Hooray for Snakes and Snails and Puppy Dogs' Tails Too

To begin I know that there are Moms who like to fix things and haul crap around in the back of a pick up truck.  I know that there are some Dads in the world who can bake adorable cupcakes and plait up the meanest french braid you've ever seen.  I also strive to teach my girls that they can basically do all of the stuff that boys traditionally do except play on the "skins" team in a "shirts vs. skins" basketball game.  If you don't know me by now, you will never, never, never know me.

All of that being said, it is true that my husband and I tend to fall into pretty traditional gender roles at our house.  I stay home with the kids, live much of my life in the kitchen (often whilst barefoot), and I am the one who gathers food, clothing, and home necessities around town.  My husband works in the outside world, organizes our finances, and takes care of home maintenance and pest control.  It works well for us most of the time.  So... this post is less about gender roles and more about the fact that my kids are incredibly blessed to have two parents with completely different skill sets.  Both of us are eager to pass along what we each consider to be essential life skills.

Not every kid is lucky enough to have a mom and a dad.  I spent most of my childhood in a cozy house with just my mom, and I was a very lucky kid to be sure.  My mom taught me how to use hot rollers and lip liner.  She helped me learn how to express my feelings and encouraged my quirky sense of humor.  She took me on vacations to big cities and taught me how to appreciate room service and hot showers.  Life was good.

But as I was growing up no one taught me how to use a level or an electric drill.  I never learned to suck it up and deal with a spider without leaping onto the nearest piece of furniture whilst squealing and pulling my invisible petticoats up to my chin.  I also never learned to appreciate vacations that involved "roughing it" in any sense of the phrase.  I am still working on every item listed above, but I am also enjoying a bit of a second childhood with my kids.  Together their Dad and I are working to ensure that they have a very well-rounded childhood.  Lots of times I sit back and try to soak up some of the "boy skills" that my girls are learning from their patient and clever Dad.  (My ten year old would  most certainly find it obnoxious that I am labeling them "boy skills," as she should.)  And even though I'd much rather have room service and a hot shower, I am so glad that my girls have developed a fondness for camping and the great outdoors.

Otherwise we'd miss out on moments like these...

My husband taught me how to make S'mores as an adult, but my two-year-old is already a pro.  (It is important to NOT completely incinerate your marshmallow.  One should endeavor, as my ten year old instructs, to roast it gently until you achieve the ideal shade of "crystal brown" perfection.) 

My ten-year-old does not hesitate.  If there is a lake nearby, she's going in (in her clothes).  Sometimes there isn't time to bother with a bathing suit.  I am, however, glad that on this particular occasion, she kicked off her new shoes before wading in.  She is glad when her Dad is there to figuratively put his hand over my mouth as I begin to protest.  "It's okay.  It's fine."  he affirms, "If she doesn't care about having wet clothes for the rest of the day, why should you?"  Sometimes I hear his voice even when he's not around, and I take a deep breath and just shut up.

My kids' Dad also taught all three of them to fly a kite, even the two year old, who managed to keep her feet firmly on the ground at all times (and only let go of the kite string twice.)  Don't tell anyone, but I felt strongly compelled to snatch the kite string away from someone and run with it through the field shouting, "Wheee!!"  Somehow I missed out on kite flying as a kid.  My daughter Sophia was the least impressed.  She said that looking up at her kite so high in the sky made her feel small and dizzy, like gravity might stop working at any moment and she could go falling upward.  Mom was there to say, "I know what you mean.  The Universe is so huge, it's dizzying,"

...and Dad was there to say, "Yeah that's interesting, but look, you can make your kite dance by pulling and letting out the line."

I'll have you know I am not completely useless.  On our recent camping trip, I took these two explorers down by the wetlands where we examined plants, observed fish, frogs, and birds, and listened to a twilight orchestra made up of noisy insects and critters.

 But mostly THIS is my favorite thing to do in the great outdoors.  Give me a sweaty, sleepy little kid to cradle, and I am one happy camper.

So... to conclude I am ever so happy to teach my girls how to make perfect waffles, and proper cups of tea.  I will continue to pass along my secret home remedies for colds and bad bellies, and just try to stop me when it comes to correcting the grammar and spelling on homework papers.  But I am so glad that this guy is around to teach my little girls that being warm and cozy and comfortable isn't the only way.  

 Sometimes getting wet and dirty and having an adventure is exactly what a girl needs.

(It's also nice to know that mom will be there with a towel and cup of tea for you when you get back home.)

Thank heaven for little (and big) boys.

Forgiving Myself for Not Finding a Happy Medium

Routines are good for children.  This seemed a logical fact when I had my first baby ten years ago.  That first baby was not a textbook/easy/sleepy baby, so logic and all of my parenting books told me that what she required was a stricter, more serious routine.  Surely that would sort her out.  I remember holding her in my arms in her dark nursery, swaying back and forth while counting the number of times I lovingly stroked her back.  When I reached 150, it was time to lay her down in her crib and leave the room whether she was ready or not.  That was the routine.  I was 25 years old, had no idea what I was doing, and I was certain she was judging me harshly through her tear-filled eyes.  I clung to my routines for at least six months because I was sure that they were all that was holding us together.  At some point I figured out that all of my routines were robbing me of the joys of motherhood, so I went in a different direction.

In fact sometime between then and now my parenting style has swung to the complete opposite extreme.  My youngest daughter has never had a set bedtime or consistent meal times.  Now that my older kids are able to ride the bus to school, she wakes up whenever she wants each morning.  Sometimes we have commitments that require our timely arrival, but most of the time, we do what we want when we want.  We might crawl back into bed and read stories for a whole hour in the middle of the day.  Putting together a giant floor puzzle may prompt our realization that the carpet needs to be Hoovered.  So my two year old and I pull our vacuum cleaners out of the closet and get busy, forgetting that we had planned to tackle the pile of laundry in the bathroom next.  Basically our day plays out much like the mouse who was inadvertently given a cookie in that children's book that I've read aloud at least four hundred times.  Nobody is the boss of us.

Except for the fact that last week, somebody was the boss of us!  I signed on to teach fourth grade VBS at church and my three kids were enrolled too.  Last week we all had to be up, dressed, fed and watered, and out the door by 8:30 am.  This was a shock to my two year old's system.  At some point every afternoon all of her bones would apparently turn to jelly and she would collapse into an inconsolable, snotty invertebrate creature on the floor. One afternoon I managed to get her into the car where she fell asleep before it got really over-the-top ugly, but on that particular day, I forgot to feed her any lunch.

In other words last week made me once again realize and acknowledge how literally awesome working mothers are.  Working Mamas, I do not know how you do it!  Of course not everyone is cut out for being a stay-at-home mama either.  Perhaps I am one of those people since I'm pretty sure I should spend more time perfecting the art of folding a fitted sheet and less time pretending to be a Scattercat with my two-year-old while Jessica Fletcher in her velour tracksuit jogs across my television solving mysteries in the background.  (Secret, dirty confession: my two-year-old can recognize and identify the theme music from Murder, She Wrote with alarming quickness.)  But being a stay-at-home Mama really makes me happy, and I feel so lucky that I do not have to get up and go out in the world to a "real job" every day.

I used to be a person who had a real job and adhered to a sensible routine (on workdays at least), but left to my own devices for the last ten years, I have become very comfortable with the absence of routine.  Last week also made me realize that this kind of lifestyle isn't preparing my kids for life in the real world.  I'm sure there must be some sort of happy medium, but it doesn't appear that I am going to achieve it while I am the boss of me. 

What's the point?

As a mother I fail in many ways.  I model imperfection rather perfectly.  I am ever so hopeful that someone else will teach my children how to be organized managers of their time and space.  I am not throwing in the towel.  I still struggle to stay on top of housework.  I can bark like the best of the hockey moms when we all need to get out the door at a certain time in the morning.  I will organize the laundry room one day.  But I know that these are not my natural gifts.

When my children are at home with me, I will allow them to enjoy life unstructured.  I have decided that it's okay.  I will continue to marvel at the Mamas who appear to have everything organized and under control.  I will continue to steal your ideas and try to duplicate your perfectly arranged spice cupboard, but I will also forgive myself for not being just like you.  My kids may grow up and remember that I could never find my shoes, keys, sunglasses, etc. when I needed them, but they will also remember that I let them stay up past their bedtime reading stories in my bed.  They will remember that their mom sang moose songs and made themed desserts when she certainly should have been doing something more sensible.  I hope that they will remember that I loved them, that I spent time sharing books, music and quirky conversation, and that I was genuinely interested in their thoughts and feelings.  A girl can dream.

And now I am off to enjoy the first day of summer with my kids... as soon as I find my sunglasses.

Emma's Civil War Journal

I promised my brother in law that I would share the fictional war journal that was written by my daughter Emma for a school project a couple of months ago.  Needless to say, she was given an A+ on this one, and her mama is a bit proud.  I used to teach fourth grade writing, and in my experience, this is rather extraordinary writing for a nine-year-old.  My apologies for tooting my own daughter's horn.  Of course she says that she doesn't like writing, but the proof of the pudding is in the eating.  Enjoy...

April 17,1861

Do people on one side ever notice those who are not?  The ones who have not chosen sides are important too.  They call us neutrals.  Some of us write for newspapers.  We are good at it too.  Some stories seem to be like swimming across the Atlantic Ocean: never ending.  Of course it's hard to get news in a damp, dark dungeon.  The cruel blackness is blinding like a whip.

April 18, 1861

Every morning since being chucked carelessly into this neglected dungeon, my back aches from lying uncomfortably on a small stack of hay.  My cell is the size of three piglets.  Food is rare like a four leaf clover.  The useless guard just walked in.  They keys were about a yard away from me, but there'd be no escaping today.  I let the wall take my weight; no breakfast was in sight.

April 19, 1861

I'm still here, completely bored.  My brain is as empty of plans as this wall is hard.  The guard's smoking smells as foul as the decaying milk behind the Sea Salt Cafe.  I wish I could be there now, but that's just a dream for today.

April 20, 1861

This is my fourth day being trapped behind these discriminating metal bars.  It's like I was walking, doing no harm, and then I was kidnapped.   Being twenty years of age, I was not kidnapped.  I should introduce myself.  My name is Jacques de Laca Maroon.  I'm from France, but I speak English.  My mother's name was Fredericka, and my fathers name was Jean.  That is before my parents were murdered.  I have a twin brother named Cornelius who is also suffering in another nearby cell.  I have two sisters: Joyce and Georgette.  My family was pretty big until my parents died.

April 21, 1861

The Confederate guards don't like anyone who's not like them.  That's why they captured me and my brother.  If I were to choose a side, I'd choose the Union, especially after this.  My favorite guard is here; he has breakfast and keys.  We seem to get breakfast only once a week.  No other food, but at least we get water every day.  Our breakfast was a nice bowl of sunflower seeds.  This is nothing compared to the Sea Salt Cafe.  Though for prison it is like a huge feast.  Delighted, I retrieved the heavy wooden bowl, but it seems the guard does not have his keys.  This day is not worth my ink.

April 22, 1861

Breakfast would have been nice, but I am just glad that I'm still alive.  I could hear a guard approaching.  Back in my rusty cellar I leaned against the wall, sitting on the only non-hard thing provided, the small hay stack.  Looking up, I expected to see a guard's face, but instead I saw my sister Georgette.  I rubbed my eyes.  Was I going blind?  Well, whoever she was, she had the keys!  My heart jumped.  Cornelius was behind her, grinning at me from ear to ear.  "Okay, Cornelius, we're going to get you out!" said my sister.  

This time I couldn't help smiling.  My sister always gets Cornelius and me mixed up since we are identical twins, though Joyce never gets us mixed up.  After getting my cell unlocked, I grabbed a scruffy bag which contained all of my treasured possessions: ink, quills, my journals, and a few other items.  We also set a few other innocent people free and then scurried off.

April 23, 1861

Living freely again is wonderful.  We travel by foot.  Trapped in a cell in one of North Carolina's dungeons, we didn't get much exercise, so traveling to Virginia by foot is a challenge.  Georgette says the war will reach us soon.  From where we are in North Carolina, we have to go into Kentucky to get to Virginia.  With a few pieces of change we are able to take a break and rent a wagon.  All I know is that we're not safe until we reach Union territory.

April 24, 1861

This is a lot more walking that I had thought.  It seems useless.  We're not going to make it to Virginia before the battle starts if we continue on foot.  I'm really not used to exercise.  Joyce used to always be there to encourage us.  Where was Joyce?  This question has been swimming through my head ever since I saw Georgette.  I am afraid something has happened to her, so I dare not ask.

April 25, 1861

The other two seem to have realized that this is useless as well.  We're not quite sure where we are.  We think we've made it out of North Carolina.  I am hoping so badly that it hurts.  Then all of the pain is gone.  In fact we all receive a good helping of joy and happiness.  The Sea Salt Cafe is in sight.  Now that we were here, I knew we must be in Kentucky.  Union Territory!  Sylvia and Lucille were at the food booth and so was Ranger.  His real name is Barcino.  Sylvia and Lucille are Ranger's true daughters.  "Hey Ranger!" we called out.  Now that we were in Union territory, we had nothing to fear.

April 26, 1961

 We stayed with Ranger Diavlo and the two Diavlo girls.  We asked if they knew anything about the Civil War.  They didn't care for war but they hated the fact that slavery even existed.  Ranger told us that if we wanted to join in the battle that the two Diavlo girls would be able to look after the food booth while he took us to Virginia in his wagon.  "The fight will be there in four days time," Ranger told us.

April 27, 1861

Yesterday it had been too dark to start our journey to Virginia.  If we were to get there by tomorrow evening, we'd have to wake up early.  At sunrise we set off.  It was pretty comfortable riding although we could tell that the horses who were pulling the beautifully painted blue wagon were sprinting.  The bumpy ride ended at dusk.  Now everyone is resting including the tired horses.  I should be going now.  I must rest.

April 28, 1861

We were awakened by the rooster's crow as the glimmering gold, scarlet and burnt orange sky proved that the sun and Mother Nature were awake.  The horses seemed to want a reputation because they were awake and ready, standing there very patiently.  We began riding immediately.  It was a wonderfully warm day.  We could smell the grass that was fresher than fresh.   We could hear the unique song of an Oriole.  The violet blossoms we passed made the day flow by quickly.  By the time it was evening we had reached Emerald Bay.  This is where we could sign up for the fight; except a red sign announced that we would have to sign in in the morning.

April 29, 1861

Ranger helped us find a comfortable place to stay.  He said the Starz Galore was a hotel/restaurant, and my stomach insisted we go no other place. The rooms were affordable, and the pillows and mattresses were feather-stuffed.  We said our farewells to Ranger and the pair of horses: Blossom and Merryweather.  Soon the blueberry-colored wagon with the unique sunny-golden wheels was out of sight, blending into the crystallized white clouds.  From our room in the Starz Galore, we had a particularly luxurious view of a trickling raspberry river. Lillies and Cattails faded into the inky black sky, speckled with white flashing lights. Time to rest once more, called mother-nature casting a sleepy breeze our way.

April 30, 1861

To wake up and find no ache haunting my back was heaven.  I got up feeling fit for the day.  Cornelius was also just getting up from his laze; he seemed in a good state too.  When Georgina saw that we were awake, she fussed at us for not waking up sooner. Hurriedly, we jumped into our clothes suitable for public, and sped down to the Amore Delight, also known as the breakfast-room.  I’m sure we ate for hours.  The eggs as warm as summer.  The bread as scrumptious as an apple is fresh.  After breakfast, we headed to Emerald Bay.  You could sign in here.  I’m a spy, but Cornelius took the spot of a soldier. Georgina, last to sign in, was a nurse.   "I had to do nursing college for five years.” she explained.  When Georgette saw that I was a spy, tears speckled her eyes. “Joyce died while working as a spy.” were the words she released from her lips.  We'd made it to Virginia where we would join in with the fight, a place where I really didn't want to be.  After registration we thought about Joyce in silence.  Then we entered the Starz Galore, going to bed much earlier than intended. I didn’t feel Mother Nature’s breeze, but I did feel irreparable scorch marks in my heart.

April 31, 1861

That morning, I’d had plenty of rest. Goose feather-stuffed sleeping supplies and a nice vanilla coffee always seem to bring up my mood. It was only when Georgette was in eye-sight, walking down the spiraling cherry-red staircase that I remembered, today we would join the fight. Yes, this would be, interesting.  After breakfast all three of us headed (once more) to Emerald Bay.  There was a line for each type of person, such as a soldier or in my case, a spy. I talked with some other spies; one of them had his parents killed by the same person as me. Rysan Kendra, a cruel murderer.  The man like me was named Riccio William. He told me that Rysan was on the Confederate side.  After directions we headed to Confederate territory.  Riccio, Nathan (another spy), and I were just supposed to be posing as villagers.  The other two and I talked about the war.  We pretended to be on the Confederate side.  "Of course we need slaves!"  "The North is just jealous.” were the types of things we said.  We absorbed news like sponged.  When we came back, it was announced that the Confederate army was planning a surprise attack in two days.

May 2, 1861

I’ve been very busy; yesterday I didn’t have time to write a journal entry.  Right now I’m in a fight at Gettysburg.  Yesterday was the traveling day.  In the war we need more people, so the spies are being forced to fight.  The smoke is burning my eyes like cutting an onion.  An explosive bomb lands near me, making my eye-sight worse. I hear gun shots.

May 4, 1861

I woke up to see Georgette.  She had a weird look on her face.  I realized that my leg hurt a lot.  I saw Riccio and Cornelius they looked extremely relieved.  “We thought you were dead.” they exclaimed. “Someone shot you in your left leg.” they told me.     

May 5, 1861

Today I was back in the war. All my friends were telling me to take it easy. On Confederate territory someone recognized us. We sprinted back to Union land like lunatics. The only information we got was that everybody was disappointed about the surprise attack; it was supposed to be a big hit.

May 6, 1861

Early in the morning bullets were already flying through the sky.  It was so early, the birds weren’t even awake, but we woke them.  I happened to think and realized that Rysan wanted our family wealth.  One of the only memories I have of my parents is this journal, a gift from them.

May 7, 1861

A crisp, about forty degree morning, smoke is polluting the air. I just got up, I have to go, and I’ll write later, my ink is running low.

May 8, 1861

Jacques is dead. It can’t be true, yet his breathing ability is not helping our hope. They’ve already made his grave. He has to still be living. Engraved on his grave are the words –

Jacques de Laca Maroon. Son of Fredericka and Jean de Laca Maroon. Died on May 7, 1861, fighting in the Civil War.

His last instructions were to keep his journal and to pass it on to our kids, so that they would know that a family member died in the Civil War for the freedom of others. His will basically said to sell the few valuable possessions he had, and use the money for supplies after the war. We’ve followed the instructions.  In honor of our good brother, Jacques; we will always remember him,

Cornelius and Georgette.