Lost Romo

Earlier this summer in the post 'Inadequacy',  I reflected on the fact that summer time is one very long 80 day weekend. As I bemoan summer break, or question my sanity, please help me remember this image.

The boy lost the all-in-one-very-expensive remote sometime Friday afternoon. We couldn't find it even after searching high, low, under, over and behind nearly every object in the house.

The girl found it Saturday afternoon while looking for a snack.

We couldn't find it because we never thought to look IN the bag.

22 days friends.

22 days until the hallowed halls of school once again welcome these little voices in wiggly bodies and sanity returns to the Olson's household.

A Matter of Timing

"Mama?"

"Yes, JB?"

"Don't you need to go to the bathroom?"

"No.  I'm good."

"No, Mama. I think you need to go to the bathroom. Don't you."

"Really, I'm good."

"No. Mama. you need to go to the bathroom NOW."

"Charles, why does she keep telling me I need to go to the bathroom?"

"She's hungry and she wants to eat."

"What in the world does that have to do with me going to the bathroom?"

"Haven't you ever noticed that whenever we go out to eat, you go to the bathroom and when you return our food is at the table?"

".... um.... maybe..."

"Well, they are convinced that if you go to the bathroom, the food will come."

"Yeah Mama. GO to the bathroom. I'm HUNGRY!"

In an effort to end this ridiculous conversation, I complied, and as I returned to the table our food had been served and both BW and JB were happily munching on their french fries.

Yeah. They might be onto something.

Inadequacy

School supplies have started appearing on store shelves, warm evenings with stagnant air render us fodder for mosquitoes and patience is a virtue lost to days past.

I reach this point nearly every summer, and this one is no different. Too much of everything and everyone else and not enough time to think without interruption. The ability to focus on one item is a distant and evasive memory. It's during these last months of summer vacation that my inabilities as a parent becomes apparent to everyone, not just me.

The loudness of unrelenting noise, bickering and constants in their demands leaves me worn out and grumpy and in a constant state of irritation that is one hair away from a complete temper tantrum (a mommytrum).

I hate that person. I hate everything that she is and actively work to evolving into her, this shadow of a destined fate. While I am successful during most days in the year, it is during summer break that I stumble in this endeavor. I fall and fail in such a grand fashion that the sting of my failure washes away the memory of any accomplishments that I'd made the school year before. And I hate myself for it.

Each night as the children are tucked in, I promise to myself that I will do better, I will be more patient, I will spend more time with them, read them more books and be a better mother. But this is an unrealistic expectation. I work from home, and it is the nature of children that they interact with their mamas at least 30 times in an hour, if not more.

This constant is what does me in. During the course of the school year, their brains and bodies are engaged with learning, practicing and constant stimulation. Weekends are a time of relaxing and having fun and getting caught up on chores that didn't fit in our schedules during the week. Given the shear amount of work to be done at home, even those days are often full and moments to relax are cherished. Once school comes to an end though, the days stretch into one long unending and mind-numbing weekend that lasts 80 days.

Teachers eagerly release wiggly children into the wilds of their homes where their active little minds and bodies are no longer being filled with useful and practical bits of information. No, instead they are filled with boredom and irritation at their limited social life. At least that is the way it works in our home. I've work to do if I want to keep my mind sane and money in my account leaving little time to 'play' cruise director.

We've made the hump, and are now on the down slope of vacation, and though that seems like it should be easy from now until the end of August, these are the longest days. Summer vacation is a marathon. And like marathon the easy part is at the beginning. There is a lot of energy and excitement and the challenge is to find the right pace and stick to it so that you don't crash and burn before you finish.

I thought I had it all worked out, but as the days have melted into each other I've come to the realization that yet again, I was mistaken.

My liver and I need to hold it together for 30 or so more days. School starts in 35, but the week or so before is filled with a flurry of Back-to-School excitement that we all find refreshing, like a salve on skin weathered from having spent too much time in the sun and wind.

As has become our ritual, when BW and BB see me at work on a blog post, they inquire about it. In chatting with them about the topic of summer and how I feel as though I'm not as good a mama as I can be. BW paused deep in thought, and replied "Well, mama. If that's true, then I could certainly be a better child. I think we are all doing it just right. It's just a tough season." BB nodded in agreement and said that she missed the homework too.

Together my team mates and I will slog through the next several weeks and hopefully arrive at the end of the season unscathed.

They did make me promise them two things. To laugh more, and to write more. Those are promises that I intend to keep.

Hard at work, Constantly Moving

BW is off at Cub Scout camp, and now that he is a WeBeLo, will spend an extra day in the mountains using the time to visit the Boy Scout Camp as an introduction to the events and activities that are available once the Cubs have 'bridged' into Boys.

At first I was gleeful at the lack of bickering that would occur between he and JB, but after last evening and this morning, I've come to the realization that I now have Dot's attention - ALL to myself. Level one of Dante's Inferno ~ Check!

She's been requesting for the last several months that I change her nickname, JB. Originally intended as JuneBug, she and others her age identify it as Justin Beiber. While many fawn over this 'superstar singer' JB CANNOT stand him.

BW has taken to teasing her for her initials, and to eliminate this as a 'tool' in his arsenal of taunting I've been attempting to honor Dot's wishes.

But nicknames aren't easy to whip up, and I've been toying with names for the last several weeks. Today, her high spun level of interaction and activity made it obvious what her nickname should be.

She is always moving, working, creating and singing when she's not talking.  She is a breath in talk out kind of girl and I am in love with her. Graceful, witty, clever, intelligent and creative, she has an unmatched ability to make us all laugh when situations become too tense or serious.

This morning, with BW at camp, and Dot focusing her attentions on the only other person at home with her, me, her new nickname came in a literal flash. BB. As in Bumble Bee.  Always hard at work and constantly moving.

She is beyond happy with the name, and she's excited that I share her new name with the world.

Here you go BabyGirl. Loves you!

* Update: BW Threw a FIT about Dot's nickname - that's the name of his beloved pillowpet. So, with the promise of not teasing JB for her name, she's decided to stick with JB.

Whispering Bees

We'd just returned from Taekwondo and after parking the car and bustling about, Charles noticed that the boy was sitting on the driveway near the blooming and actively buzzing lavender in his stark white ghi.

"BW ~ Can you please get up off the driveway and go change into something else. You are going to stain your ghi."

"Sure Daddy.  I'm just talking with the bees at the moment. I'll be in when we're done with our conversation."

"Alright then. Be sure to say hi for me."

"Sure thing Daddy.  But it's not really that kind of conversation."

"Ok, then."

Never a dull moment in the Olson household I tell you what. Maybe that's why we call him Bug Whisperer. 

Jackson

It became a habit that started by chance.

As was our tradition, we were seeing an 'Arnie' movie, one of the many Arnold Schwarzenegger thin-storyline-but-lotsa-muscles adventures that we'd become accustom to seeing together. Between my arriving late to his house to pick him up, and his step-mom's fussing and slow travel due to snow, we got a late start to the show. When we arrived at the theater at the last possible moment, we managed to find the last possible parking space in a vast wasteland of asphalt.

Everything was off that evening; energy levels, conversation and timing. Finding this last spot and parking by the sad pine tree that was so reminiscent of the Christmas Tree from 'A Charlie Brown Christmas' it was the virtual cherry on top of the series of mishaps that we'd experienced thus far.

So we laughed. The movie was pretty typical - I think it was the 'Running Man' - and the story was painfully appropriate for the miss-mash of our moods. Neither Jackson nor I were in the sort of light hearted spirit needed for conversation and the drive home was as silent as the one there.

In the years following that night, whenever a new Arnie movie came out, we'd meet up, head to the same theater and park beneath the sparse boughs of THE tree, which I'd christened as Tom along the way.

As the decades have passed, our lives have moved in different directions. Each of us has married and we have our own little families. On rare occasions our paths cross, but never for very long. Most of our conversations center around what we've been up to since we last met, but sometimes on the rare occasion we delve into deeper topics, but my overly inquisitive nature and peppering of questions often drives him away until we meet again.

Neither of us lives in the town we grew up in, and our homes now lie in different parts of the country. Even now though out of habit, after my long drive to work I consistently park in a vast lot in front of a sparse and sad looking ash. And as I do, I can't help but remember that lonely little pine from my teens that has now grown to a massive Douglas Fir (or so it seemed the last time I went home.)

To you my friend Jackson, on this day I wish you a Happy Birthday and thank you for your friendship. I hope that the next time we meet up it will be a long and happy conversation.  Until then, I wish you many viewings of bad Arnie movies and good fortune along the way.

~ Amy

My Life is a Zoo, Part IV

It wasn't the 6 additional girls and one boy who were over for a birthday sleep over that led to the excitement.  No, that was left to the sparrow that flew into the house via the open deck doors and then proceeded to tour the house in what had to be one heck of an amusement ride.

Birds have inadvertently flown into the glass deck doors, seeing the mirrored image of the clouds and blue skies behind them and mistaking the glass for open air.

We've also had 'gifts' proudly presented in such places as our bed or near the dinner table by two very eager and proud cats. But we've never been sitting at the table casually conversing while the other zoo, the kid zoo, was firmly underway only to have the level of chaos reach a frantic level as when a lone sparrow zipped over our heads and began flying about the room as though he was in an exercise wheel.

Thankfully, our vaulted ceilings provided an area that was safely out of reach of the screeching children, and eventually the bird made it's way to JB's room.

Quietly closing the door after slipping inside, I found the bird perched for dear life on a loose section of the wallpaper boarder near the ceiling.

Spotting me, the bird flitted about the small space, and eventually flew into the mirrored closet doors. (As a side note, every sliding closet door in the house is mirrored. When we first moved into the house, we joked that the previous owners must have been into filming porn or another form of self expression.)

Momentarily stunned from its run-in, the small bird was scooped up in a cardboard gift box and gently carried out to the deck where it could recoup and hopefully fly off. Which it did, eventually flying off into the nearby cottonwood. Later we saw him eating at the bird feeder, and the kids cheered that the little guy made it.

"Mama.  It's certain now. We live in a zoo. Even that poor bird thought it was home."

"Indeed, BW. Indeed."