How Orlando is like the end of childbearing

We spent 7 days in Orlando, FL---we left last Tuesday and returned home yesterday.  It was our 3rd Orlando trip.

The first trip was in 2007 when N was 3, and I was pregnant with G.  She was into Disney princesses so we did the princess meal in Epcot and had a wonderful, magical trip.

The second trip was in 2011 when N was 7, G was 3.5 and M was 20 months.  We went hoping to see Lightning McQueen and Mater, but they weren't there.

I didn't want to go back a third time.
(I don't even like amusement parks.  If I had my choice, I'd take cities with historical tours or the beach with a couple day trips to plantations or quirky shopping areas thrown in.)

Sometime last fall M started saying he wanted to meet Mickey Mouse, so we did.it.again.
I blame it on those damned scrapbooks I made for the kids of their Disney adventures.  They love to look through them.

We flew this time, which was nice for the most part.  I hadn't flown since 2003.  Flying while regularly taking an SSRI plus an additional Ativan is a most excellent experience.  It used to take me 3 Ativan for a flight (which could probably put down a horse), and I was still off-the-rails nervous.  The kids all did great on both flights.

On this trip, however, we did both Disney and Universal because N has read most of the Harry Potter books.

The trip was a success in that N got to ride all the Harry Potter rides at Universal.  We were at Hollywood Studios for the final Star Wars Weekend, so G was able to see the Star Wars parade and characters.  M got to meet Mickey Mouse in Theater Square.  And we were all able to see the Magic Kingdom Nighttime Parade of Lights.  It rained most of the afternoon on our Magic Kingdom day but cleared up in enough time for the parade to go on.  Hurray!  Every time we'd tried to see it on previous trips, lightning and thunder canceled it so I was glad to finally experience it.

We had a character meal at Garden Grove and had lots of visits by Goofy and Pluto as we ate our meal.  N ran into Jack Sparrow in Adventureland and nearly lost her head.  The kids got to see McQueen and Mater this time in Hollywood Studios (which G wasn't able to do during the height of his Pixar Cars adoration).  D and N were able to spend loads of time together riding coasters, something they both enjoy.

But despite all the good things, there were any number of sucky things that will might make this trip the Most Memorable Vacation Of Our Lives.

After standing in line for the Harry Potter Gringotts ride for almost 2 hours on Thursday, D woke up on Friday and could hardly move due to muscle spasms in his back.  I had to call insurance, take him to a sketchy clinic on our plan (which was right next to a hookah bar and a variety of less-than-savory retail outlets and we STILL had to pay out the nose due to a high deductible plan).  He got injections of anti-inflammatories and cortisone and prescriptions for muscle relaxers.

We picked up his Rx and returned to the condo.  I went to the pool to meet my MIL and the kids (THANK GOD she was there otherwise I'd have had to manage a husband wincing in pain and three kids in the exam room), while D tried to nap.

Suddenly, the fire alarms started going off in our condo complex.  They went on and on for at least 30 minutes.  D came to the pool because he obviously couldn't stay inside with all that racket.  He said, "This is our worst vacation ever."

But it got even better.....

There was no smoke or anything.  It began to thunder and lightning so they closed down the pool.  We returned to our condo and found the door to our unit wide open.  Apparently, an electrician (who may now be unemployed) was doing work in the condo above us.  He did something which turned on the sprinklers and set off the alarm.  The water from the sprinklers leaked below into our condo---soaking the floors, running down walls.  So everything is wet AND there is no electricity.

We had to quickly pack up and move, which was stressful especially given the morning with D's back.  Perhaps this was the suckiest vacation of our lives?

The silver lining was that the management company moved us to a house with a private pool and hot tub.  D was able to soak which helped his back.  We didn't have to shlep to the community pool with all our crap.

The injections allowed D to visit Disney and Universal on Saturday and Sunday.  We were at both parks from 8 or 9 am until 5 or 6 pm and then swam and ate at the house.  Monday was sleep late, swim and do nothing day.

The last mishap of the trip came at 6:15 am yesterday when we had everyone, including the boys still half-asleep and in their pajamas, in the rental van, ready to drive to the airport.  The key wouldn't turn, and the steering column was locked.  We turned, we jiggled, we finagled, and D nearly stroked out with stress. There was no manual in the car, so I had to call Alamo for roadside assistance.  Apparently, you have to have doors closed, seatbelt on, key in, and lovingly stroke the steering wheel while whispering sweet nothings to it to get that b*tch to move.  If adrenaline could have fueled the vehicle, we could have driven to the moon.

This Orlando trip is a lot like how I felt during my pregnancy with M.  Varicose veins where I'd never had any.  Tiredness from taking a graduate class with a 5-year-old and 20-month-old underfoot while 8 months pregnant.

I knew I was DONE with childbearing.  I know I am DONE with Orlando.  If I suggest otherwise at any point in the future, I give anyone who has read this blog permission to slap me in the mouth.  (Caveat:  If I ever have grandchildren, I reserve the right to want to go with them.)

At one point, someone from the management company suggested we might get a free vacation as a result of the condo flooding, and I thought, "PLEASE NO!  I don't want a free vacation because then I'll have to come back."  My reaction to another Orlando trip would be similar to finding out I'm pregnant---tears, anger, and a straight-jacket.

Orlando--you've been fun.  My kids have experienced your magic.  I am ready to see more of what the world has to offer.  

Incongruous race

N and I spent 9 hours on Saturday at a state track meet.  There was nothing remarkable about the day, really, and yet there were things about it that felt remarkable.

I think it was because I finished reading The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.

Because N was standing on the full-sun field for 3+ hours waiting to do long jump, I stood at the fence near the finish with sunscreen and water at the ready.  I read the book in fits and starts but would pay attention when the young adult athletes ran (poetic like gazelles), which is a completely different experience than seeing elementary kids run (fury of elephants).

These young adults were amazingly fit and fast and predominantly black.  As I stood watching them, holding The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn in my hands, with these runners' parents and/or peers on either side of me, I was struck by how incongruent this felt.

Here I was reading a novel about a white boy helping a slave, how Huck was struck repeatedly by the fact that Jim was human and not an animal as expected.  Huck lives in a society that considers blacks to be grossly inferior to whites, and yet, here I was seeing these athletes whose power and physique were staggering in their dominance.  It felt strange and wonderful to be in a certainly not perfect, but far better racial place.

What brought this sensation home and saddened me was when D and I started watching the film Selma later Saturday night and knowing full-well that there is still rampant prejudice; there are still efforts to subtly restrict voting rights.  There are still many people who believe blacks are inferior, who harbor within their hearts and minds a disdain and distrust of people who are not white.

And then last night reading The Book Thief and thinking of the similar hatred of the Jews in Nazi Germany.

How can you hate someone you don't know?
How can you hate an entire group of people?
How do you ignore their humanity?
How do you hold onto your own humanity and not succumb to hatred and mob mentality?  

Smartphone update (from the Luddite)

One of the reasons I didn't want a smartphone is because I didn't want to become one of those moms who ignores her children because she is dorking around on her phone.

I am glad to say I do not ignore my children as a result of my phone.  It occurred to me, even before I got my smartphone in April, that I ignore my children all the time by reading a printed book, a newspaper, a magazine, a cereal box.  I always have my nose in something so I was doing plenty of child-ignoring.  I didn't need to worry that a smartphone would make me do it because I'm already quite successful in this task already!  Sweet relief!

Like my brain, I'm not using my phone to its greatest capacity, but I have found it a time-saver.

When I need to send someone a quick photo, like to get an estimate on having a cat urine-smelling couch reupholstered, I can take it with my phone and send it via email.  Prior to my phone, I'd take a picture with the camera, upload it to iPhoto, export it to an email and send.

Not having to type the number 4 seventeen times and then the number 8 six times in order to send a text is miraculous.  I don't send any more texts than I did before because I don't really text all that many people.  But when I do, I can get it done in a hurry.

I added a Key Ring app so my key chain doesn't weigh 47 lbs, but I can't scan my Kroger card at the gas station.  This app isn't really a time-saver, though, because I have to scroll for an hour to find the "key" on the keyring app.

I am regularly using store coupons at Michael's and Target because I can pull them up on RetailMeNot.  Prior to the smartphone, I would leave them at home or in my car or in my purse (I carried only my wallet on those occasions).

When my car battery died, the guy at the repair shop told me about the mycarfax app.  He asked how I keep track of repairs, and I said, "Uhhhhh, on paper."  I will still continue to keep a list on paper, but now I can access my repairs on my phone when I forget to bring my list with me (which I will).

I've even allowed one of those chatty women to get me to a restaurant when I wasn't sure where to go.  Fortunately, I was free and clear of my neighborhood, so she didn't need to mention how to get out of my driveway.

N and I now play Trivia Crack, which is a real ego booster.  I know a lot of useless information.  Even though I generally hate time sucks like that, I will play with my kid if for no other reason than to enable a continuation of a shared activity since it may become one of the few things she will do with me as a teen.  In a pinch, she'll play Trivia Crack with her old momma.

Being amongst the rest of the world in terms of a mobile phone hasn't been nearly as devastating as I thought it might be.

My yearbook ad to N

Parents were able to place an ad in the yearbook for their 5th grader.  I can't remember how much the different sizes cost, but I opted for the smallest one because 1.) I'm cheap and 2.) my child doesn't need a shrine.

Even with selecting the smallest, I had trouble coming up with what to say.

I'm not particularly good at praising my children, at telling them I'm proud of them.  I think I take after my dad in this regard, which is sorta maddening because as a kid I wondered why he wasn't proud of me.  He was always very proud of me, I think, but perhaps he feels like I do....that I don't want my kids to think they are better than others, to think they are so great they don't need to work hard.  I don't want my kids to be cocky turds, which I think can happen when a kid hears how amazing they are all.the.time.

My dad sent me flowers when I was inducted into the National Honor Society in high school. He wrote the card. When dad writes something, it is important to him; he really means it.  I still have that card.

So this is what N's ad looks like:

Even though I blather on in this blog, I opt for simplicity in the public sphere.

When she brought her yearbook home, and I read some of the other parents' ads, I wondered if the lack of flowery compliments bothered her, if she read some of the other ads and questioned whether her parents think she is beautiful and smart and amazing and delightful and every other MadLib adjective you can include.

I do think she is all those things, but I don't need and/or want everybody and their grandmomma to know it.  Because when I see parents do that stuff (in yearbooks or on Facebook or in person), I roll my eyes and think to myself, "Well, whoop-de-do!  Isn't your child just so special."  Especially if they are the parents that do it once a week.

I know my child is special to me.  I don't expect anyone else to think she is special, and I don't expect anyone besides her grandmothers to want to listen to me carry on about her awesomeness.  Which I don't.....not even to her grandmothers.

There are some people who can write things about their children and sound sincere.  Some people come off as braggy.  I take the self-deprecating route, and where that is not appropriate (like a yearbook ad for one's 5th grader), I choose modesty. 

Winding down

There is hope I may, one day, even like snow days.  That is what has happened with summer.

I'm sure I could dig back through some of these blog posts and find many complaints about summer.  The lack of structure and routine for the kids, too many video games and too much tv watching.

The past two years have changed my view.  I think it is my part-time teaching coupled with the kids' increased school-related activities that have made me increasingly ok with the prospect of not having much to do and no schedule by which to do it.

Last week was our final piano lessons and Girl Scout meetings until September (me and N), and our last music academy classes (me and M) until mid-August.  Friday was my last class at the cottage school until September.

M graduated from preschool in mid-May, and N's graduation from 5th grade is this coming Thursday.
I have no grand plans for the summer, other than to take the graduate class at my alma mater to renew my teaching certificate, and this is really less "grand plan" and more "I have to."  There are 4 books I need to reread in order to plan next year's cottage school lessons (Beowulf, Hamlet, Little Women, and The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, which I'm working on now).

Our city is doing cultural passes again this year, so we'll be hitting up some of the places we didn't visit last summer.  I'd like to take the kids to visit a historic fort about an hour away from us, and they'll be doing every summer reading program they can squeeze in.  I'm going to have all the kids work on piano this summer and will be starting to teach G cursive after we return from our vacation.

This is the first summer that I'm really feeling grateful to be a stay-at-home mom so that my kids can luxuriate in idleness, in staying in their pajamas until they change into their swimsuits.  It reminds me of my summers as a kid.  I was always glad to head back to school after 10+ weeks of break, but it was also so great to not have to get up or go anywhere on a regular basis.  Camps and YMCA and all that stuff provides kids lots of fun, but there is something wonderful about just lazing around your house all summer.  It is a hallmark of childhood, or at least childhood of the 1950s-1980s variety.

The worst part will be running the dishwasher 11,000 times a week from all the snack bowls. 

Managing the kids' anxiety

I've had recent "situations" with the kids that are anxiety-related.  Two were obvious anxiety, while the other is anxiety posing as tantrums. 

N:

N loves to play with her American Girl dolls.  She got "into" them quite late--3rd grade, but she is hard-core AG now.  

Recently, she has had some anxiety related to her friends giving up doll-play as they approach middle school, a concept that N finds confusing and potentially embarrassing.  On the one hand, she doesn't understand why anyone would need or want to give up playing with the dolls, but she is aware enough of the social strata to not want to be thought of as a baby for playing with dolls. 

There have been numerous crying bouts about middle school, about how her friendships are changing, how her friends are changing, and worries as to whether she is weird.  It is painful because it automatically brings to mind every middle-school-related angsty feeling I ever had.  How can I possibly help her manage this when I managed it so poorly?

M: 

There have been 3+ events whereby M and I are driving in the car, and he brings up death. 

"Mommy, I don't want to die."  

"Mommy, I don't want you to die; I will be so sad."  

Last week he started tearing up on the road, bravely trying not to lose his stuff.  

Yesterday, he said, "When they give me the first shot that will make me die, will it hurt?"  

I knew right away that he was thinking about our discussion about Shanks and euthanasia, how the vet would give Shanks two shots--the first that would relax him and the second that would stop his heart.  M, since that time perhaps, has been internally wrangling with death.  

I explained that we only do this with pets when they are sick and old, not with humans.  I explained how we give people medicine to help them get well, and if the medicine doesn't work and they grow sicker we give them another medicine to take the pain away until their heart stops beating on its own.

His reply, "I'm not scared to die anymore."

When I told D this last night, he wondered how freaked out M has been all these weeks while getting his allergy injections.  

G:

What I suspect is G's anxiety has masqueraded as temper tantrums.  It is difficult when this happens because I have to do a lot of detective work to figure out what is provoking him.  Right now, we are in the midst of a number of transitions that may be impacting him: M graduated from preschool, N is graduating from elementary school, school ends in a few weeks, right after school lets out we are flying to Orlando.  Given G's rigidity, any and all of this can be churning up worry.  

It could also be his first grade performance, which his class has been practicing for weeks. I am reminded of Dec 2013, the month from Hades when he was off-the-rails tantrumy.  It was also the month when his kindergarten class was preparing a performance.  

Yesterday, he said his class had performed in front of two other first grade classes.  He said, "My heart was beating so hard the whole time."  

G is aware of his anxiety because he has started handing me his brush each night before bed so I can do the Wilbarger brushing protocol.  We haven't done it in a long time; all of a sudden, we're back at it at his initiation, which is good. He at least recognizes that it makes him feel better.  

**

I am starting to have a better sense of just how differently difficult it is as the kids are getting older.  When they were babies, it was physically exhausting and isolating to be with them all the time.  As they grow up, I am increasingly aware of how much guidance and support they are needing, which I am completely ill-suited to give them.  If they only knew that I don't know what the hell I'm doing.  Parenting is graceful, and often not-so-graceful, winging it.  

Ermagerd! I hate Mother's Day.

I do not have a legitimate reason to hate Mother's Day.

I have a lovely relationship with my mother, as well as my mother-in-law.
I am a mother to three pretty great kids, and all things considered, I have a good relationship with them.
I didn't struggle to become pregnant.
I never lost a pregnancy.
I tell my husband exactly what I want for Mother's Day, and he buys it for me. (This year....a chainsaw.)
I refuse to get up during the night with the middle child or get up in the morning with him on Mother's Day, and my husband does it.
The is nothing for me to dislike about this day.

But I loathe Mother's Day as much, if not more than, Father's Day.

I hate it because it is a day to celebrate, to sentimentalize motherhood, an experience that is, at least for me, all full of conflicted feelings.
Motherhood blows at least 70-80% of the time (sometimes 99.9% of the time if it is a really bad day or week).
And yet, I wouldn't change it at all.
How f*cked up is that?
It sucks, but I wouldn't change it?????

It is a day in which, because it is a thing, I feel like I should, maybe a little bit, be worshipped.  And I am, sorta, with the cards and the gifts.  But I don't want to be worshipped because 1. that is ridiculous and 2. that means tomorrow, when I'm not worshipped, I'm just gonna be pissed off.  I will be thinking to myself, "Yesterday you were all sweet to me and today you're screaming at me because I put the corn flakes into the pink bowl instead of the orange bowl." Mother's Day is false worship.  It is worship because someone, somewhere, in some office noted the date on every calendar that is printed in the country.  My family doesn't thank me because they feel honestly compelled to do so.  They do it because a date on the calendar makes them feel obligated.

This is why I hated attending church as a kid.  I did it because I had to, not because I wanted to.  Which is a lot like motherhood.  I do it because I signed up for this, even though I didn't know what I was getting into, and now I have to do it.

Celebrating Mother's Day is like saying, "Thank you mom for falling into the same trap everyone does which is thinking motherhood will be different for them.  Thank you for not walking out on me when I was a complete pain in the butt.  Thank you for not murdering me in my sleep and screaming at me any more than you did.  Thank you for not allowing your resentment of how I stifled your life in various ways to boil over and completely eff me up as a person."

Do you see why I hate a day honoring this?  For me, it brings up all kinds of weird feelings about how society thinks I should feel about motherhood and how I actually often feel about motherhood and how, in spite of all those feelings, I can't imagine my life without being a mother to these kids.