YEAH! It's tractor morning!

I'm going on one hour of attempted nap time with Mr. Z. There's been much screaming and crying. I suppose I ought to back up a little...

We had a special outing this morning to Billings Farm. It was supposed to be this fantastic tractor morning we'd been looking forward to and that I'd used as incentive to "go to bed and get plenty of rest" during bedtime the night before. I'd packed our bag ahead of time. We had lots of snacks ready. This morning we'd eaten breakfast and were out the door with plenty of time to spare. We even had fun on our drive listening to the Laurie Berkner CD we'd recently checked out from our library. So far so good.

The morning's pre-school program began with a tractor story. The volunteer leading today's program was eager to engage the little boys, asking questions about the bales of hay and tractors pictured on the pages. She didn't seem to think the little girls (or my son - the only boy wearing a dress) would be interested, I guess. I wondered if the children noticed.

After the story, we walked over to the part of the farm where the equipment is kept. That's when Beanie began chanting "UPPIES!" and because there is no such thing as uppies for just one child, I denied the relentless requests. I denied them until our little dialogue of "UPPIES!" and "No" became too frequent to follow the tour and explanations of farm machinery and their uses. I picked her up. (I KNOW, I KNOW!) That of course led to Mr. Z speedily throwing his arms up in the air with a fierce look of determination. He didn't bother to chant a thing. He simply stood at my leg, bouncing his body with his arms held high. I felt sick. What happened to our fun tractor morning?

The best I could do was to offer "turns", as if that would appease anyone for long. The child left standing continued pouting and/or whining. Soon the request became, "I wanna go home!" Unfortunately, that advanced my frustration just enough for me to start spitting out hushed phrases like, "That's not fair to Mommy!" and "We just paid to come here. We're not going home!" and eventually, "If you're going to behave like this, you can go sit by the tree until we're done out here." Then came a momentary out of body experience, when I was watching my own shameful mommy moment unfolding. I felt a wave of gratitude that I wasn't THAT person dealing with THOSE kids, and then a jolt of reality: "Oh S#%@ that's ME!"

Ultimately the three of us were able to complete the morning's session, which included a much needed snack, a painting project and a wagon ride. What's funny is that the highlight of their morning came when we'd returned home and they discovered the package that had been delivered to our breezeway. It was three pairs of shoes we'd ordered for them (in the next size up). They were happier opening the package and wearing too-big fuzzy fleece Crocs (even with our kitchen hovering right around 85 degrees today) than they had been at any point during our tractor morning.

I called my husband to decompress, if only for a moment. Then we all headed upstairs. Mr. Z bargained for potty "after story" and in an attempt to hand over a little control, I agreed. It was all quite snugly and lovely, until of course we were done with stories. That's when Mr. Z laid himself across the floor of the hallway and refused to go potty. I took a deep breath - when all else fails, breathe.

Without getting mired down in the details, there were pleas for a cozy, there was much crying, there was time alone, and then there were shouts of "I have to go poopies!" The latter is not a statement that I casually ignore.

After some time on the potty, off the potty, then back on the potty... there was pee pee. OK, fine. I'll take a pee pee.

And then there was compliance: I was able to tuck Mr. Z into bed!

Right about the time that I made it downstairs, I could hear Beanie stirring over the monitor. She'd of course not fallen asleep yet. I headed back upstairs to my room, which is where she naps. I did the only thing I could manage. I tucked her back in and told her to close her eyes and try to rest. I also mentioned that if I had to come back upstairs, I'd be taking one of her friends away.

As I finish typing this post, Pink Rattle Dog is sitting in the living room next to the monitor. And it is finally quiet in our house.

Who's in control?

Ah, a four day weekend! A long weekend during which we'd planned to hit the road and visit friends in CT, until of course the friends asked if we could move our visit to another weekend. As a stay-at-home mom, my schedule is fairly flexible. Unfortunately, my husband's vacation days often need to be planned months in advance. So after a little bit of wallowing, we opted to modify our expectations for the long weekend. We opted for a "stay-cation." Using our library's free pass to a nearby nature center, this morning we attended the Vermont Institute of Natural Science (and saved the $36 admission). We saw raptors relaxing in their man-made habitats. Most were permanently injured, and therefore, now in forced retirement from the wild. It was amazing to see these birds up close and to hear some of them calling out (though I'm not sure if they were happy, or irritated by our presence). Even though it was nearing our nap time, we decided to attend the 11 am live animal show. Half-way through it, Mr. Z began to proclaim his desire to go home.

Aren't vacations, even stay-cations, supposed to be relaxing???

Do we get that back at any point? I wonder...

Summer 2009

It's mid July, July 13 to be exact. What feels more like "summer" than a July day? How about a July day that doesn't include rain? Yeah, I can't remember what that's like anymore - it's been raining here for weeks. I think my entire garden is going to float away. I'm just hoping to enjoy a bite of red tomato before all twenty of my plants succumb to early blight. Oh and those striped cucumber beetles, those guys are wearing on my last nerve. I went so far as to get a bucket of warm soapy water yesterday and then I attempted to capture and submerge said antagonists. They so weren't having it. Had I been able to detect the slightly higher frequencies of the bug world, I believe I would have heard the distant, derisive sound of beetle laughter.

The garden is loosely "roped off" with one of my husband's old t-shirts (cut up and recycled into garden twine). It helps keep the plants out of harm's way when the greyhounds start racing through the yard, and it makes the kids think twice before aimlessly wandering through "Mommy's Garden." This afternoon Mr. Z asked to enter the garden. Why not I thought. But as he entered the sacred grounds, he couldn't help touching the green fruit growing on the tomato vines. He was having this lovely moment, fascinated by what he saw and lost in his 3-year old wonder. Me, I was lost in my own private panic, trying to think of how to calmly but quickly explain to my son why it was simply unthinkable that he touch any of the blight-contaminated foliage. Ah, the countless opportunities I am presented to get over myself. What a blessing it is to parent!