Crooked Pigtails

You do the math

Gallon of cranberry juice + box of Monistat 3 =

Riding the wave

For me, the most difficult parenting moments require letting them go to be who they are becoming while simutaneously attempting to protect them from the hairpin curves in the path they are careening down.

This week was filled with the (almost) teen angst of trying out for a middle school sports team.  The eighth grade soccer team.  The first possibility of being cut from a team. 

It was a three day process in a four day school week.  The first day was a team meeting, the following two days were the actual tryouts.  The entire week was an anxiety driven shit storm of emotion.

Harper came home from the first day meeting feeling encouraged.  She liked the coach and she felt of the girls trying out she had a pretty good shot at making the team. 

The second day she burst into tears the moment she got into the house, convinced she'd screwed up every drill, certain she'd looked like she had never played the sport a day in her life.  There was no consoling her.  She was certain not only that she couldn't possibly make the team, but also that we, her parents, had no idea how important making the team was to her, that we don't care about what is important to her, and we have probably never loved her anyway. 

The third day she made the team.  The sun began to shine, unicorns sang, and everything was sparkly once again.

Because Harper loves soccer.  She has played since she was six and she is a decent player, but she, by no means, stands out.  She understands the game and anticipates where she needs to be as well as what she needs to do next, but sometimes it appears that her head and her feet are not attached to the same body, sometimes she is a split second behind herself.  And, she is simply not as aggressive as is often necessary in order to truly excel in the sport of soccer.  More than one of her coaches over the years have told me how coachable Harper is, how much they enjoy having her on their teams, but that you just can't teach aggressive.  Aggressive is the one "natural" ability so crucial to soccer that Harper lacks.  With 23 girls trying out, there was no guarentee she would get a spot on the team.

So, I hadn't slept more an hour that second night, and my stomach was knotted the entire three days because I wasn't sure if she would make the team and I was frightened for her.  As much as I was cheering her on, I was caught in that parenting limbo of wanting something so badly for my child and being terrified she wouldn't get it, while having absolutely zero control over the situation.  Watching her, supporting her as much as she would allow, secretly more than she would allow, while realizing that if the crash came I was tragically illequipt to help her heal.

And, we are only two weeks into this school year.  I fear this is going to be a bumpy ride.

The reason I have swept our bathroom floor eight times today

What I said: "Honey, do you need any help?"

What I meant:  "Wow!  You are doing a fabulous job and I am so lucky to be married to someone as talented in home improvement as you are all by yourself."

What he heard: "Honey, do you need any help?"

Happenings

Last night I was gently roused startled out of a sound sleep by Addison announcing she was going to throw up with plenty of time to make it to the bathroom at the exact moment she was throwing up.  I love when that happens. 

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After several weeks of researching and contacting no kill shelters (all full because it just happens to be kitten season) and rescue groups (in CT, MA and RI), followed by more weeks of back and forth with a rescue group willing to help us, we have finally re-homed Ricky.  He is now living with a couple and their ten year old daughter as the only pet in the household.  It sounds like the perfect placement for him and we are told he is doing great. 

It was sad for us; difficult to admit we were unable to provide him with the home he needed in order to be happy.  We are also equally relieved and hopeful that our household will settle down, and that Ricky will live out his life happy and healthy in his new forever home.

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Steve is having knee surgery in the morning.  He is under the impression that it will be "no big deal" with very little recovery time.  I am preparing myself to wait on him for the remainder of the summer.

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It's finally iced coffee season.  Can I get an Amen?  Today is predicted to be a thousand degrees.  If I were to meet the person who invented air conditioning I would kiss him/her square on the lips.  Then offer an iced coffee.  Maybe introduce him/her to the creator of iced coffee.  They would fall instantly in love and make beautiful babies who would grow up to rule the world.  Life would be idyllic.  Until one of them has an affair with the creator of sun screen.  But, why go there?  We have iced coffee, air conditioning, and, yes, sun screen.  Life is good.

 

 

 

Summer plans

I can hardly believe today is the last day of school.  Another year behind us.

Harper plans to enjoy every waking moment of this summer spending time with friends, talking to friends on the phone or texting them whenever they are not together, and pretending she doesn't have parents unless she needs a ride, some money, or permission for a sleepover. 

Addison plans to be at the beach.  Preferably with friends.  She wants to ride her bike, draw on the driveway with chalk, sell lemonade, jump through the sprinkler, catch fireflies and crabs, roast marshmallows, and have nightly sleepovers.

I plan on all of the above with the addition of spending time at my parent's lake house (the whole family wants to do that) and visiting with family from North Carolina and California.

Stay tuned to see how we do.

Three things

It is pouring rain and my neighbor just started mowing his lawn.  The mower keeps stalling, probably because the grass is wet and clumping, but this doesn't deter him.  His wife is doing the trim. 

I never learned how to properly milk a cow.  I have milked cows, but not well, not properly.

I have a cramp in my toe and I'm craving Hawaiian pizza.

 

 

Memorial Day by the pictures

Addie and I spent Memorial Day weekend here:

 

With these silly McGuillies:
at my parent's lake house.  We spent very little time inside the house, but even when they were inside the kids had fun.  Cheese!

We filled the water table, but who wants to play in a water table when you can spray your cousin?

Or your Aunt?

And, then, it was ON!

Ainsley needed a refill, but she didn't quite trust her Mommy.

And she was right!

After all the running around the kids decided to go swimming.  Drew wanted to tell me the water was cold.

The lake is full of clams and Ainsley and Addie spent lots of time collecting them reminding me of when I was a kid and my Aunt and Uncle had a place on this same lake.

They threw rocks off the end of the dock to get them away from the swimming area.  They didn't quite have that concept under control, but it was a start.  And, evidentally, it was lots of fun.
And they jumped over the waves when boats drove past.  Little known fact: holding goggles in your mouth helps add height to your jumps.
  
The water was pretty cold, but the air was nice and warm.  Some people preferred this spot.
When they were sufficiently waterlogged, it was time to paint some rocks for this year's fairy garden.
The fairy garden is a post in and of itself, so, for now, let's just say they are proud of their work.

Drew and Addison blew bubbles.

And, of course, there were marshmallows.

In between we went for canoe rides, rode the "buggy" up and down the driveway approximately 4937 times, had a cousin sleepover, made forts in the living room, got eaten alive by black flies, taught Gramma how to use her computer to watch movies, and ate too much.

It was a perfect weekend.

Posting

There are several reasons my posting to this blog has been so infrequent.  Life is busy.  I'm tired.  I'm driving the girls to school or home from soccer practice.  Homework.  I'm watching Glee.  I'm breaking up cat fights.  I'm bloated.  I'm just lazy when it comes to maintaining this space.  But, the largest reason posting here is so infrequent is that I am struggling with my girls privacy. 

It was simple to tell the stories I wanted to document when they were really little but, as they grow, so does their need for privacy, and I am struggling to balance wanting to tell a story, to preserve a memory, and understanding that they are not my stories to share, not only my memories to preserve.

This is especially true for Harper.  At twelve years old, she is filled with angst and hormones and the humiliation that she has parents.  She is still Daddy's girl, but she wouldn't be caught dead kissing him goodbye when he drops her off at school in the morning.  She needs me as much now as she has ever needed me, but I am supposed to fade into the background of her public life.  The very fact that we are proud of her is totally embarrassing.

Harper is my mini-me which tells me I am in for a ride.  A ride, I will figure out how to respectfully document.

GRRRRRR

I just spent more than an hour writing a post about balance and my lack thereof (in life, I mean, because physically I have freakishly great balance.  You should see me in a yoga class) and then I hit publish and typepad ate the post and now I am going to go and cry and pull some hair out of my head because that is less expensive than throwing my laptop across the room.

Perhaps, I will attempt to recreate that post tomorrow.

Suckage

A couple of months ago, when we learned Steve's sister was being forced to find new homes for her two cats because her living situataion was in flux, it made perfect sense to us to offer to take them for her on a "temporary" basis until she is able to find a new living situation in which she can be reunited with them.  Fully understanding that temporary held the possibilty of forever, we could not imagine having to give up any of our pets, our hearts went out to her, and so, completely unsolicited, we told her we would be happy to add her "babies" to our family.  We had minor reservations, of course, but they were trumped, one by one, by the feeling we were doing the right thing.

It was a win/win.  She was relieved and we were heros.

Steve and Harper drove to New Jersey the last weekend in March, approximately four days after we made the offer to home the cats, to help his sister pack up her apartment.  Ricky and Lucy, the two blackest black cats I have ever seen, came home with them and, just like that, we were a four cat (two dog) household.  Peace and harmony abounds.  That was seven weeks ago.

A brief, horribly incomplete synopsis:

Seven weeks ago:  Ricky and Lucy spent most of the first week in the basement.  In part because we were attempting to introduce them slowly into the family, but also because they were not enjoying the transition and found great places to hide down there.  We found them every day and held them; they were friendly with us, but didn't trust us, and ran to rehide as soon as we put them down.

Six weeks ago:  Ricky continued to hide in the basement, but Lucy would come upstairs and hide behind the couch.  Our dogs completely ignored her.  Our cats hissed when they saw her, but basically ignored her as well.

Five weeks ago:  Both cats came upstairs in the evening after the girls went to bed and things had quieted.  Much hissing ensued.

Four weeks ago:  Ricky and Daisy have their first actual cat fight.  This takes place at approximately two in the morning just outside the bedroom doors, and scares the ever loving shit out of the entire family.  Ricky begins to sleep on Addison's bed.  Lucy is slowly adjusting.  Steve's sister visits and spends the entire weekend doting on the cats who stay in her room with her.  I share my concerns with her and she admits that Ricky has always been a bit of an asshole (my word, not hers).

Three weeks ago:  Ricky and Daisy are separated and we I spend ridiculous amounts of time exposing them to one another's bedding, crating them side by side, and every other tactic I read on the internet.  Josie begins to wail randomly and constantly.  I begin to share Josie's anxiety.  Ricky begins to spray.

Two weeks ago:  All cats are separated at night.  Ricky escapes and attacks Daisy on my bed.  Three times.  I pretty much stop sleeping at night in anticipation of the moaning and hissing and fighting. 

This week:  Ricky continues to spray in the house and to attack Daisy.  He has revved it up a notch and is now actively hunting her any time he is not segregated.  We have concluded that we can't keep him.

That the cats would actually fight had not occurred to us.  We knew they may not love one another immediately, but we assumed they would tolerate one another after a transition period.  Hissing we can handle.  If they wanted to hiss at one another every single time they come in contact for the rest of their lives, we could handle that, but fighting is a different story.  It has become a safety issue, not only for the cats, but for our family.  We can't take the chance that he will attack when one of our cats is on one of the girl's beds, or that one of the girls will attempt to break up a cat fight. 

And then there is the spraying.

Steve has attempted to call his sister two nights in a row, but she hasn't been home.  I've been researching no kill shelters here in CT, but ultimately she is going to have to make the call.  The thing is he is actually a very sweet cat one on one, and I, truly, believe if he were in a one cat household he would make a great companion. 

The entire situation breaks my heart.  Steve feels horrible because he doesn't want to disappoint is sister.  I feel horrible for him and for her and for the cat and for my kids because they are going to be disappointed...

Sometimes being a hero sucks.