Yesterday, my hubs and I took Kid1, Kid2, and Kid1's BFF to an amusement park/water park.
It was EXHAUSTING. It was hot. It was expensive.
It was fun!
But the important thing to remember: always ALWAYS bring the kids' friends. I need to make sure we have a buddy for Kid2 next time. It's SO much easier! They chatter to each other all day long. They share fries. They giggle over melting ice cream. They clutch their stomachs after roller coaster rides.
I will happily be the pack mule on each and every trip to the amusement park from now on. I rode SOME of the coasters, SOME of the water slides, SOME of the time in the wave pool. But it wasn't vital that I was there the entire time. And that, parent friends, is the key. I stayed behind them, giving them enough space to feel all independent and daring, but being close enough to stop them from doing anything truly awful.
(Except for that ONE TIME I told them to meet us back at the bridge after we (the adults) went on the "Lazy River" ride and they (the kids) went on the tall, tall waterslide with tubes. And they didn't see us right away, therefore they started wandering around in a panic. And then they found us. With the help of a security guard. Sigh.)
But really. It was good. And I suspect I FINALLY put enough sunscreen on the kids and myself (and did it often enough) that I have not done their future wrinkles any help.
Showing posts with label summer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label summer. Show all posts
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Catastrophization and Other Amusements
I wrote yesterday how I tend towards the "on the upside" in many situations. I find the light at the end of the tunnel, the silver lining, etc.
What I failed to mention was that "upside-ing" is my brain's attempt to avoid its natural state.
Catastrophization. Or, as I usually think of it, "worst case scenario-ing."
Example 1:
My infant daughter, my first child, was amazing and lovely. Wondrous. But also didn't like to sleep for long stretches. To say that I was sleep-deprived for her first year of life would be a ridiculous understatement. My mental functioning was reaching alarmingly low levels. Which leads to:
THE STUFFED MOUSE INCIDENT.
Upon changing a nastily full diaper one afternoon, I blearily wiped the little bottom and powdered. Then I glanced at the contents of the diaper --skittishly-- (I was not yet a seasoned mom, and such things grossed me out still). I saw something. Something ... fuchsia, perhaps. Red. I panicked. MY BABY IS POOPING ODD-COLORED BLOOD! SHE'S GONNA DIE! Upon further (reluctant) inspection, it acquired a peculiarly unexpected form. A mouse. A toy stuffed mouse with pink ears. It was maybe 3 inches long, and had been (pre-poop) rather cute.
WHUCK?
A toy mouse? In the diaper?
My sleep deprivation led me to the obvious conclusion: Somehow, she had managed to EAT THE MOUSE, and POOP IT OUT. Then I wondered, "How on EARTH had she eaten it and not CHOKED TO DEATH?" I'm such a neglectful Mommy! SHE COULD HAVE DIED OF CHOKING ON A MOUSE! And then, how did said mouse make its way through her entire digestive system without tangling it all up. OH NO! What if it HAD tangled it all up and she was GONNA DIE because of the mouse-induced tangle-age?
At this point, I called my brother. He had no children at the time, and therefore was less sleep-deprived than I was.
He, luckily, had more of his brain active than I did. He pointed out the obvious.
Child had inserted mouse into diaper PRE-POOPING.
Oh.
Then I recalled how I had taken to putting on her onesies backward because she tended to use her diaper as a convenient toy-storage device. (Reversing the onesie put the snaps on the back, rendering the onesie impermeable to her efforts.)
Ohhhhhhhh.
Once I hung up, my adrenaline was still racing through me. I eyed the poopy mouse, mentally cursing it for exposing me as the lunatic 'worst case scenario' person I was.
I rolled it up into the diaper and shoved it vengefully into the diaper Genie. Buh-bye, poopymouse.
EXAMPLE 2:
Setting: Our first house. Indiana.
I was very concerned with our first house. It was adorable! Well-kept. Nice-looking. It was home-ownership that had me weirded out.
So the fact that one corner of our previously dry basement kept flooding one summer had me extremely worked up.
I worried about, oh, foundations cracking. Previously-unnoticed underground lakes. Sabotage. Dogs peeing in floods of water-smelling urine? I started to panic. We knew that someday we'd move out of state. WHAT would we put on the disclosure form? "WELL, THE BASEMENT FLOODS RANDOMLY. SORRY." We'd never be able to sell the house! We'd be stuck in Indiana FOREVER. It would cost hundreds of thousands of dollars to dig out the house, bash out the basement, and re-pour the foundation!
But here's the thing.
The mystery.
It only ever flooded on the day after a beautiful day. A clear day. No rain.
How, then, is it flooding?
Where in the hell is the water coming from?
This happened again and again. All summer. Gorgeous, dry summer day. Beautiful night. WATER EVERYWHERE the next morning.
Then I clued in to another mysterious coincidence.
It was ALWAYS the morning after I had mowed the lawn the afternoon before.
How is this possible? HOW?
I put my tired-out, freaked-out brain to work.
Then one night, after I'd mowed the lawn, I heard a sound outside. It was midnight. A-HA, I thought. OUR WATER MARAUDER IS HERE. I shall find out the TRUTH! Armed with my glasses, a big butcher knife from the kitchen, and my slippers, I slinked out the side door, hearing .... a noise. A... spraying noise.
There, on the corner of the house (the 'flooding corner') was the bracket that held our garden hose. Which was looped neatly on the bracket, getting it out of the way when I had mowed the lawn that afternoon. With the watering timer still on it. Turning on promptly at midnight. It only turned on when it was dry outside. At midnight, for an hour.
I sighed, lowered the butcher knife, and turned off the spigot. I looked up at the Indiana midnight sky and wondered if this kind of thing happens to everybody. Then I sighed again, and went back to bed.
What I failed to mention was that "upside-ing" is my brain's attempt to avoid its natural state.
Catastrophization. Or, as I usually think of it, "worst case scenario-ing."
Example 1:
My infant daughter, my first child, was amazing and lovely. Wondrous. But also didn't like to sleep for long stretches. To say that I was sleep-deprived for her first year of life would be a ridiculous understatement. My mental functioning was reaching alarmingly low levels. Which leads to:
THE STUFFED MOUSE INCIDENT.
Upon changing a nastily full diaper one afternoon, I blearily wiped the little bottom and powdered. Then I glanced at the contents of the diaper --skittishly-- (I was not yet a seasoned mom, and such things grossed me out still). I saw something. Something ... fuchsia, perhaps. Red. I panicked. MY BABY IS POOPING ODD-COLORED BLOOD! SHE'S GONNA DIE! Upon further (reluctant) inspection, it acquired a peculiarly unexpected form. A mouse. A toy stuffed mouse with pink ears. It was maybe 3 inches long, and had been (pre-poop) rather cute.
WHUCK?
A toy mouse? In the diaper?
My sleep deprivation led me to the obvious conclusion: Somehow, she had managed to EAT THE MOUSE, and POOP IT OUT. Then I wondered, "How on EARTH had she eaten it and not CHOKED TO DEATH?" I'm such a neglectful Mommy! SHE COULD HAVE DIED OF CHOKING ON A MOUSE! And then, how did said mouse make its way through her entire digestive system without tangling it all up. OH NO! What if it HAD tangled it all up and she was GONNA DIE because of the mouse-induced tangle-age?
At this point, I called my brother. He had no children at the time, and therefore was less sleep-deprived than I was.
He, luckily, had more of his brain active than I did. He pointed out the obvious.
Child had inserted mouse into diaper PRE-POOPING.
Oh.
Then I recalled how I had taken to putting on her onesies backward because she tended to use her diaper as a convenient toy-storage device. (Reversing the onesie put the snaps on the back, rendering the onesie impermeable to her efforts.)
Ohhhhhhhh.
Once I hung up, my adrenaline was still racing through me. I eyed the poopy mouse, mentally cursing it for exposing me as the lunatic 'worst case scenario' person I was.
I rolled it up into the diaper and shoved it vengefully into the diaper Genie. Buh-bye, poopymouse.
EXAMPLE 2:
Setting: Our first house. Indiana.
I was very concerned with our first house. It was adorable! Well-kept. Nice-looking. It was home-ownership that had me weirded out.
So the fact that one corner of our previously dry basement kept flooding one summer had me extremely worked up.
I worried about, oh, foundations cracking. Previously-unnoticed underground lakes. Sabotage. Dogs peeing in floods of water-smelling urine? I started to panic. We knew that someday we'd move out of state. WHAT would we put on the disclosure form? "WELL, THE BASEMENT FLOODS RANDOMLY. SORRY." We'd never be able to sell the house! We'd be stuck in Indiana FOREVER. It would cost hundreds of thousands of dollars to dig out the house, bash out the basement, and re-pour the foundation!
But here's the thing.
The mystery.
It only ever flooded on the day after a beautiful day. A clear day. No rain.
How, then, is it flooding?
Where in the hell is the water coming from?
This happened again and again. All summer. Gorgeous, dry summer day. Beautiful night. WATER EVERYWHERE the next morning.
Then I clued in to another mysterious coincidence.
It was ALWAYS the morning after I had mowed the lawn the afternoon before.
How is this possible? HOW?
I put my tired-out, freaked-out brain to work.
Then one night, after I'd mowed the lawn, I heard a sound outside. It was midnight. A-HA, I thought. OUR WATER MARAUDER IS HERE. I shall find out the TRUTH! Armed with my glasses, a big butcher knife from the kitchen, and my slippers, I slinked out the side door, hearing .... a noise. A... spraying noise.
There, on the corner of the house (the 'flooding corner') was the bracket that held our garden hose. Which was looped neatly on the bracket, getting it out of the way when I had mowed the lawn that afternoon. With the watering timer still on it. Turning on promptly at midnight. It only turned on when it was dry outside. At midnight, for an hour.
I sighed, lowered the butcher knife, and turned off the spigot. I looked up at the Indiana midnight sky and wondered if this kind of thing happens to everybody. Then I sighed again, and went back to bed.
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Summer: An Overview
June: Summer has just started. Mommy has stocked the clean fridge with clear Glad-ware containers of sliced fruit and veggies. The filtered water pitcher has a new filter, and there are cups at kid-eye-level in the cupboard. Children wake, are given a good breakfast of whole-grain breakfast cereal, berries, milk. Teeth get brushed, shorts and t-shirts are put on. Perhaps we will read the funnies in the paper, then go out in the backyard. Lunch is sandwiches and cut veggies, served on the deck, under the umbrella. Afternoons, we go to the lake, the library, or the park. We come home to a snack of yogurt and crackers or fruit, then quiet time. Dinner is grilled, complete with vegetables, silverware, and a clean tablecloth. After dinner, outdoor play, books, and lightning bugs. Baths, tucked into bed with a good book and a kiss.
July: Summer's been around for a while. It's friggin' hot, and in Michigan, we don't have air conditioning. We wake up, sweaty, at 10 a.m. Mom is still asleep. She staggers downstairs, mumbling, "friggin' no air conditioning," and tries to remember if we have cereal. Oh, we do. Cereal is offered, in cups, with no milk. Milk is also offered in other cups. It's up to the kids if they want to combine them. Kids run around in underpants until almost noon, when mother realizes the folly of her ways, and insists they put on swim suits and go skim the pool until she has figured out what to do for lunch. THe answer: SNACKY LUNCH~! YAAAAY! It's a platter of cut-up bell peppers, some other veggies from the salad of last night, strawberries, crackers, and left over steak from last night. A few juice packs get tossed on the table. Children swarm like so many locusts. The snacky lunch platter is left with 2 mangled cucumbers, a wet cracker, and a flattened strawberry. Empty juice packs litter the floor. Kids run downstairs in wet swimsuits to watch Sponge Bob. An hour or so passes, and then Mom realizes the kids are still watching TV. She tosses them outside for "Pioneer Children" time. This is basically a modern version of "GO OUT AND PLAY, FOR GOD'S SAKE!" but with a better name. Mama plays on Facebook for an hour while the kids whine, swing in the hammock, squirt each other with the hose, and scream about bees. Dad gets home, and Mama quickly goes to stand by the sink, as though she's been cleaning. Dinner? Hotdogs on the grill, cooked by dad. Side vegetables? Chips. After dinner, mama has a cocktail, and kids ask to play on the Wii, while dad tries to get them to play outside. Mama shrugs. They remember to brush teeth and maybe their faces. Bedtime is after 10 p.m. and all the kids are told is "stay in your rooms." Mama hopes they will stay up until 3 a.m. and sleep until noon.
August:
Kids are feral. They straggle out of bed at 10 or 11, wearing yesterday's shorts and t-shirts. Mama suggests they eat granola bars. Maybe lemonade? Kids shrug. Mama shrugs. Mama chugs espresso, contemplates trying to go back to sleep. Kids clamor for food. Mama looks at the clock and announces, HEY! BRUNCH! And mama scrambles some eggs, microwaves some bacon, and tells them to forage in the garden for raspberries and blackberries. THe kids sigh. Mama feeds them at maybe noon, and then declares "quiet time" for an hour. Mama tries to take a nap while the kids try to see if they can communicate through the heat ducts in their rooms. They succeed. After quiet time, the kids clamor for food again. Mama insists that European children ALL have yogurt and pretzels at this time each day. Maybe we should too?
Then mama realizes how slothful they've been and tries to recoup. Let's all go weed the garden! Shrugs. Ok, fine. I'll do it myself. You kids come out and play, at least. Shrugs, sighs. "I'll throw ice cubes in your underpants." OK. Out they go.
Mama weeds, kids pretend the ground is lava, and how can they get to Mt. Doom if it's all lava? Contortions follow, with much exclamation, shrieking, and laughter. Mama hears them and smiles. Now that's what summer is about.
July: Summer's been around for a while. It's friggin' hot, and in Michigan, we don't have air conditioning. We wake up, sweaty, at 10 a.m. Mom is still asleep. She staggers downstairs, mumbling, "friggin' no air conditioning," and tries to remember if we have cereal. Oh, we do. Cereal is offered, in cups, with no milk. Milk is also offered in other cups. It's up to the kids if they want to combine them. Kids run around in underpants until almost noon, when mother realizes the folly of her ways, and insists they put on swim suits and go skim the pool until she has figured out what to do for lunch. THe answer: SNACKY LUNCH~! YAAAAY! It's a platter of cut-up bell peppers, some other veggies from the salad of last night, strawberries, crackers, and left over steak from last night. A few juice packs get tossed on the table. Children swarm like so many locusts. The snacky lunch platter is left with 2 mangled cucumbers, a wet cracker, and a flattened strawberry. Empty juice packs litter the floor. Kids run downstairs in wet swimsuits to watch Sponge Bob. An hour or so passes, and then Mom realizes the kids are still watching TV. She tosses them outside for "Pioneer Children" time. This is basically a modern version of "GO OUT AND PLAY, FOR GOD'S SAKE!" but with a better name. Mama plays on Facebook for an hour while the kids whine, swing in the hammock, squirt each other with the hose, and scream about bees. Dad gets home, and Mama quickly goes to stand by the sink, as though she's been cleaning. Dinner? Hotdogs on the grill, cooked by dad. Side vegetables? Chips. After dinner, mama has a cocktail, and kids ask to play on the Wii, while dad tries to get them to play outside. Mama shrugs. They remember to brush teeth and maybe their faces. Bedtime is after 10 p.m. and all the kids are told is "stay in your rooms." Mama hopes they will stay up until 3 a.m. and sleep until noon.
August:
Kids are feral. They straggle out of bed at 10 or 11, wearing yesterday's shorts and t-shirts. Mama suggests they eat granola bars. Maybe lemonade? Kids shrug. Mama shrugs. Mama chugs espresso, contemplates trying to go back to sleep. Kids clamor for food. Mama looks at the clock and announces, HEY! BRUNCH! And mama scrambles some eggs, microwaves some bacon, and tells them to forage in the garden for raspberries and blackberries. THe kids sigh. Mama feeds them at maybe noon, and then declares "quiet time" for an hour. Mama tries to take a nap while the kids try to see if they can communicate through the heat ducts in their rooms. They succeed. After quiet time, the kids clamor for food again. Mama insists that European children ALL have yogurt and pretzels at this time each day. Maybe we should too?
Then mama realizes how slothful they've been and tries to recoup. Let's all go weed the garden! Shrugs. Ok, fine. I'll do it myself. You kids come out and play, at least. Shrugs, sighs. "I'll throw ice cubes in your underpants." OK. Out they go.
Mama weeds, kids pretend the ground is lava, and how can they get to Mt. Doom if it's all lava? Contortions follow, with much exclamation, shrieking, and laughter. Mama hears them and smiles. Now that's what summer is about.
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