterly shattered. He'd been anxious enough about the car. Now his security had been violated even closer and more intimately, and try as I might to stay calm and positive when talking to him, I couldn't help but tear up every time I spoke with someone else.

When all hope was lost, we prayed. My friend called her husband, and asked him to pray as well. And regretfully, I must admit that I wondered what the point was. See, the wallet was gone, right? Really gone. God was not going to reach down and drop it back in my lap. I left it where I shouldn't have, and someone took it. Life is not fair.

But as my friend had just been reminding me earlier that morning, although life is not fair, God is good. We were almost finished with the police report when my husband phoned to tell me that a postal worker had found the wallet in a nearby mailbox. The credit cards, phone, and keys were all inside. So were several gift cards. The only thing missing was sixty dollars. The postal worker quickly brought the wallet back to me, and we discarded the police report.

So in the end, really, the wallet was dropped right back into my lap. God is good. I pray now that the money taken helps whoever took it, and that it will be the last money they ever feel compelled to steal. For me, it was well worth sixty dollars to be reminded that when God is concerned, all is never lost.

As for M, well, I'm not sure what to do. We can talk about this incident and the positives that came out of it, but we did the same with the car accident, and that fear is still holding strong. As it is, I can't set anything down now without the fretful reminder that someone might take it if I don't pick it up. It's hard to get a child to believe in something intangible, like goodness and faith, when the tangibles are so much more real. Then again, it's hard for adults to do that to. I guess we all just keep trying anyway.

All that's left is Serenity

So remember that store we talked about, the one you went to and shopped at and eventually realized was just the wrong store for you? And remember how any reasonable person would eventually own up to their mistake and make their way to the right store?

Yes, so imagine if you will, that you left that store, finally, with great trepidation, anxiety, embarrassment, etc., only to have the manager declare that the whole store must subsequently close. That's right--Target didn't have what you needed, and because of that, Target will now be closed. For ever. Regardless of who else might be shopping at just the right store at just that moment.

Of course, we're still not talking about Target. But imagine if that happened? Imagine if your leaving meant that everyone else was ousted by force (in case it's hard for you to imagine, I'll just go ahead and tell you that it feels like crap). Then imagine if you were blamed for it? Even though it wasn't my fault, even though someone has taken over and the group will be just fine, I'm still the person who gets the comments (or hears them from behind my back) that I blindsided people, abandoned them, and basically ruined everything. Talk about amping up the ordeal to the Nth degree.

See, I'm a people-pleaser. I might as well wear a t-shirt it's so obvious. That's why I stayed where I was--didn't want to disappoint, didn't want to be alone, didn't want to reject what was obviously a coveted spot. But I finally get the courage to do what I needed to do--horror of horrors: just for me--and it turns into this firestorm. It's a people-pleaser's nightmare. The worst part? Because I'm not in the group anymore, I can't defend myself. I can't explain myself. And I can't go back and change anything so that it all happens differently, the way I somehow imagined it in my head. So I just sit here, people-pleaser style, and fret.

I understand that this was what I had to do, that God has wanted me to do this for some time. So I have to hope that this trial--this special kind of silent suffering I'm enduring--is a lesson both in character building and in the consequences to not listening in the first place. But it is heartbreaking. While everyone else lost an organizer, I was admittedly never part of any of their "inner circle" (a phrase I've heard way too much recently, especially considering that we're all supposed to be grown-ups). But I've lost a group I've been a part of for most of my children's lives. I stare at my empty calendar and miss my lost friends and hate knowing how they think of me, the one who caused it all (however inadvertently). It's a tremendous loss that has left me lonely and sad and shaken.

But that's a good thing, too. Right? Because sometimes you have to let go of everything to have free hands for something new. And what a way to break the people pleasing habit to be in a place where you can't effect what people think about you. But it seems like this week has been a bit heavy on the lessons, and heavy on the heart. I want to perk up and move on and enjoy the holiday weekend. But I feel a bit like a beaten down dog fighting the urge just to lie on the ground. And I'm pretty sure that's not the place God needs me to be either. But while I'm on a roll with a mistakes--a roll that has been going on for way too long, no that it's anyone's fault but my own--I might as well lie down for a while anyway.

I know, I know. I'm getting up. But it was very tempting...

Ups and those other things

I'm having a bit of a turbulent week. We're in the process of having our asbestos-laden retro popcorn ceilings scraped, textured, and repainted. If you haven't tried this before, go for it! It's fun! Just move all of your earthly possessions, wall-hangings, curtains, and whatnot into the very small spaces that weren't sprayed to looking like a woolly coat. Then continue to live in those small spaces while all work is completed. Oh, and if you're looking for the bathroom, it's the big red bucket in the garage.

You mean that doesn't sound like fun? Well, you're right, sort of. It's not fun. It's not easy. It's certainly not convenient. But we are lucky to have big enough small spaces to make it work, and wonderful grandparents who will host the kids for a week while it's done. And we're blessed to have enough money to put a little into our beloved home. I kept my eye on the prize: pristine hand-textured, non-cancer-causing ceilings. I can already tell, post-scraping, that it's going to look marvelous.

I can also tell that the ceiling scrapers didn't tape their plastic well enough. I know this because their water got underneath and now my pristine, beautiful, ever-so-well-loved-as-our-best-home-improvement-ever laminate floor (the one the inspired this favorite post) is bubbling everywhere. There is no fixing this, short of replacing the swollen boards, and there's a lot of them.

My heart hurts, as we say in our house. But even with this--the impending arguments with the flooring company, the turmoil as we will once again be uprooted from our house, the frustration at trading one problem for another--I try to appreciate the bright side. What? There's no bright side? Nonsense. God came that we have life abundantly, and that means relishing in the up times and also relishing in whatever comes between. Already I have called the project manager and very patiently explained what happened and asked what we do next. This is a huge thing for me: shy, shirking me. And I am proud that I stood up and did it. And if I can do that, then I can pick myself and my hurting heart up and march forward, onward and, hopefully, eventually upward. In the end, this too shall pass, as everything, good or bad, does. And when it does, I will hopefully be able to see the character-building that took place. It's so easy to see after the fact, as with the cake, that I'm proud of myself too for seeing it now. It's actually when I need it most.

And it's not all bad. I have a weekend with B, the kids are having fun with their grandparents, and we got to hear my favorite band play for 2.5 fantastic hours. Plus I learned something: you should always keep your razor in a case. Or, if not, at least remember that when your toothbrush won't come out of the overnight bag and you think maybe you should pull really hard, DON'T. It could be stuck on said un-cased razor, which is apt to take off a hefty strip from the top of your index finger when you pull. Yes, let's say it altogether: ouch.

Did I mention I need a pep talk today?

Did I mention that two weeks ago, I bought a Costco cake for a baby shower held the very morning that we were leaving for Las Vegas (or as M puts it, Lost Vegas, which is probably unlikely since it's the only bright, shiny water filled object in a very large desert)? I bought this cake because it seemed like way too much work to bake and decorate a whole cake when I had cleaning and packing and busyness to attend to. Plus I wasn't even going to the shower anyway.

Did I also mention that I left this cake in the back of the van while I took the first load of groceries into the house, even though I could clearly see K heading toward the back of the van? But of course she could wait thirty seconds for me to return and move said cake out of the way so that she could climb out.

Did I also mention that K is two? Very, very two?

Oh, you know where this is going. I'm not sure what body part dragged across the cake, but it was something that allowed her to run past me as I stood staring, google-eyed, at the smooshy mess that was once my ticket to a quiet, pre-vacation afternoon. I strode back over to my daughter, who was happily wheeling around on her tricycle, and tried to keep my voice in the semi-human tenor of supremely-pissed-but-still-sane as I explained, demonic like, that some things are very delicate and that she should not try to climb across them. She turned her bright little smile up to me, at which point I strangled her with my bare hands. Oh, no, just kidding (we obviously wouldn't be enduring the binky crisis of 2009 if that had happened... hmm). No, I stared at her for a few seconds, totally unbelieving that she didn't comprehend for a microsecond that she'd just destroyed something of value, when it occurred to me that she wouldn't have any way to know that the cake was that delicate. I mean, sure, probably should climb over stuff, but eh, it probably looked stable enough.

I took the cake and kids inside and we all stood there for a while. I cried a little, and K talked sweetly, and M reminded her that Mommy was not happy with her right now, which didn't phase her in the least. I called B, cried a little more, then went back to staring. Finally, I scraped the frosting from the top, took a break to feed everyone lunch, and after they went down for nap (back when we were actually sleeping--joy!), I spent that afternoon redecorating the cake I never meant to decorate in the first place. Then I spent that evening packing , and I got my rest on vacation, like a good vacation should provide.

The moral to this story--wait, is there a moral to this story? You do remember all that sleep we're not getting. Yes, the moral! The moral is that we endure so much, so many big and little triumphs and tragedies in life, and that in the end, whatever you think you can't handle or do or survive any longer usually ends up handle-able or do-able or survivable. Two weeks later, I hardly remember that afternoon, or the ire I felt, or the exhaustion-induced tears. I remember that I had a messed-up cake and that it got suitable fixed, and we still went on vacation and everything. And no one died, not even me. Sometimes we just have to give ourselves that due credit, and (wo)man up to the task at hand. Living life to the fullest isn't always pretty, and sometimes that's the best part. Perfection breeds happiness, but imperfection breeds character.

You nailed me

There is nothing worse than hurting your child. Like, say, cutting a fingernail a bit too short so that it's a little red and painful. There is certainly nothing worse than that.

Except having your child remind you that you hurt them every five minutes. For the rest of the day. And the two days that follow.

"I know, I am very sorry that I cut your fingernail so short."
"Why yes, I did apologize. Repeatedly."
"Yes, I am, again, sorry that your finger hurts."

Now please excuse me while I melt down my nail clipper into something more useful, like a paperweight or an icepick.

Just put your witty goggles on first

(Insert witty story here)

Wait, you mean I'm supposed to insert the witty story? How about this: one week ago yesterday, K came down with a fever. For two whole days I carried her, at 103 degrees Fahrenheit, while trying to entertain the boy without any free hands. For two more days, she griped around the house that, while she no longer had a significant fever and I no longer had any upper body strength remaining, she was no longer being carried everywhere. Then M came down with a fever. For the next two days, M bopped around the house seeming surprisingly un-sick despite the fever that absolutely knocked out his sister, and I tried to keep both kids entertained, indoors, while slowly regaining the use of my hands. For the past two days, resolute M was felled by the addition of a cough, which has kept me up every night this week for 2-4 hours, and keeps him from eating, sleeping, or playing at any activity for more than 2 minutes. K continues to whine because, a week later, we are still around the house. Only now Mom is overtired, overworked, and running seriously low on super-fun at-home activities (Want to make art in the salad spinner? Sure. Want to make art with marbles? Sure. Want to make art with marbles in the salad spinner? Why the heck not! It's not like I have a better idea). And tonight, after crawling to the computer and browsing a little, I've discovered that the world has continued spinning quite contentedly, that it's almost Friday, and that it's the last day of April to boot. Really? That's news to me.

So there. That's my witty story. Wasn't very witty, was it? Wasn't much of a story, either. Well, there's always next week.

But I don't FEEL relaxed

So you get to nap time, wondering blissfully whether you will relax by exercising or writing. Then you throw some dirty clothes out in the laundry on your way to relaxation. What is that bag out there? How can this be? The realization spreads across you like a cracked egg on your head. If you leave a bag of vomity, poopy clothes out in the garage for an entire day and night, they will still be there! No one comes to rinse them out! No one comes to soak them in bleach or throw them into the wash! They will just sit there, waiting, getting stinkier and more stained despite the fact that you are really not in the mood to revisit any portion of the last twenty-four hours! The nerve!

So the answer is, you will get out that bleach and get those clothes in the wash. Because cleaning up is relaxing, too. Right? Right??

The resolution realization

You know that gusto you have at the beginning of the year? This one? The one that starts off so well meaning and then wanes about three days into the first work week?

It's kind of like ordering a gi-normous submarine sandwich and then trying to eat the whole thing at once. Before you know it, you're pitifully trying to keep a few shreds of lettuce in your mouth while the meat, cheese, tomato, and bread all scatter upon your feet. Let's not even mention the mayo ring you have on your face.

But it looked so good! You just wanted it all at once! You thought, with all that gusto, that maybe your mouth was up to the task!

No, though, your mouth is still the same size it was last year. But lettuce-y and salivating, because all the good stuff's on the floor. Three second rule, anyone?

We wish you a... what was I saying?

Today was my crazy, try-desperately-to-tie-up-all-my-holiday-loose-ends day. I took the kids out for a little play, then it was a trio of errands (in the rain, no less), followed by an exhausting afternoon of sewing, ironing, painting, and cooking. Plus an evening haircut for M. But in the end, everything is done. Mostly. Almost mostly. Okay, not really done at all. But closer.

On the bright side, I made $45 selling a couple old toys on Craig's List. Apparently the week before Christmas is prime time, because they went quick as a wink. Did a little crying when the annoying Elmo tool bench went on its merry way. Its song was so annoying, but I can still picture little M pushing the button when it was still in the box, giggling and smiling. And I can still see K sitting on the ground in her pajamas, playing at the wooden activity box. Not that she played with it any more since she could walk and climb and do all those more exciting things. But at one time she was little, and sitting, and playing. People don't know that they're buying a piece of those memories too.

And I forgot my address today. Yes, that's right, my address. Couldn't for the life of me think of the street number of our house, the one we've lived in for almost three years. Had to actually walk outside, in the rain, and look at our mailbox. Holidays aren't for the weak.

Condolences

Okay, I had a whole post here that I wrote and rewrote as the news turned worse, but after the tragedy of the FA-18 crash, I couldn't bear to leave it up. Just seemed callous to put anything about a soap opera next to such a saddening event. My heart goes out to all those affected.

But I am leaving my main point: constant news coverage of events such as this one turn a personal tragedy into the public's entertainment. I know, they are giving us interesting and pertinent information about something that most people won't ever experience. But this was a family devastated, lives lost, homes destroyed. For a select, unfortunate few, this event will forever mark a terrible turning point in their world. We have no right to share in it just to satisfy our curiosity. Just my (still irritated) two cents.

When no one else will

There were time when I was a kid, when my mom would rave about something I'd done or tell me how beautiful I looked, that I really felt she was patronizing me. Not that I could have identified that feeling at the time, but the falseness echoed in my ears. She can't really mean that, I'd mutter inside. She can't possibly be so blind.

As a parent, I'm starting to understand that it isn't always false. Blind, maybe, but not false. I see my kids and think they're incredible. I recognize their character flaws, often because they share them with me or B, but they are always overshadowed by their fabulousness: M's willingness to share, his great sense of humor, his energy and creativity; K's intrepid nature, her free-flowing smiles, her eagerness to participate. I can't imagine how anyone could not want to be around them, at least a good portion of the time.

But the thing is, I know how kids are. I remember being told that I was no longer a friend. I remember being made fun of. I remember being excluded. I remember the painful lump in the throat and the burn of tears held steadfastly behind red eyes.

I saw it yesterday for the first time. M has a couple friends with which he plays frequently. The three of them have known each other since before their first birthdays. Most of the time they play together so nicely. But the other two are girls, and he's a boy, and the differences that have had so little effect in the past are starting to hedge in. The girls dance around as princesses, as M fights fires. M charges off down a hill while the girls shimmy down in hesitation. The girls spin through ring-around-the-rosy; M prefers to hack at the sand with his shovel. Every time I see this two-on-one divide, my stomach sinks.

And then yesterday, as we were leaving a restaurant, the two girls joined hands and headed down the path. M hurried alongside, reaching out for a free hand. Both girls withdrew, pushing past him with their shoulders and whispering conspiratorily. He didn't see it, just laughed and ran on ahead. But I got a glimpse of the future, and that burning feeling came right back, fresh as if I were in elementary school all over.

I thought it was bad enough to live through that pain once. How cruel, then, to have to live it all over again, only though the experience of the two people you think deserve it least of anyone in the whole world? I hear my mother's words, her encouragement, her support, and realize that she meant every last syllable. I'll mean them too, when I say the same thing. That anyone could see otherwise--even though I know, sadly, that they certainly will--is already beyond me.

I hope they have good friends, dear friends, sweet friends, and that they are good, dear, and sweet in return. But like so much I face as a parent, it's out of my control. All I can do is whisper those words, wipes those tears, and hold the hand when no one else will. It won't be the same--hey, it probably won't even be appreciated--but maybe someday they'll see that it wasn't just about them.

Lost but never found

It rained yesterday (insert shocked gasp here--it is San Diego and hasn't rained since, well, forever) and instead of going home to play, M insisted that we be out in the rain. An since it wasn't raining that hard and the day was warm anyway, I decided to oblige. After all, it's not like we get many chances, and besides that, I was having a really lousy day to begin with. Alternative fun with kids--yeah!

So we went to run a couple errands where we could walk outside and enjoy the rain. And enjoy it we did, right up until I realized I'd lost Kaitlyn's sippy cup. Her cute, girly pink sippy cup that I absolutely loved above all sippy cups. I remembered setting it down on her tray when we opened up the stroller, and then after that it was a cacophony of distracting excitement:

M: "Look--puddles! Let's run through the puddles!"
K: "Look--lots of things to pick up! And they're breakable too! What fun to scare mom!"
M&K: "Clothes! Let's pile them up in the stroller as if we're the ones doing the shopping!"

And the next thing I knew, we were back in the car and K was asking for her water. Which I no longer had. Because it was somewhere else. Where else? I couldn't tell you that. I wracked my mom-brain (which I swear gave more than a few brain cells to each adorable child), but all I could remember was setting that fantastic pink sippy cup on the tray and then letting it disappear in a loss of my own distracted doing. For shame!

We had lunch, where K refused to drink because we wouldn't let her hold the cupful of water all by herself (another shocked gasp here), and then moped back home. Where I found the pink sippy cup sitting by the sink. Because apparently she had been using it the day before. Confused, I scrounged through all the drawers trying to identify the missing sippy cup. And then I realized (gasp) that it was not the pink cup but the blue cup, M's favorite blue truck cup that he still uses in bed at night. The one that had a twin, which we also lost.

This was even worse. Instead of my own disappointment, it was going to be M's, and instead of one long drive with your kid pitifully begging for water you no longer have, it was going to be weeks of begging for the precious truck cup.

And then that night, when I was putting dishes away, I opened the drawer (which I swear I'd looked in before) to find the truck cup sitting right there on top (go ahead, gasp again. I certainly did).

"WHAT CUP DID SHE LOSE?" I cried out in exasperation, desperation, and general wholehearted confusion.

"The green one," said B calmly, who hadn't seen the cup all day but somehow managed to remember correctly.

Oh. You mean the green one that we have in three different patterns, none of which anyone particularly likes? Okay then, carry on.

You'd think I'd be happy about how everything wound up, but the whole ordeal pointed out that I've been worrying about the wrong thing all along. Who cares about the green sippy cup? I want to know where I left my mind.

Lessons Learned

1. When you are having a good day at home, don't mess with it by going out. Even if you told your friends and spouse you'd go, they aren't the ones who have to actually do so, or deal with the consequences.

2. Pouring rain will not make the going out process any easier. You will only end up being somewhere that you didn't really want to be while wearing wet pants and sporting an unstylish mop-like hairdo.

3. Being late will not make the going out process any easier. You will only end up late, feeling awkwardly ready to chow down while everyone else is already on dessert.

4. The promise of good food will not change the fact that you are wet and late. It will only make the hunger more gnawing.

5. Public potties are scary to a two-year-old who has just learned to use them. The fear combines with the need to pee to create a plaintive, pitiful cry.

6. I am hard-wired not to tolerate plaintive, pitiful cries.

7. When I am wet, late, hungry, and intolerant, I do not like to add marching back and forth to the bathroom with the plaintive, pitiful child. This makes me embarrassed, stressed, and irritable, none of which contributes to the calming of said child.

8. When I am wet, late, intolerant, hungry, embarrassed, stressed, and irritable, I cannot hold a conversation with my friends, no matter how much I would like to think I can. Superwoman's job belongs to someone else.

9. Babies need naps. Babies who have not napped do not sit happily in the car seats while their mothers are marching their siblings back and forth to the bathroom. Who knew?

10. I can eat a lot of food in a very short period of time. I can also come up with a lot of ways to spend ten dollars other than on food that I have to eat in 30 seconds while standing.

11. A whole lot can happen in 40 minutes.

12. A whole lot can be improved by giving up and going home to dry clothes, home potties, and an afternoon nap. Dorothy had it right all along: there's no place like home.