Praying For Failure

I think I am a typical parent in that I do quite a bit of self reflection and review to check myself on my parenting skills.  Am I doing a good job?  Are my kids screwed up?  Should I have not allowed the word fart in the house?  The questions are numerous but the day I stop asking means I’ve already failed.  Of course our eldest born child, Margaret, has the honor of being the guinea pig of sorts and we learn right along with her.  So, why is it that with our first born we are already praying for failure?  It seems wrong.

Meg is a typical first born with a type A personality and a drive for perfection.  I will be honest and state that she did not inherit this characteristic from her middle child mother.  While I have high standards on some things, a perfect report card is not one of those things.  Meg set an extremely tough goal of getting straight A’s for all three years of middle school before she embarked on her 6^th grade year.  I support my kids in their goal setting but I looked at Meg and said, “You know B’s are great too” and “all we want is your best”.  Meg received a schedule containing all advanced content classes and that made me nervous.  It was going to be quite a load and challenge all on its own!  I pictured a teenager in trouble if we didn’t break this goal of perfection!

Sure enough, the first 9 weeks, she nailed it and there we were at the straight A’s ceremony.  Second nine weeks were a little harder but she did it again.  By the third nine weeks I was praying for a B….the stress was mounting. I thought we had it in the bag with a “bomb” on a science quiz.  Like all good parents Pete and I were fist pumping and high fiving when we learned of the poor grade.  We grabbed our baby girl and told her that we loved the bad grade and it will be okay and sometimes you need to totally screw up so that you can appreciate the hard work…..and there it was……the look…..eerily the same look appeared on Meg’s face that I saw so many times on my own mother’s face when I would use the word fart and she would say, “why can’t you say passed gas”….the type of face that oozes of disappointment and disgust.  So it went over like a fart in church (sorry Mom).  But again, she pulled it out on the very last day and got all A’s!  Pete and I felt defeated, like we had lost an opportunity to drive home a point.  Should we have grounded her from homework?  Should we have kept her up late and fed her junk food?  Obviously we had dropped the parenting ball!

In the final nine weeks we thought we were golden!  Art, of all things, was deeming itself to be a Meg buster!  Absences helped to make that an extra challenge but Pete and I were in agreement that we would take the end of the A’s in Art.  And then a bonus!!!!  Meg bombed a math quiz.  A secret high five between horrible parents was exchanged in private as we proudly hung the D quiz on the family magnet board.  Again, a speech was given but this time with far more compassion.  The quest for perfection was falling like a house of cards and then the final blow….

  As I sat in the score board tower at my son’s baseball game, acting like I knew what I was doing, I received a phone call from Meg.  I told her to talk fast because I was in the midst of a 7 to 8 game and somehow I managed to have 3^rd down showing on the scoreboard and I was getting nervous about the dirty looks from hardcore baseball parents down below.  Meg’s voice was off….it was the voice I knew so well…..a self confession was about to happen.  I said, “Meg, what’s wrong?” and she said, “I got in trouble today.”  All at once I stood up and let out a Wahoo!…Mabel gave me a disgusted face and said, “Mom, that’s not our team that just scored.”…...ignoring Meg, I announced  the happy news to Mabel…”Meg got in trouble today!”.  Mabel’s eyes lit up with excitement and she immediately grabbed a clean sheet of paper and a marker to make her own demerit sheet for her big sister.  I focused again on Meg as the umpire motioned up to my window that I needed to change the score, and next I began a perfect parent oration on the importance of behaving in school……  “Meg, I’m so proud of you…you need to cut loose once in a while and talk to a friend or try to pass a note!  It’s a rite of passage and most importantly you have to learn that no one is perfect and you aren’t horrible for getting in trouble.  And then I paused and thought , crap, maybe I should have asked what she did first!….sold crack in the hallway?....smoked in the bathroom?.....disrespected a teacher ?.....but it was all good…my instincts were correct….Meg just giggled too much with a friend.  Part of me wanted to get a cookie cake and get out the “You are special today” plate!  Instead, I hugged my baby girl when I got home and reinforced that she should watch her tail at school and not beat herself up over this.

Meg always punishes herself far more severely than Pete and I could ever dream of so we stepped back and did what all good parents do…..let  the 5 year old spitfire little sister  take the lead….Mabels course of punishment included repeated references to juve along with daily greetings at the door to ask if there had been another incident, and my favorite, the constant reminder to Meg that Mabel had maintained a perfect record and had not yet been reprimanded by a teacher during her kindergarten year. This burned Meg up because we all know full well that Mabel should have been nailed several times by now but third borns have more street smarts than the first borns. 

The combination of being reprimanded for poor behavior and some less than stellar grades was just amazing!  We couldn't have asked for more!  Pete and I were convinced that Meg would finally lose the perfect record and go forth in her middle school years knowing that you can always start over and life is too short to forgo outbursts of laughter.  I’ll cut this short and tell you that Meg pulled it out again…..perfect A’s all year long and now we are forced to wait and wonder if next year we can break her spirit and bring home a B.  It’s a hard job but I vow to do my best to teach my daughter how to fail, screw up, get in trouble and keep on trucking.  Gus is following in his big sisters footsteps so we have already begun a course of treatment that includes constant reminders to get in trouble at school each day and our secret weapon, Mabel, has been teaching Gus to loosen up with butt fives and hoola hooping lessons. Obviously we will have to completely shift gears for Mabel but we have time.   

A new school year starts in just a few weeks and Meg’s quest for perfection has crept into my mind.  While Meg sets her new goals, Pete and I are setting our own.  We shall overcome!  We will not accept straight A's and stellar behavior! Who knew that parenting would be so hard? 

What Am I Supposed to Be When I Grow Up?

As a very young girl I aspired to have long, painted fingernails and work as a cashier at Glaser’s drugstore in my neighborhood.  It was my dream job!  I loved the sound and the look of those long, red, fingernails clicking away on a register and picking up each item and entering a price that always ended in .99.  Such a sad dream that would never come to fruition due to the fact that I have man hands and an inability to grow long fingernails and on the one occasion where fake nails were applied, I looked like a cross dresser. 

  When I reached my teens and could get a job, I ended up at Schnucks grocery store as a bagger.  Great skill building position to have…in no time at all I knew where to locate SPAM and horseradish and yell paper or plastic with a smile.  Being tall, I was also utilized by the vertically challenged folks, to reach items off the top shelf. 

My next career move took me to Purina Mills, courtesy of my Dad who worked a deal with a fraternity brother.   I wore a hard hat, jeans, and safety glasses and made rat poison, horse chow,  and utter ointment.  Finally I was sentenced to an obscure part of the factory that was leased for another purpose. For the rest of the summer I was making Sani Flush Toilet Pucks for people in Taiwan.  I literally turned blue every single day from product dust and worked on a line next to an ex con who called me “sweet meat”.  I have to share that the ex con and I bonded and set an all time record for most pucks produced in one shift.    

The next summer I landed a great gig via the secretary at my high school, working as a manager at Joe’s Car Wash!  And you guys thought I lacked drive and determination!  The truly funny part is that I lacked a driver’s license!  I could detail a car with Q-tips, toothbrushes and tar remover but I couldn’t move them!   I became an expert about car waxes and I took on the mission of educating car owners about the dangers of  Armour All overuse.  I did achieve an incredibly stellar hoosier tan which is always a benefit. 

My next two positions involved the Girl Scouts of America….first, Waterfront Director  and Head Life Guard at Camp Lakamaga in Big Marine, Minnesota.  There I convinced small children that they could not drown during polar bear swims because the water was way too cold and I wasn’t going to jump in to save them.  But I did save small children from the berating torment of “Kiwi” my junior lifeguard from New Zealand who came to work in America but clearly hated America and tried to feed me Vegamite before she ditched camp and headed to the grand canyon.  But the premier experience gained from this job was my newfound talent......  using a tree trunk to repair a dislocated shoulder….pulling a Lethal Weapon Mel Gibson movie moment if you will.  If you are hours away from a physician, and you are in great pain, and you can’t scream because you are surrounded by small children, the tree is your only option. 

Camp Cedarledge Program Director in Pevely, Missouri was my next stop…..I was in charge of scheduling daily camp life for 600 children. Head snake remover.  Boutros Boutros -Gahli  call name on the walkie talkie for weekly, United Nations themed, capture the flag games. Handled all calls from parents who wished their kids were homesick and acted as chief head lice inspector because our narcoleptic nurse tended to fall asleep during inspections(totally not kidding). 

I know what you are thinking….Rachael has done it all and she could go back to any of them!  Oh but wait…my first real job out of college was the best of all.  Investigator for Child Support Enforcement in North St. Louis City which is the hood. I was  totally naïve and had the Crips or Bloods gang members guarding my car in the parking lot each day, depending on who was winning the war….again, totally not kidding.  It was an education unlike any other.  "CT", my security guard became a close friend very quickly as he was my only hope when I was meeting with large male clients who wanted to kill me for taking their paychecks or cars.  I later learned that "CT" stood for Carmel Thunder….his stage name when he went over to the East side to perform as a stripper to make some real money.  There, I truly learned about real life and how incredibly fortunate I am.  And then I kissed all of those incredible employment positions goodbye for the best of the best….stay at home motherhood. 

You will be shocked to hear that none of my past professions are at all alluring to me.  What should I be when I grow up?  I ask this out loud at least once a day and most of the time my kids are present and roll their eyes (everyone except Gus because he literally cannot roll his eyes.  We’re working on it because I feel that is a necesssary skill for the teen years.)  “Mom, you are already a Mom.”  I always wanted to be a Mom.  I have a great Mom and I  grew up watching her and knowing that I wanted to do all of it like her……we do say fart, I've purchased rather than make some Halloween costumes,  and I can’t cook  so I have added a few things and omitted a few things from Barb’s repertoire but all in all I achieved that goal!  I am a Mom to three amazing children who challenge me, inspire me, and bring me more joy than I ever knew possible.  They also frustrate the hell out of me and bring me to my knees in worry but evidently that comes with the package. 

So I need a little more and I often wonder why I couldn’t get a gig like the guy who opens the show on Iron Chef.  I have been told that I have a plastic face capable of many different expressions and I could do some karate moves timed nicely with the ninja sounds that are piped in as he reveals the mystery ingredient.  I also think that I am highly qualified to be chief batting helmet shiner for the St.Louis Cardinals baseball team.  It’s always been a pet peeve of mine that major league baseball players have pine tarred, ugly helmets when it’s so beautiful to see a nice clean shiny helmet under the lights of a ballpark.  I don't think the position really exists.

I’ve often wondered if I’m destined to be a greeter at Wal Mart….but then I realize that my cankles would be massive if I had to stand all day and my back would go out if I had to tackle a shoplifter.   I toyed with the idea of being a professional organizer…the “Crap Fairy”.  I would show up in my “CrapWaggon” (a vintage green Ford Grand Torino) wearing my fairy wings and Converse high tops, and while families are at work and school,  I would commence with crap removal and crap organization.  But then the paparazzi would reveal a picture of my very own basement which is in need of a crap fairy visit and everyone would realize I’m a fake and the gig would be up. 

After further review I might have all aspects of my dream jobs already in hand….I like to type on the computer even if it is without long painted fingernails. I do reveal mystery ingredients each night at dinner to my own family only because they can’t recognize what I’ve prepared.  I don’t shine up batting helmets, but God knows that I do enjoy a nice shine on my stainless steel frig.  And finally, I am my own personal crap fairy. All I really need to do is paint my fingernails, yell "Allez Cuisine" while presenting my crappy dinners and put on fairy wings when I am de-cluttering my  own house.  I have a Psychology degree from Quincy University and that little fact right there explains this predicament of vocation dysfuntion in its entirety.  Maybe I should be a life coach! 

Going Gluten Free Grief

It all began with one little question from the grocery store cashier.  “Did you find everything you needed?”  “Yes” came out of my mouth but in my head where my brain has been soaking in celiac for a month and a half, the following unfurled…..I call it a Celiac Attack of sorts. ”No!  Hell no I didn’t find everything I need!  You’ve got to be kidding me, right?  I need a donut the size of my head.  I need about 1,000 more gluten free products in this store.  I need a deli manager who will agree to clean the slicer.  I need your tiny gluten free section to be relocated because I get depressed hanging out with magazines and the baby products that are too overpriced for anyone to journey there.  I need the gluten free, crap ass Styrofoam crackers to cost a little less than $5.26 a box.  I need a sale!  I need to walk out of here with more than seven items that cost a total of $80.00! And for the love of Christ please put the Dove chocolates on BOGO because this is crisis time!”  Of course none of that came out of my mouth. 

The cashier picked up each of my items as she scanned them and instantly her eyebrows lowered and her lips furled as if to say, “Hmmmm, I’ve worked here a long time and I’ve never seen this?” Then the question came….”Are you trying to eat gluten free?”  I responded, “Yes, I have Celiac Disease so I can’t eat glutens.”  The cashier said, “I’ve heard that can be painful……..ya know, with that shooting pain going down your leg.”  What?  Oh my God this lady had Celiac and Sciatica confused!  I wanted to laugh but I just smiled and nodded and pictured myself eating a donut the size of my head while I suffer extreme leg pain.  It was the perfect cure for my Celiac Attack. 

Sometimes there are moments of extreme joy at the grocery store.  You would have thought that I won the lottery when I found sunflower oil at Kroger….only $5.64!  On one fateful day I made my typical mad dash down Kroger’s health food aisle to the end cap only this time it was all happening in slow motion and I heard music playing in my head. My cart made the turn so smoothly despite my speed, and there I found, for the first time, Udi’s gluten free hotdog buns!  I grabbed the buns and for a moment thought that I should buy the mother lode inventory….all 4 of them.  You have to know that Udi’s hamburger buns are sought after like the latest and greatest Christmas toy…..a Cabbage Pack Kid or Tickle Me Elmo or Wii game system if you will.  You can’t find them anywhere including all of the weird gluten free online stores! 

Regrettably I only bought one and now I dream about how much I could have made if I bought them all and put a few up on EBay.  It was such a big win!  I looked around to make sure that no one would try to steal them out of my cart….only to snap back to reality knowing full well I am alone in the “special diets” aisle and my buns are safe and sound.  

 I really don’t have to go down any of the middle aisles but I always hit the cereal aisle in the hopes that Chocolate Chex has made their way to my store.   I have found that younger eyes are much more talented in finding the little “GF” that we all crave to see on packaging and we all instinctually cheer and pump a fist when luck shines on our side.  

 Gus is convinced that we should go Kosher instead of Gluten free because he sees those foods more often.  Mabel rides down aisles sitting in the back of the cart telling me that she will one day have her own line of gluten free foods called “Mabel Made It So It’s Good”.   She explains, “And everything will be really little because little food always tastes better than big giant food.”  The last statement reflects the fact that we have reached the sixth and final stage of Elisabeth Kubler Ross’ 6 Stages of Going Gluten Free Grief…..We’ve made it through denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance, and now we’re in the rarely studied final stage of Reshaping……When you’re sick of eating all of the same foods over and over again, change their shape to something tiny and you will think it tastes better and it will buy you a few more days.   Mabel is so right, the new plan is to take a tiny biscuit cutter to everything we eat and it will be all good.   

Silly Ack Ceptance

On June 3^rd our youngest daughter was diagnosed with Celiac Disease.  Upon hearing the news, Mabel asked, “Does this mean that all of my dogs have to be naked?”  Naked is the term we give to any sandwich, burger, or dog that goes bun less.  With one little question, we started down a new path. Here is what I know so far…..

Adrenaline is a great thing.

Maternal guilt is stronger than logic.

Maternal instincts are stronger than everything.

I have hate mail to send to some specialists and some judgmental women.

Practically everything in any grocery store is poison for my child.

The internet is both a blessing and a curse.

Facebook is a blessing.

So much of our special memories and traditions revolve around food.

First communion, college drinking and wedding cakes have all crept into my brain in the last week.

Gluten Free is easy…..corn, soy, tomato, apple, orange, and nut plus gluten free is hard.

Gluten free costs an arm and a leg.

Mabel is no longer an enigma (or an anemone as she puts it).

There are specialists out there that do look at your entire child; you just have to find them.

Anyone can be a nutritionist, and dieticians are scared of us.

Very few people know what Celiac Disease is….we’re not going gluten free to be hip.

Meg and Gus are extremely protective of their baby sister.

I married extremely well to say the least.

Mabel contains the wit and tenacity to take this on and be okay.

Timing is everything.

Of course there are worse afflictions but if you think this isn’t scary, you are a dumb ass.

There are $7.00 crackers that should only serve as packing material.

Any minute now I will drive a VW bus, stop shaving my armpits, and hug a tree.

My grocery store, which was like a second home, is now an alien planet.

I’m one of “those” moms asking weird questions like….”Do you have a separate slicer for the Boars Head products?”  “Does your fluoride and toothpaste contain glutens?”  “If you are allergic to soy, can you have soy lecithin?”  “What aisle is Xanthan Gum in?” 

Mabel could be a totally different kid within 6 months.

Chances are very good that Mabel is not the only “Silly Ack” in the house.

One day we will look back on this past week and realize that we’ve come very far.

My children were eating a great diet before this so now it will be stellar.

I thought I was addicted to chocolate but if you tell me to give it up because Mabel can’t have it, it’s easy.

Crying in your closet from time to time actually makes you stronger, rather than weaker.

Despite the fact that I’m 39, I still find poop charts in a GI’s office, very entertaining.

“Gizzards” is far more fun to say than intestines.

I have amazing women surrounding me who have listened, advised, encouraged, and helped.

The strong desire to make your children happy and healthy is relentless, and despite the fact that we are somewhat powerless, having that knowledge doesn’t make it any easier. 

My sister Ann put together family cook books for all of us a few years ago. She took the time to photo copy original recipe cards so that we could each appreciate the handwriting, smudges, spills and scribbled notes on the sides from our Mom and grandmothers.  When Mabel is an old lady, she will pass down her own recipes.  They will have a pinch of Xanthan Gum and lots of rice flour.  They will be full of organic foods.  And her recipe cards will have smudges of beet juice.  Hopefully processed foods will be unpopular and everyone will make a shift back to real food.  Hopefully our motto will become everyone’s motto…”If it doesn’t grow or have a Mama, we don’t eat it.” 

We found out that Mabel has Celiac Disease on a Friday and on Sunday evening while doing a word find, Mabel said, “I’ve found a lot of FU’s but no N’s.”  She was looking for the word “fun”.  Pete and I paused and then laughed hysterically.  Pete thought it was a great way to sum up our weekend.  But then we both agreed that it was just the opposite.  We did get one FU but we had a lot of N’s.   No matter what it is, we will find a way to laugh about it……poop charts, GI visits, blood draws, allergists, and trying funny foods.  Mabel renamed her disease to “Silly Ack!” and it’s very fitting.  It’s totally silly and if you are going to have a disease, this isn’t a bad one to go with…..sure there are scary things but no pills to pop or treatments to endure….you just eat healthy and you will start to feel better.  Will all of Mabels hotdogs be naked?  Nope….we found a $6.00 bag of hotdog buns to put the $9.00 hotdogs in alongside the $4.20 rice macaroni and cheese! 

When You Look Good, You Don't Run Into to Anyone!

I wrote this on January 9th, 2008 when we lived in St. Louis and my kids were 8, 4 and 2. I drove to and from our school three times each day for drop offs and pick ups for Meg who was in third grade and Gus who was in half day preschool.  Showers were hard to come by with our schedule and the constant presence of a two year old. 

 

I began the morning with a stubborn 4 year old that would not cooperate in getting ready for school. This was a first for us so I was ticked pretty early. Pete stayed home with Gus and tried to hog tie him into a uniform while I did the carpool. For all of you stay at home Moms out there I’m sure you can relate to the following information. So I haven’t showered and I’m wearing the clothes I had on the previous day but I thought, “no one will see me because I’m just doing drop off”. Those words would haunt me all day long!

 I got three kids buckled in the van and made it to school 15 minutes early and I successfully got three little people unbuckled and out of my van while cars started to line up behind me. Only problem was, my car would not move! I was at a loss! My car literally would not come out of park no matter what I did. Luckily my friend Liz was right behind me so I threw on my hazards and she came over laughing. I told her what was happening and she got in my van and tried it for herself  but to no avail. She quickly said, “You are so screwed but I’m leaving you because people are going to start honking.” And off she went! There was a lot of staring and three different Dads’ came to assist me but they too could not fix it! They tried rocking my van, turning it off and back on, and it just wouldn’t budge. I dared to glance behind me and I saw that the line of cars now extended all the way through HR’s parking lot, down Mason Avenue and then out onto Lockwood Blvd!!! There I stood in my haggard state getting a lot of dirty looks while children were running from cars in fear of not making the bell.  I don't know how, but eventually I got it into drive. The three Dads ran to their vehicles screaming, “GO, GO, GO, and don’t stop anywhere until your home!” Perfect, I'll get home and shower!

 I had every intention of showering but my good friend called to update me on her 7 year old son who has been diagnosed with Diabetes and things were really scary so I wasn’t going to ditch her for a shower. I cried with my friend, ate some Mega MM’s and then had to pick up Gus from preschool. I was still wearing the clothes from yesterday but now I also had flour all over my blue sweatpants due to a Mabel incident that involved creativity with flour and a whoopee cushion (you really don’t want to know), and I was scared to death that my van would malfunction again but what can you do? That pick up went well even though I had to talk to the wealthy woman who was leaving for Europe today for a nice trip. In my floury sweatpants, no makeup, and hair in a ponytail state, I asked where she was going and she said London and then she asked if I was going to be traveling soon and I told her that my next trip will be to the grocery store and that’s only if I can make it out of the parking lot.

Our afternoon was full of adventures including a garbage disposal jammed with dry elbow pasta, trauma over food coloring stains on hands, and my favorite, the apparent sabotage of a tiny rock collection that Gus compiled. Guess who sabotaged? The sabotage might explain what else was in the garbage disposal jam!! I also had two phone calls from my spouse informing me of two different business trips to happen in the next two weeks, which always brightens my day. A napless two year old meant that, yep, you guessed it, no shower for me.

But then, at 2:30 the phone rang and I saw on caller ID that it was Meg's school. Anytime that name shows up on caller ID I have a little panic attack so I rushed to answer. It was the principal calling to inform me that our school was awarded the Pendergast-Weyer Foundation grant. We have a very serious, prim and proper principal and upon hearing her words my response was, “SHUT UP!!!!”  Really not the response a mature school parent should come up with but that was better than other things that could have come out of my mouth. Through September and October I wrote a grant proposal to get new computers for our school and we got it. It’s amazing. I was doing the happy dance in my living room while Gus just watched with that facial expression that says,“God, my Mom is so weird” so I made him dance with me. The whoopee cushion was brought out for the celebration.

And then it was time for the 3:15 pick up so Mabel and Gus climbed in the van with their chocolate chip cookies and my basketball whistle because really every 2 year old needs a whistle, don’t you think? I was still unshowered but oh so happy that I really didn’t care! At school  I was hugging and high fiving and enjoyed a celebratory huddle with the grant committee and then children piled in the van-(all 6 of us because somehow I gained a mystery child that ended up being a neighbor’s play date)……and my van wouldn’t go into drive, but I didn’t care!! Mabel was whistling and Gus was begging to go to the library and Meg was telling me that she forgot her spelling words, and the two other girls were trying to trade earrings and I just didn’t care! After a few minutes we were in business. We came home and danced in the front yard and then Mabel headed to the backyard. Quickly the mood changed.

She reappeared in tears holding her brand new bear who was an obvious victim of the storms on Monday night. The bear really did look like a child’s toy that had been pulled from tornado wreckage. And then Meg was in tears because she truly believes that all stuffed animals are real and Gus was giggling and telling me how it looked like it was covered in poop. We rushed the victim to the kitchen sink where Mabel sat on the counter and Gus and Meg pulled up a chair to watch the animal rescue episode going on in my kitchen. Meg was ready to be a blood donor, Mabel was weeping and Gus was yelling, “Use the sprayer, use the sprayer.” Finally, I was appropriately dressed for a part of my day! I got enough mud off to read the tag and joyfully announced that our victim could go in the washer and dryer and that he would make a full recovery. Mabel cried harder and said, “Please don’t put him in the dishwasher.” I explained the difference between a dishwasher and clothes washer as well as the process and said that we could all go down in the basement and do a ceremonious washer cycle but Mabel wouldn’t hear of it. So I have an extremely soggy bear sitting on a paper plate but you know as soon as that child is in bed, that sucker is headed to the Maytag rehab. So it’s 7:40pm now and I’m still unshowered but I don’t care. If I were showered and wearing clean clothes, chances are that the car wouldn’t have broken down and I wouldn’t have had to chat with the wealthy European traveler, and we wouldn’t have received the grant. The moral of this story is…..amazing things can happen when you least expect them, especially if you don’t shower. Oh, and every household needs a whoopee cushion.

Baby Chucking

This is an Anniversary Edition….June of 2008, Pete was already in Atlanta and I was in St. Louis trying to sell our house and stay sane.  Meg had just turned 9, Gus was 4 and Mabel had just turned 3.  I was 36 and managed to dip to an all time new low on the Maternal Malfunction Meter.  Enjoy!

The last five weeks have been a whirlwind of stress, despair, worry, frustration, hard work, and separation.  It’s really the six key components to a fabulous summer. On week one I found out that a whopper grant I wrote for our school was successful and that was bittersweet knowing my kids would not reap the benefits.  On week two my parents abandoned me to live in DC for two months and the lovely Mrs. Green who lived in our house for 40 years, passed away and I made an ass out of myself at her funeral.  On week three I found out that Gus has been partially deaf in his right ear for a year due to a perforated eardrum (no maternal guilt there at all). On week four I herniated a disk in my back and an ear surgery for Gus did not happen because the surgery center lost power two minutes before he was going into the OR.   I don’t have a great story to share as to how I injured myself.  I wasn’t playing sports, or saving a child.  Instead I will share that I bent over to shave my leg and that was it.  Popping, shifting, and pain to the extent that my arms and lips went numb.  If Pete had not been here, my children would have witnessed Webster Groves’ finest pulling me out of a shower.  Not a great image to have etched into young minds. Thank God for small favors. 

Part of the motherhood package includes a healthy portion of guilt but it also includes a fast track to insanity.  It’s a vicious circle of pushing you to your limits where you may act your ugliest and then the guaranteed follow-up of extreme guilt.  They go hand in hand and there is no way to avoid it.  Such was the case last Wednesday.

I had just finished my round of steroids and I was upright for the first time in a while.  My husband was in Atlanta but we were close to a deal on our house and I had my sister Lucy in town to help me because walking was difficult, and bending, twisting, or lifting was impossible.  Steroids can make you really crabby according to my neighbor who is a physical therapist…..this explains all of it!  I’m totally blaming all of my actions and words on the steroids from here on out.  Please remember this as you read on.

 We had to clean the house and evacuate so that the new buyers could do their home inspection.  So we packed up and headed for my parents house. After a few hours the kids were ready to kill each other and I needed to be back in the fetal position so we loaded up to head for home.  Mabel was being extremely stubborn and refused to do anything I said, simply because she knew I couldn’t do anything about it.  Eventually we got her to the van but once there she fought me again and refused to let me buckle her car seat.  I had been threatening all day and I was really close to blowing a gasket.  After being kicked I knew I was going to follow through on a threat.  I yelled, “Mabel, stop it or I will chuck your baby.”  Mabel still refused so I said, “Gus, give me the baby.”  Gus obeyed because the boy is not stupid and he knew I was on the edge.  I instantly chucked the baby over my head into the middle of my parent’s front yard.  Mabel started screaming but relaxed her torso so I was able to buckle.  I got in the car and drove.  Mabel was screaming for her baby.  Gus, the voice of reason, then said, “See Mabel, the point is that you can earn the baby back.  You just need to be good and maybe then Mom would take you to visit the baby in the grass.”  I’ve never heard Gus say, “See the point is…”  That was when I snapped out of my insanity and realized just what I had done.  My sister had been silent in the passenger seat but lost it when she heard Gus’ thoughts.  She then looked at me and said, “You know what you did could be considered a hate crime because you threw the African American baby.”  Then I too lost it.  Mabel fell in love with a black baby at the dollar store and she hasn’t let it go.  Why did that have to be the one baby that I chucked!  How many neighbors witnessed the hate crime?

After we got home, Lucy and I sat down on the couch while the kids went to play and twenty minutes later, Lucy received a call that her good friend JT had died.  JT was only 33 and a good friend of Lucy’s since college.  He was diagnosed with cancer in late April and Lucy and her friends rose over $90,000 for him a few weeks ago so that he could go to Oklahoma for special treatment and all reports were very positive so this was unexpected.  Lucy and I cried and cried until children came around.  Lucy decided she needed to go have a good cry away from my kids so she left. 

So I was alone with the kids and had to stop crying and suck it up and somehow make dinner in my invalid state.  I managed to get a pizza in the oven which was a fete!  I was thinking I was doing really well until Mabel summoned me to the bathroom for, how should I say this…..oh hell….she needed to be wiped.  I couldn’t bend to wipe and Lucy was gone and there was Mabel in her wiping position which means she bends at the waist and puts her hands on the floor.  Blood was rushing to her head and she was begging for someone to wipe her.  Meg was outside so I had to ask Gus to wipe his sisters behind.  I was there to instruct on technique and the moment little Gussie started, Mabel started crying and saying it hurt.  Evidently she had some resipooy (this is a Krussel term…..a combination of residue and pooy……formal definition would be a residue of fecal matter that remains on human epidermis in the buttocks region causing chafing and irritation and of course, discomfort).  So I’ve got a kid screaming with her drawers at her ankles and the pizza buzzer was going off and then my agent pulled in the driveway.  I had no choice but to abandon Mabel and save the pizza from burning.  While keeping my back straight I did the deepest knee bend ever to get the pizza out of the oven.  Mabel stopped crying when my agent walked in and Meg and Gus were mad because I had to sit down for a second before I could slice the pizza. 

So in walks my agent, Pat and she instantly said, “Where’s Woocie?”  Woocie is the name Pat’s children called Lucy when they were tiny and Lucy was their babysitter and they couldn’t pronounce their L’s.  I instantly started crying!!!!  I had to tell her that Lucy’s friend died and that I was so sad and then Pat was crying.  Meg and Gus just continued to eat and Mabel climbed onto my lap and quickly fell asleep at 5:30 pm while my friend and I cried.  Honest to God I had not shed a tear for 5 weeks straight until that day!  It was like a damn broke and I was a lunatic!  I didn’t want to do all of it anymore.  I didn’t want to leave my family, Marshall Place, Webster Groves.  Pat left and I was stuck on the couch with Mabel on top of me. There was no way that I could lift her or carry her up to bed.  It was actually very nice.  I watched Mabel sleep and you know they always look so innocent when they are asleep so the guilt of the baby chucking incident was looming large at that time.  Lucy came back by 7:00 with a giant coffee and seemed to be in a better place.  Of course we cried again and I told her to just go back to her friends in her town.  She put everyone to bed for me and set out breakfast bowls for the next morning and then she was gone.  I managed to survive Thursday and Friday without Pete or Lucy, with a renewed sense of what really is important, but I will tell you that my house has never been that trashed and you know things are bad when you dread the pain of pouring milk for your kid’s breakfast. 

Pete came home Friday night.  Mabel ran and jumped into his arms.  She instantly put her hands on Pete’s cheeks and looked him in the eyes and said, “Mommy loseded her mind and threw my baby in the grass.”(We all now use that tense of lost).  Pete just looked at me.  All I said was, “The kid is not lying.”  We have a long way to go until we will be settled in Atlanta and I can guarantee you that I will have further, less than stellar mothering moments.  In the interim we are coping by playing inappropriate games and singing inappropriate songs.  Strip Candy Land is a new family favorite (I don’t participate) and my kids have been walking around singing “Somebody farted. Somebody farted in here” to the tune of “Let’s get it started.  Let’s get is started in here.”  (Thank you Tim Basler)  The sad part is that I find it very humorous.  Single handedly I am ruining what would otherwise be three amazingly intelligent and normal children.  So the question still looms, should I just call family services on myself?  Most would say yes but I would argue that children need to see their Mom’s lose it from time to time if for no other reason than to appreciate when their Mom’s are sane. 

Big Girls and Bratwurst Always Look Better Brown

After a morning spent with our ENT determining that Mabel will indeed lose her tonsils and adenoids this summer, I felt the mood of the van was rather dim so I threw it out there.  Yes, it was my voice I heard say, “We should go swimming.”  Cheers and applause followed and then a pause and Mabel said, “Wait!  Mom, are you going to get in?”  I didn’t answer because frankly I didn’t know if I could do it.

Next thing you know I was standing in my closet staring at my collection of what I refer to as my “Olle’s” or Old Lady Lands End Swimming suits.  You know the ones I’m talking about….skirts!!!  These are the questions that went through my head….”Which is the best of the worst?”, “Which one goes with super white nun legs?”, and finally, “How long until my kids bust in here?”

In another instant I was standing in front of my bathroom mirror….it’s a mirror above a large jetted tub so all you see is from your knees up to your boobs….I will share with you now that that is my least favorite section of my body but I do appreciate the convenience of my head not being seen so that I can perpetuate my psychological disconnect and denial that it is indeed my body that I see in the mirror.  I couldn’t believe it had been a year and it was swim season again.  It was time for a pep talk.  Oh the odd things that went through my head….”Do it for Johnny, man.  Do it for Johnny.”  It didn’t work because I don’t have a kid named Johnny.  “Keep your head down.  Keep your head down.  Keep your God damn head down.”  Wait, that’s instruction for golfing.  “It’s not over until the fat lady sings” and with that I belted a little bit of “Pour Some Sugar on Me” (inspirational song from high school basketball), realized how gross that was and then I could no longer ignore the voices from outside my door….”Mom, come on!  Mom, we already did sunscreen. Mom, we made sure we got you the biggest towel.” 

I didn’t want to do it!  One last glance in the mirror and all at once I found the inspirational words that I needed….no, it wasn’t Babe Ruth, Coach Bryant, Stuart Smiley, or even John F. Kennedy….instead it was two real estate agents.  Pat Coursault, a friend and real estate agent, told me in May of 2001 that “it’s all so good right now even though you don’t think it is.  Please, wear what you want and tuck in your shirt because you have to realize how good it is!”  In another flash I heard the words of Terri Domm, a New Yorker stuck in the south selling real estate from her lavender Cadillac who said to me……”I have spent 5 days showing you houses and every time we drive past a pool or tennis court you have a cow.  You may not love your body but I would have given anything to have a body that would allow me to bring three gorgeous children into the world so suck it up sister!”  They were so right.

So we made the short walk down to the pool and as we entered the gate, Pat Coursault and Terri Domm went right out the window and there I was faced with the ultimate smack in the face…..skinny minis everywhere I turned, who all had the gall to come to the pool on the very first day that I had to be brave.  To make matters worse, they are all nice skinny minis, two of whom have given birth in the last 7 months but still look better than me, and the added bonus of some college girls…… Why?  Why did the pool have to be packed today?  It took me all of 15 minutes before I wanted to strip off my cover up and get in because it was so stinking hot.  I took a deep breath, put on my shades so that my white legs wouldn’t scar my pupils for life, and then made the long walk to the edge of the pool (it’s all of three feet but it felt like a mile).  Three hours of fun ensued complete with great conversation with great ladies.

So there it is….yes, I am a 39 year old woman who has major self-image issues.  I’m very aware of how wrong it is especially given the fact that I’m raising two girls, but in the end all that matters is that each summer I put on my “olle” and go the pool.  I don’t love my giant legs or my hips, or my butt, or my gut or my lack of a rack…but I am thankful that this body, this vehicle has successfully let me lead the life I want to live and bring children into this world.  Tomorrow will be a little easier because I will remind myself of my own little motto….”Big girls and bratwurst always look better brown” and my first trip gained me a little color.

A Trip to the Store....And So Much More.

I try very hard to avoid bringing my children to the grocery store.   Of course we all know that it isn’t always possible, so often I end up at Publix with my trio.  We grab a cart and then Mabel starts the recruiting process to convince her brother and sister to hoist her ass into the cart because she knows full well that her mother’s old lady back issues make this an impossible task.  After a bit of abuse and threats, Mabel manages to end up in the cart….and then we are off to the deli.

Publix has Boar’s Head deli meat and I love it but getting your salami and ham can take quite some time.   At this point Mabel tells Gus and Meg to run off and fetch some items.  It’s really a nice idea because they are quick and they know where to go so it cuts down on our overall time in the store.  After Meg and Gus have run off, Mabel carefully stands in the cart and puts her arms out with a little smirk on her face….her eyes telling me all that I need to know.  Mabel knows that the height advantage of standing in the cart allows her to koala on to me without the painful process of me bending and lifting to pick her up.  I can’t hold her for very long, so it’s typically about thirty seconds and every time she shares just a little insight or comment that makes me pee in my pants.

With a little jump and the command to “wrap”, Mabel wraps her arms and legs securely around me so that our faces are nose to nose and then something wonderful would be said to me like…..

• So what are we going to screw up for dinner tonight.
• Look, I keep telling you that it’s okay to eat a few grapes before you put them in your cart
• What is common sense?  Isn’t that when things are the same on both sides like butt cheeks?
• Laughter, laughter, laughter and finally….These jeans don’t fit so right now my butt crack is showing.
• One day I will work here and get all of your salami for free.

And then all at once I have to let her drop because I fear that I will suffer a back outing and be incapacitated at the deli. 

By this time Gus and Meg have returned and Gus, my sweet brown eyed boy who never asks for anything will say something like….”Mom, can you please buy watermelon and cantaloupe?”.  Why don’t you just ask for a radish and a cucumber too and make me feel like an even more terrible mother?  Why couldn’t he ask for MM’s and pop-tarts like normal kids?  I give in and Meg graciously agrees to go and get two milks,but not before Mabel reminds her to “check the dates” because she is very aware of my expiration date phobia.  Meg instinctively asks Mabel for what a good date should be and then Mabel contemplates and embarks on her performance of "The Months of the Year Song" put to Macarena music and dance moves.  She literally cannot remember what month it is without performing the song.  Meg smirks and enjoys the idea that she just convinced her sister to do that ridiculous dance in public and then runs off to the dairy section. 

Sure, we may complete the perimeter and find a few more items that we need and Meg always tempts me down the candy aisle hoping beyond all hope that something will be BOGO.  And then we hit the check out lane where Mabel unloads all of the items stuffed in around her and immediately tells the casher…”My Mom forgot the bags so we won't be saving the earth today.” 

As much as I try to avoid the grocery store with my kids, I never regret it.  It really gets better and better as they age.  Any minute now I will be sending Meg off to the store all by herself!  Chances are that she will remember to save the Earth. 

I Want Her To Wear Wool

My oldest daughter will be in 7^th grade in the fall.  It’s too close for comfort.  It’s too close to high school.  We moved to Atlanta and had no other choice but to send our children to public school.  The few catholic schools in existence are packed to the gills with waiting lists to boot.  We are three school years in and it still doesn’t feel completely right but I guess it never will.  There is no doubt that they are receiving a stellar education, but the experience just isn’t the same.  Now all I can think about is my strong desire for Margaret to attend my alma mater, Cor Jesu Academy.  A private, Catholic, college-preparatory school run by the Apostles of the Sacred Heart of Jesus.  I need her to wear a plaid, wool uniform skirt and enjoy everything that goes along with that.

I want her to wear a hand me down blazer for First Friday masses that belonged to her 5’2” sister making each sign of the cross a possible Hulk like moment.

I want her to eat a warm chocolate chip cookie prepared by Rita that is as big as her head for breakfast.

I want her to have a friend like Renee Kostecki who will be brazen enough to give her a hair cut in religion class.

I want her to share a locker with Wendy Halbert who never used the combination, thank God, because I would have been locked out.

I want her to have Sister CaroleAnn Stackpole take her aside and tell her that she can forge her own way and not have to follow in her sisters footsteps.

I want her to eat lunch in a packed cafeteria and learn all of the cheers.

I want her to ride the bench for four years on the basketball team and have a coach tell her that she would be a starter if she went to any other school.  (Thanks for the lie Mr. Luna)

I want her to don white gloves and a robe and play the big donger in the hand bell choir and have a bruise on her clavicle for the whole run.

I want her to be in the constant presence of women who have dedicated their lives to Christ but clearly do not buy into the Vatican’s stand on women.

I want her to give a huge religion presentation and make two nuns laugh until they cry when they realize that all of her research was done at an evangelical library rather than a catholic library.

I want her to roll out of bed and step into the wool skirt that still lies right where she took it off the night before…..throw her hair in a ponytail and forget the makeup because no one cares.

I want her to volunteer to time swim meets, record softball games and time field hockey games with Jenny Fassler and find a creative way to get into the team picture even when she isn’t invited.

I want her to build character and maturity in a safe setting where everyone knows your name.

I want her to fear for her life when she walks into the library and has to face Sr. Teddy.

I want her to get the giggles in the chapel and have to fight her way through.

I want her to have Miss Kitts for biology and have her say, “Sex really isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

I want her to swelter in the un-air conditioned hallways and feel that 100% wool skirt scratching her legs.

I want her to eat lunch while the overwhelming smell of buffalo poop wafts in through the windows.

I want her to see Anheuser Busch Clydesdales in the fields every morning and appreciate the gorgeous view.

I want her to hang out with the nuns on a Friday afternoon and witness the wearing of the aprons and the volume turned up on Barry Manilow records. 

I want her to be recruited to enter the convent!!!  (Oh to think of what could have been?)

I want her to wear a ring that is unlike any other on the face of the earth. 

I want her to journey through adulthood and have CJ teachers, experiences, knowledge and friends echo in her mind.

I want her to wear wool.

I want her to wear wool.

I want her to go to Cor Jesu.

I Am Their Mother!

I actually wrote this on November 13, 2007 At the time my children were 8, 4, and 2.
Everyone tells me how much my three children look like their father.  I take it as a compliment because my husband is adorable so it's all good but I would be lying if I said I didn't wish for some trait from me.  Eye color is one thing but personality traits are a whole different ballgame.
 

I couldn't find Mabel and that meant trouble.  I walked into the kitchen to find Mabel standing on a chair and having gained access to my chocolate stash she was shoving M&M's in her mouth.  She jumped upon my arrival and yelled very rapidly, "I'm eating your M&M's Mommy and they are really good and I have tinkle in my pants."  At that moment I knew that Mabel did indeed receive some genes from me.  That child decided that eating the M&M's was far better and far more important than getting to the potty and she was willing to withstand wet pants and the cleanup process just for those M&M's!!! The girl has her priorities in order! You gotta love that!

Later that same week I found proof that Meg too has at least one gene from me.  Pete and I were sitting with the 3rd grade teacher for parent conferences when Mrs. Maue pulled out the results from Meg's standardized testing.  I instantly thought that it looked like a DNA strand with the little rectangular blocks staggered down a vertical line showing percentages.  Meg scored in the 85th to 99th percentile for absolutely everything except for one subsection.  There was one little rectangle way off to the left in the 74th percentile while everything else was at the extreme right.  My eye was immediately drawn there and sure enough, Meg received my gene for Math Word Problems.  I have to say that I felt a little pride!  I thought, "Holy Crap, she really is my kid!". The Hahn family tree has an obvious rotten limb spanning generations into the past when it comes to math word problems.  Score another one for Mom!

Now Gus is the toughest nut to crack because he has the ultimate Krussel face and besides some glimpses of some dimples, he really doesn't have a darn thing from me.  And then right before Halloween it happened.  Gus was found smiling at the fireplace mantle where he had helped to arrange some beautiful gourds and pumpkins.  Pete inquired, "Gus what are you smiling at?" and my son, yes, my son, said, "I just love gourds!".  Now many of you are probably thinking that Pete and I can pretty much count on three son-in-laws, and that may be true and that's pretty much inconsequential to me but to have a boy who appreciates Fall home decor and nature....Good Lord he totally got that from me. 

So there it is.  The Krussel genes may be strong in the most obvious forms but I see glimpses of myself in my children and I'm thrilled even if the glimpses appear in wetting their pants for good chocolate, struggling with 3rd grade math, and getting giddy about gourds.  I'll take whatever I can get.  Rach