The Bike Chronicles, Part 2

Yesterday, I went on what was sadly a completely delightful and event-free bike ride. Disappointing, I know. Don't get me wrong, I'm thrilled that I didn't fall over or run into anything, but it doesn't give me much to work with here. So today, I'm going to tell you about things that could  have happened on the ride, but happily, didn't.

1. I didn't slide and crash on the gobs of geese poop that covered certain parts of the trail. (Yes, I realize I talk about poop a lot in these posts. I would apologize, but it is just the time of life we're in here at the Smith house, so I hope I don't offend your delicate sensibilities.)

2. I could have gotten high from all the marijuana smoke in the air in Fremont. Seriously, what is it with that town? Good thing marijuana is legal in WA now, or I would have been really worried.

3. I could have been mugged in Ballard, but happily wasn't.

4. I could have run over a shockingly slow pedestrian in the U District. (I realize statements like this make me a bike snob. And to be honest, if I had been strolling through the U District on my lunch break when a bike came zooming up behind me, I probably would have slowed down, too, just to make a point.)

5. I could have been trampled to death by a roving herd of ravenous pygmy elephants. Ok, maybe it's not plausible, but it could have happened, and happily didn't.

All told, it was a dream of a bike ride.

The real challenge came after the bike ride. After taking off all my warm cycling gear and throwing my bike in the back of the car, I had to hurry to pick up the kids from school. But I had just finished a 58-mile bike ride. I'm not particularly pretty under the best of circumstances, and throw some sweat, grease, and road debris all over me, and I'm a walking disaster. So, the dilemma: do I leave my helmet on to pick up the kids, or take it off and scare everyone with my matted, sweaty clump of hair? I realize walking around with a helmet on carries certain connotations, but let's be honest. I'm sure half the parents I interact wouldn't be surprised if I suddenly started sporting one. On the other hand, how early do I need to start the shame and embarrassment responsibilities that all parents have for their kids? I didn't think I could do that to them while they are still so young and vulnerable. So, helmet off, and glasses on my head to cover the worst of the matting, bird's-nest chaos that was on my head. Did I make the right choice? I'm not sure there was a right choice in this scenario. And if you are one of the unfortunate souls who saw me, let us never speak of this again.

Theory versus Reality

Today was a real eye opener for me. It marked Day 3 of staying home all day with two semi-sick kids. I say "semi-sick," because I couldn't in good conscience send them to church or school with their hacking coughs and sneezes that they don't remember to cover, but they weren't lethargic enough to just sit docilely on the couch. So, at 7am for the past 3 mornings, I listened to them hack themselves awake and gleefully rejoiced--no lunches to pack, no karate to get ready for, no library books to find and send back to school! Sick kids sounded a little like a vacation at 7am. By 9am, on our 4th, or was it 5th?, Valentine's Day craft, I realized I had woefully deceived myself. By 5pm, I was ready to duct tape them to their beds with Barry Manilow songs on repeat, so they could be tortured as much as they were torturing me. And that was just the end of Day 1. Sadly, I go through some kind of amnesia through the night and have the same optimism at the beginning of Day 2 and Day 3.

Now, as Day 3 closes, I find myself with several uncomfortable choices to make. Do I value my sanity over the health of perfectly innocent 2nd grade and preschool children who happen to have the bad luck of sharing a class with my children? Or do I let these kids (and their parents) deal with Germfest 2013, solely so I can find a little peace and quiet? Am I glad to have germy yet hyper children? Yes, absolutely. But would I prefer a little more docility and lethargy with their illnesses? Maybe... Ok, Yes! Yes! I know, I know this makes me a bad mom. But I have what feels like a drill grinding its way into my left temple, and it is solely because of the cabin fever I've gone though with my pseudo-sick children. Would it be so hard for them to lay calmly on the couch and weakly request "a little more chicken broth, if it wouldn't be too much trouble"?

Here is what I know: the kids ARE going to school tomorrow. I feel like we're past the worst of it, but I may just be saying that to sooth my conscience. I AM going to take a nap tomorrow. And I am going to try to not think about those moms who really DO have sick, lethargic kids who they would love to see running around, twirling with their siblings, kicking soccer balls at the ceiling lights, and tackling the dog. Because if I think about them, my left temple throbs even more and my guilt index skyrockets. I AM going to pretend I don't hear either of the kids coughing right now. And finally, I AM going to hang a sign that I will see at 7am, reminding me that "sick kids" does not equal "vacation."

What I Will Miss/What I Won't Miss

In one of my book groups, I have been reading Nora Ephron--brilliant lady, she wrote the screenplay for Sleepless in Seattle, When Harry Met Sally, and You've Got Mail. In the back of one of her books, I Remember Nothing, she has a list of things she will miss and things she won't miss after she dies. Part of our "homework" for book group (beyond, you know, reading the book), was to make our own lists. And what's the good of a list if you don't share it? So here are my lists.

What I Will Miss:
1. Alex's cheesy jokes
2. Allie's thoughtfulness and kindness
3. Boden's giggle
4. Book groups
5. Bike rides and all the disasters therein
6. Christmas baking
7. Raspberry picking
8. Piling on the couch with my sisters
9. Dana Point
10. London
11. Sleeping with the fan on
12. Long phone calls with my sisters
13. Shakespeare
14. Jane Austen
16. Adaptations of Jane Austen's and Shakespeare's works
17. Dr. Who
18. The excitement of starting a new book
19. Reading in bed
20. Reading anywhere
21. Kindred spirits
22. My parents and parental figures, and how they all inspire me to be my best self
23. Chocolate and peanut butter (aka the Food of the Gods)
24. Acting out the scriptures with my kids
25. Getting up early to go running, feeling like I am the only person on Earth
26. Sweet-smelling newborn babies
27. A snuggly dog falling asleep on my lap
26. Dutch Letters
27. King County Library System

What I Won't Miss:
1. Pants that are too tight
2. Gray, gloomy days
3. Pine needles in my car and in my house
4. Voicemail
5. Christmas cards and the inherent guilt trips they come with
6. Pasty white skin
7. Guitar riffs in songs I otherwise like
8. The mess my kids make in the car
9. Airplanes and airports
10.  PTSA Board Meetings
11. Brushing my teeth
12. Politics
13. Mosquitos
14. White Chocolate
15. Coconut
16. Shrimp
17. Coconut Shrimp
18. My cell phone
19. Emptying the dishwasher
20. 2nd grade homework
21. Frizzy hair
22. That depressing lull when I don't have a good book to read

I Already Have Plans

Last night, while tucking Allie into bed, I noticed what a mess her bed is. In case you don't know, she sleeps on a top bunk, and she apparently lives in terror of me throwing away something precious to her, like one of my bed pillows from 25 years ago, or an old tissue that has been used as a cast on a stuffed animal. So she gathers her precious possessions and piles them on to her bed. It gets so bad that she only has a little sliver for herself to sleep on; it's a good thing there is a guard rail, or her stuff would push her right out of the bed. So last night, I was cringing at the mess that is her bed, and I told her that this Saturday was Clean the Bed Day. She said, "No, Mom, I already have plans." Ok, she's seven. What plans does she have that I don't already know about? Turns out, she has plans to play with Legos. From sun-up to sun-down, all Legos, all day. But she was gracious enough to let me know that she is free the next Saturday to clean the bed. I normally would dig my heels in and force the cleaning, but who am I to interfere with her plans? When we do finally get around to cleaning the bed, I'll keep an inventory of all we find up there. I guarantee you will be amazed and horrified.

Read with Caution!!

Just a disclaimer before I begin: I use the word "poo" in this post. You have been warned.

Today, Boden and I were waiting in the car for Allie to finish her music class. Suddenly, Boden started jumping up and down and let me know he needed to poo. Ok, so we walked up to the house and asked to use the bathroom. In we went, and Boden started to take care of his business. When it looked like he was winding down, I asked if he was done. He said no, the poo needed more time. After a couple minutes, Boden said, "Come out, poo. You know you're always happy to come out." Yes, Boden was giving his poo a pep talk. I thought howling laughter coming from the bathroom would freak out Allie's music teacher, but on the inside, I was laughing my head off.

Nothing like a kid to make us feel really good about ourselves...

For dinner tonight, we had chicken pot pie. It was simple--nothing too weird or fancy--just chicken, cream of chicken soup, mixed veggies, and pie crust. Based on Boden's reaction, you would have thought I was feeding him sheep brains breaded with dried worms and covered in a bird poo and booger sauce. Initially, he was planning on just eating grape tomatoes and cucumbers for dinner. In solidarity with the mothers of the world, I tried to shame him into taking four bites by letting him know how hard I had worked on it, how sad I would be if he didn't eat it, and how I am never cooking for him again if he doesn't try it. No luck. Alex then resorted to the sure fire way of making him eat--bribery. Please, nobody model your parenting strategies after us. But the promise of mint chocolate chip ice cream got him to eat four bites. It still wasn't pretty, though. He would take a bite, gag a little in his mouth, and then painfully swallow some of it, before running to the sink to spit the rest out. And Alex wonders why I don't like to cook...