This summer my big kids will be going to day camp while my two younger children will be hanging out with me. This is a good arrangement as it allows 8 and 5 to spend time with their friends in a structured environment with more activities and excitement than I can provide. And the little ones (formerly known as ‘3’ and ‘the baby’, henceforth known as 4 and 2 – Happy birthday to them.) will have days that are more geared to their tastes and abilities.
My dryer got lazy a few weeks ago. It decided that towels didn’t need to be fully dried and that wet shirts and socks were beyond its jurisdiction. No problem, I just pulled out the old clothes line, strung it up outside in the sunshine and – yeah right! I called a repairman like any good electricity-addicted consumer would do. He told me he would be at my house between 10 AM and 2PM, which was perfect because I had absolutely nothing else to do that day. Not one blessed thing.
4 misheard me at bedtime the other night. When I told him to go brush his teeth, he thought I said ‘please lie on your stomach on the bathroom floor and trace the path of a tiny bug as it weaves its way between the tiles’. It was my bad, really. I should enunciate better.
Today I achieved a new echelon of momhood: I sent a child off to overnight camp. There was no doubt, 8 was ready. So I filled out the paper work (What else would you like us to know about your child? He only eats macaroni and cheese. He loves ninjas and chocolate milk. He is a nice boy and I love him and do you think someone they will snuggle with him if he feels sad? Because he’s tough, but I think he could use an occasional cuddle, like maybe if there’s a thunder storm) and packed his bags.
Dear Dora,
I’m Kally – long time watcher first time caller. I have been following you and your explorations for nearly 6 years now, starting from way back when 8 was a toddler leading up to the frenzy of today when 2 holds the remote control in her grubby hand and chants your name until that catchy music starts and the adventures begin.
I took my car in for an oil change a few months ago and the mechanic informed me that a specific belt under the hood would soon need replacing. Parts plus labor would run me about $600. That’s $600 to fix something that I am not entirely certain exists. Awe-some.
There’s no shame in admitting that economic times are tough. When my ‘get rich quick by writing a semi-regular blog for a crafty Jewish website’ didn’t pan out, I realized it was time to start moonlighting in order to better finance my Target habit.
My husband and I recently did something out of character. We bought some Nice Things. We decided we had outgrown some of the furniture we inherited as newlyweds from people we considered to be old (over 26), rich (they did not eat wacky mac multiple times a week to save money), and sophisticated (they liked wine that wasn’t bubbly).
Recently I dropped my kids off at school.
You’re waiting for the funny story that follows this mundane, daily event. I am waiting for applause.
When I say ‘I dropped my kids off at school’ what I mean is this: I am dragged out of my overcrowded-bed far too early in order to read/play/referee. I then supervise children in various stages of unwillingness into clean clothes, feed each one according to his/her specific tastes, get myself dressed while shouting out reminders about homework and lunchboxes and not hitting our sister. I throw the dirty breakfast dishes in the sink and sweep, lest my nemeses, Crumbs, spend the next 8 hours on the floor smugly thinking it has won this round (Not this time, Crumbs!). Wrangle my children into the car with 4 backpacks, 4 lunchboxes, 4 pairs of snowpants, 7 gloves (fun fact – gloves actually hate even numbers, that’s why they are always trying so desperately to lose each other), one security blanket, and one chocolate bar cleverly disguised as a healthy protein filled breakfast for my moment of Zen when I first arrive at my office.
Once at school, I escort my younger children to their classrooms, hang up their things, gush over their latest pieces of artwork, beg their teachers to be extra nice to them because it is possible that in the rush to leave the house I may have said something unkind such as ‘get your shoes on or tonight I will unleash all the monsters from under your bed!’ Everyone is at school on time, in decent moods, with no visible signs of last night’s dinner on their faces.
So how surprised am I when there was no medal ceremony awaiting me as
