From: Stephanie
Date: November 3rd, 2005
RE: Preschoolers Beget Emotional Turmoil
Last week at Ballet class – I was mortified because I forgot that Sara was supposed to wear her Halloween costume to class. She was the only little ballerina there dressed in the usual pink and black leotard. Even the teacher donned an adorable purple fairy outfit with life-size wings. It had been a really busy week with the book promotions and the radio show and class parties at school and the ballet thing just totally slipped my mind. As I sat in the studio lobby – I almost cried. I felt terrible. I couldn’t stop thinking about how much fun it would have been to dance in her Jasmine or Wonder Woman costume – and how horrible it must be for her to be in there looking at all the other little princesses, fairies and witches. When the class ended I gave her a big hug and explained how sorry I was. And amazingly enough, she was fine. She wasn’t disappointed or upset at all. I had beaten myself up for no apparent reason.
Today at preschool, she was supposed to wear her favorite hat. I don’t know what the problem is with four-year-old girls and their clothes – but every morning at our house – the drama is surreal. She doesn’t like ANYTHING I choose for her to wear (even if she picked out the night before herself.) She always runs to her Daddy to complain about panties that are too tight on her legs, sleeves that aren’t long enough, something itchy, a strap that doesn’t feel right on her shoulder, etc., etc., etc. These are ALL items of clothing that she’s worn previously without issue, but of course nothing is going to feel comfortable when you’re comparing it to a nightgown or well-worn PJs that you just took off. So every day, by the time I leave the house – I’m sweating, yelling, and start the day in a bad mood. My husband makes a bad situation even worse because he caters to her every whim, helping her sneak back up stairs to choose something, anything else. The item she chooses is usually inappropriate for the climate, or doesn’t match. So then he and I end up in a fight too, usually about how he’s discrediting me and making her a brat. He can’t see it. I can see very clearly that this has nothing to do with clothing or comfort. This is pure, unadulterated four-year-old-manipulation. A power struggle pure and simple.
This morning’s drama was yet another battle: Mother against daughter- husband against wife. I was in such a state of frustration when I left the house, I forgot that today was “wear your favorite hat day” at school. As Sara got out of the car – I noticed a few other students donning their Mickey Mouse ears or favorite baseball caps. My guilt from last week’s ballet incident overtook me once again and I raced home as fast as I could to retrieve a hat in hopes that my little girl wouldn’t be crushed upon the sharp rocks of disappointment. I ran around the toy room, tripping over Barbie accessories and Lego’s and managed to grab about 5 different fedoras so she could choose her favorite. I jumped back into the car and sped as fast as I could back to the school, only to get caught behind (not one), but two slow-moving dump trucks. I was really panicked by this time, knowing that the hats would surely be the very first thing the teacher would cover; and that I was the official “Room Mom” and how terrible it was that I had forgotten such a big event. As we approached the school at a painful 20-miles per hour, I heard myself screaming obscenities at the dump truck driver – in the privacy of my own car. I gripped the steering wheel tightly and tried to get a hold of myself – “Get some perspective” I told myself, “It’s only preschool… she’ll never remember this…you worked till midnight last night – give yourself a break.” But my guilty-mother-mind would only be consumed by last week’s forgotten costume at ballet class and the fact that I’m the stinking Room Mom and I forgot!! Oh – how could I?!
Finally! I reached the school, trying to keep it under 50 mph around the building and through the parking lot. My black SUV came to a screech in front of the door and I jumped out, resembling that of a cop in hot pursuit of a criminal. I hurried down the hallway with hats in hand, gathered myself as I reached the door of her classroom and calmly stuck my head inside and asked to see Sara. The teacher smiled a sweet, yet knowing smile at me. When my daughter reached the hallway, I explained that we had forgotten her hat. She said, “I know Mommy.” I said, “Mommy ran home really fast and brought some hats for you. Which one would you like to wear today?” She quickly glanced through the collection, turned to me and said, “I don’t really want one – they make my head itch.”
There I was, sitting in the Baptist Church Preschool Hallway with explicatives exploding through my head that would have made even Eddie Murphy blush. I could feel the blood vessels tightening in my head, the muscles in my neck beginning to pinch the bones of my spine, and my lips became magnetically attached to my teeth. I took a deep breath, and in my best understanding mommy voice, I asked, “But doesn’t it make you feel sad that you’re the only kid without a hat today?” She replied, “No.” (But honey, Mommy spent $7 dollars in gas, lost 3 pounds, and deleted at least 4 months off of my lifespan to bring you a #@!% hat.) “But honey, all the kids have one.” “I don’t care.” “Okay, just pick one and wear it so your teacher won’t be mad. Just pick one.” She begrudgingly chose Mickey Mouse ears with her brother’s name embroidered on the back. (I can’t explain the choice.) I told her good-bye and pointed her back into the classroom.
Now seeing as how this is a church preschool, it is my belief that it was the Lord who sent Benjamin’s mom down the hall at that very moment, for she too had forgotten the all-important “Hat Day.” I greeted her and asked her if she had one. She rolled her eyes and was in complete dismay to learn that she too had forgotten. So I happily offered my collection in hopes that someone would be benefit from my zealous efforts. Benjamin chose a dapper pirate hat and was quite happy about it. His mother thanked me gratefully and we quickly parted ways, afterall, preschool only lasts for three hours and that’s hardly enough time to lick our wounds before we have to go back and pick them up.
August 31, 2005
From: Sara
Hurricane Katrina
We thought it would be a terrorist attack that would bring the US to its knees, but here we are dealing with a catastrophic situation that was brought on by a hurricane. The pictures on television seem to be from a third world country, yet they are from right here in the US of A. Imagine losing your home. Imagine having an ill loved one who can't get medication or even food. Imagine your children without food, diapers, formula, water. Imagine losing every photo of your family you ever snapped. All your memories washed away in a terrifying moment.
Our thoughts are with all those in the gulf region affected by the hurricane. We think of our friends at Page and Palette Bookstore in Fairhope Alabama (near Mobile) and hope that they are safe.
If you would like to help the victims of the hurricane, two good charities to send money to are The American Red Cross http://www.redcross.org/ and The Salvation Army http://www.salvationarmyusa.org/. Specify that your donation goes to help the hurricane victims.
August 3, 2005
Hey Greensboro, North Carolina!
Watch for us this Thursday morning, August 4th on WFMY TV, Channel 2 (CBS) during the morning show with Rosemary Plybon!
And, come see us at Barnes and Noble (Friendly Shopping Center, 3102 Northline Avenue) on Thursday night at 7:00pm for a Book Signing and "Stupid Husband Stories" Contest!
August 1, 2005
From: Sara
Check me out on Melanie Lynne Hauser's site!
Today I am guest-blogging on the Melanie Lynne Hauser's website: http://www.melanielynnehauser.com/wordpress/. Melanie is the author of the new novel Confessions of a Super Mom (Dutton, 2005) that releases in just a couple weeks!
July 23, 2005
From: Sara
My Heroes
I've been watching Lance Armstrong win his seventh Tour de France this week and it brings mixed emotions. Last year I watched him win his sixth while my mother was undergoing chemotherapy for breast cancer. I was literally jumping up and down in my living room when he rode into Paris. Until then, I'd never truly grasped what Lance means for people fighting cancer. Seeing him again this year was a reminder of triumph, but also of cancer. And how it lurks in the back of a survivor's mind and wakes you up in the middle of the night.
Lance Armstrong has said that it's too tall an order to be a hero. I understand him. He can't possibly live up to the expectations millions of people have for him. Some say that the fame and fortune have gone to his head, that he shouldn't have gotten a divorce, that he should spend more time with his kids. That may all be true. But more likely it's not. How can those of us not close to him possibly know? But we do know this: he beat cancer. He not only beat it, he pummeled it into the ground. For that, I love the man. We know he uses his celebrity to raise money and awareness to fight cancer on a global level, not to sell sodas or sneakers. For that, he is a hero.
After my mom was diagnosed, I ran out and bought every book on breast cancer I could find. I'm a big believer that knowledge is power. And I bought Lance's book, It's Not About the Bike. That book was a great source of comfort and hope to me and to my mom. Yet Lance is the first to say that real heroes are the people right around us. I can vouch for that.
As Lance is winning his last Tour, do you know what my mother is doing? She is dog sledding in Alaska. She and my dad are on a cruise that she booked while she was going through chemo last year. At this moment she is gliding across the frozen landscape of Alaska powered by a team of canines lead by a mutt named "Sweet Cream."
My mother is not an ordinary person. She is quiet, genteel and warm. Add to that a huge dose of Southern propriety. She cries easily, which some might take for weakness. Nothing could be further from the truth. I've learned over this last year just how strong she really is. For the vast majority of her life, my mother has not only been responsible for her three children, but also for my dad, who is blind. She drove us on every family vacation, got us to school every day fed and on time, took us to every doctor appointment, every orthodontist visit, kept track of all the family finances, did all the shopping and cooked every meal. I can imagine it was almost like being a single parent. And I don't think I have ever heard her complain.
Being diagnosed with cancer was a major blow, as it would be for anyone. But when the doctor told her it was her choice to take chemo or not, she said, "Give it to me." She handled being sick, losing her hair, losing her breast, all with grace and dignity. And strength. I've heard of others faced with lesser forms of cancer who've all but crawled under the bed in fear, or gone into a deep depression. And that's understandable. Yet my mother is still one of the few in our family who doesn't need antidepressants.
Now she is facing a bone scan this week. Testing is another of the tortuous components of cancer. Waiting for the results is agonizing. My mom has had some pain in her leg recently. It's probably just arthritis, but she wants to know for sure that it's not cancer. So she asked for a scan. I would be a wreck just thinking about getting ready for the test. But she's not. She has a strength that I'm not sure I inherited. Then again, maybe it's not something you can inherit. Maybe it comes from years and years of not having it so easy. From having to reach deep inside yourself to find courage and perseverance time and time again. For my mother, that has never been too tall an order.
July 12, 2005
From: Stephanie
It's a big day!
We usually don't share much news with our readers about business, but today was a very big day. The Mommy Chronicles will now be found at all Babies R Us stores nationwide!
Sara and I are so excited! We couldn't have survived as new moms without Babies R Us and we're thrilled that our book will now be even easier for Moms to get their hands on. So the next time you go check out the strollers, or stock up on diapers - head for the book section too!
Now, we're working on Target stores - and so far, so good. We'll keep you posted!
June 29, 2005
From: Sara
Towanda!!!!
Today I took my two adorable children, dressed in matching outfits to the new bookstore here in Charlotte, Joseph-Beth. I only convinced them to wear the matching outfits by threatening them with their lives and no more visits to the neighborhood pool until they're in high school. To all you moms out there with baby daughters, enjoy dressing them while you can. Because once they start to pick out their own clothes you will have daily, horrifying battles. The only thing more horrifying will be what your daughter ends up dressed in after she inevitably wins said battle and you say to hell with it and let her wear whatever she wants.
But this time I put the hammer down and by God, my kids looked cute, even if they weren't happy about it. I just had to make a quick trip to the mall to make contact with the new bookstore and to stop by the Apple computer store. Should be simple enough, right?
Well, Joseph-Beth is an awesome bookstore. They have an incredible kids' section that I couldn't get my two out of. I had filled out a form with all the information on The Mommy Chronicles for the bookstore to carry it and I needed to turn it in to one of the booksellers, and of course buy each of the kids a little something to bribe them out of the store (is that good parenting or what?). Cade had wandered over to the other side of the kid area and would not come to me when I called him. I went over to get him and he still wouldn't come. I told him if he wouldn't come with me that I would pick him up and carry him out. I squatted down to pick him up at which point he started flailing around and managed to whack his mouth into my kneecap. Blood started to gush from his mouth. I was wearing white pants.
As luck would have it, I couldn't find anything in my massive purse to wipe his mouth with, so we had to use his beloved blue blanket, affectionately known as "Blank-Blank." He finally stopped bleeding but he had a ring of bloodstain all around his mouth. And needless to say, he didn't want me to touch it. So here I go, lugging my child who looks like I've socked him in the kisser clinging to his bloodstained blanket, off to the counter to sell the bookseller on the benefits of my parenting book. I'm sure they'll stock it immediately.
After a lightening-quick stop at the Apple store, the three of us headed to the car. I'd brought my little umbrella stroller with me and Anna who never, and I mean never wants to be confined to the stroller, was adamant about riding in it today. By this point Cade was exhausted and he was not going to walk. And I had a long way to go to get to the car. I begged and pleaded with Anna to get out of the stroller, but she wouldn't and Cade started crying and saying "I don wan strower!!!" So I knew at that point, I was going to have to carry him. I trudged through the mall carrying 26-pound Cade in my left arm and pushing the stroller with my right while carrying my heavy purse and shopping bag. I had to stop several times and I must confess that a couple of times I just put Cade down and made him walk a few steps screaming.
Finally I made it to the car and gave my throbbing left arm some relief. I buckled the kids in their seats while they screamed that they wanted drinks. I gave them their drinks, threw the stroller in the back of the van and collapsed into the front seat, sweating and exasperated. I cranked down the AC, put the van in reverse and started to back out of the parking space when I heard a horn honking. I looked behind me and didn't see any cars other than those in parking spaces, so I continued backing up. I heard
the honking again. Then I saw the source of the noise. It was a Porsche Boxter (you know, one of those little two-seater convertibles) parked in a handicapped spot. Sideways. Now I
don't know about you, but I don't know many handicapped people who drive a Porche Boxter. Anyway, the hazard lights were now flashing on the car, so obviously the driver was afraid that my big honking mini-van emblazoned with www.themommychroniclesbook.com on the back window was going to hit him. Not wanting to in any way impair the means of transportation of a rich handicapped mall-goer, I pulled back into my parking space and tried to back out in the other direction. He honked again. I pulled back in the parking space yet again to try to back out without invading his car's personal space. But it was a parking lot, I had to get a little bit close to him, for crying out loud.
On the third attempt, I opened my door and leaned out while I was backing up to make absolutely sure I wouldn't come within five feet of the precious Boxter and I saw something that made my blood boil. The driver had opened his door too and was watching me back up. My hands gripped the steering wheel, my knuckles turning white. It took every ounce of restraint I had not to floor it and run my big honking mini-van all over his little mid-life crisis. All I could think of was Kathy Bates yelling TOWANDA!!!!!!! in the movie "Fried Green Tomatoes."
But a thought popped in my head at that moment. A thought that often pops into my mind in moments of extreme tension. "Have I taken my medicine today?"
I calmly drove out of the parking lot, popped my daily dose of Zoloft in my mouth and cruised home, imagining how much fun it would have been to crush that little car. Especially if Tom Cruise had been the one in the driver's seat. (I'm so sick of him).
June 28, 2005
From: Stephanie
The Rabbit Died
Well, the rabbit died. No really I'm serious. Our rabbit, the little black one, he died today. So it was a very sad day here. The vet seems to think that he had some kind of bladder or intestinal infection (very common in rabbits). The thing is, I just didn't notice any symptoms. We had moved him into a large cage in the grass with plenty of shade because we thought, in the summer heat, he would be more comfortable there than his little cage that we kept on our deck. His appetite lessened slightly, but I thought was just because of the heat. And he dug a little hole to lie in, which is perfectly normal rabbit behavior. I just never saw it coming. And Tim and I are very sad today.
The kids however, are clueless. The whole time we were burying him in the backyard, they're running around with their friends. I know that death is just too permanent for kids under 6 years of age to understand but I was hoping for a little sadness on their part. All six neighborhood kids came to watch "Mr. Tim" dig the grave. So of course, since he had an audience in his midst he broke into a preacher character, and with a deep, loud voice, thanked the "funeral guests" for attending and said a few (sarcastic) words on behalf of our "dear friend bunny." (Humor that escaped them all of course).
Now of course, being a Pisces, I had to search for a deeper meaning in all of this. Our sweet little bunny died because I didn't notice. I simply wasn't paying enough attention. I was feeding him, holding him, cleaning his cage, and doing all the necessary things. But I didn't stop to notice the little things that really mattered. As a parent we really have to pay attention too. And not just close attention, but attention to the right things. It's so easy to get caught up in all the day-to-day happenings, the chores, the endless laundry and grocery lists and schedules.
This morning Timmy was so grumpy. We were getting so frustrated listening to him cry and whine. About three hours into our morning, it dawned on me he's sick. He's had a runny nose for about three days; a little virus has been going around the neighborhood; this isn't his normal personality. Of course he's sick! But until I really focused in and paid attention I didn't realize what was really happening I was only focused on my own frustration. It's so easy to overlook all the good stuff. Like how Timmy says, "I love you Mommy" about six times a day, every day. And how little Sara suddenly doesn't want us to catch her at the bottom of the water slide this summer. Important things are changing all around me, and I'm not focused in.
Instead, I'm running in every direction, paying bills and making lists and returning phone calls and trying to work in three mornings a week at the gym. But I'm going to make sure, for the rest of this fleeting summer, that I make the time to play every day with my kids. Not just sit them down in front of a movie while I catch up on the laundry but really get in there and play on their team. Because it's amazing what you might miss, when you're not paying attention.
June 23, 2005
From: Stephanie
Re: Mother of the Year Award
As bad as my children were in Wal-Mart a few days ago - they were equally as good today at the pediatrician's office. It was Timmy's three-year-old check up. (I'm a little late - I was so busy planning his pirate birthday party - I totally forgot that he was supposed to go to the doctor on his birthday too.)
Timmy was quiet in the waiting room. He giggled adorably, dimples and blue eyes beaming with adoration when the nurse teased him. He answered all their questions politely with an impressive vocabulary for a three-year-old. He peed in the cup with no complaints or complications (we're experts in the bathroom arena - so that was a given). He said, "Yes Ma'am, and No Ma'am." And when it was time for the doctor to remove a pesky splinter from the ball of his foot, he sat on the table, eating his blue popsicle (brilliant on their part by the way), and didn't make a peep except to lean over to me just once, and whisper "Mommy, that hurts." He was amazing. He thanked them all when we were leaving. I could almost hear harps playing in the background as the doctor and nurse looked at him lovingly and said, "Thank you for being SUCH a good little boy." As I paid the bill, he politely asked for the customary safety pop and sticker, and asked if he could take a sticker home to his sister, which earned him even more accolades from the reception desk. As we walked out to the car, I could feel the glow all around us. The perfect Mother, and her perfect child. As the harps played in the background, I could hear the staff talking behind my back, "No wonder she wrote a parenting book." The universe was finally in alignment. I was at the height of my parenting career. And then, as I leaned over to put him into his car seat... it was like that needle scratching across a record sound they always use on TV when something goes wrong... The harps stopped. The glow extinguished. I realized, there standing in the parking lot that my fly was open.
Being one of those silly, old-fashioned people who think they should dress nicely to go to the doctor's office, I was all decked out in my white summer capris, and my spaghetti-stringed navy blue sweater that makes my arms look really skinny. My best hair and make up. And I was crushed. Mortified. There was NO way they didn't notice. I was sitting in a chair holding Timmy's foot while the doctor stood over me (in direct alignment with my zipper) to remove the splinter for at least fifteen minutes! I
It must have been the pee-pee-in-the-cup-for-the-first-time session in the bathroom. Just as I was standing up (hey, I was already there), Timmy grabbed his full cup before I could put the top on. And as I hurriedly grabbed it from his hands, I forgot to go back and finish zipping. Damn, the bathrooms- they get me every time. I just stood there in the pediatrician's parking lot laughing.
That's one of the great things about kids. Just about the time you get a little full of yourself they have a way of putting everything into perspective again.
June 20, 2005
From: Sara
The End of a Chapter of My Life
When Stephanie and I were at our book signing in Fayetteville, she got choked up reading a particularly poignant passage in our book. It's a passage she's read many times without getting emotional, so it kind of caught her off guard. But I could understand. Her sister had just had a baby, she'd just spent some time with her good friend Laura who lost her sister to cancer last year, Timmy and Sara were in the audience, as well as her mother and grandmother. So it wasn't hard to imagine why the reading affected her a little differently this time. To lighten the moment, I made the comment, "I'm on medication. I don't cry unless someone steps on my foot." I was joking but I've started to think recently that maybe there is some truth in that statement. I wonder if maybe I don't get as sentimental as a lot of moms. But tonight I know that's not the case. Because we took down the baby crib.
Ever since Cade turned two, he hasn't wanted to sleep in his crib. A couple of nights he slept on blankets on the floor in their room. Sometimes he slept in Anna's bed, which of course, was always a problem. So, we took the mattress out of the crib and put in on the floor, which made the room even more crowded to navigate. David wanted to take the crib down the first night, but I wouldn't let him. I needed a few days to prepare myselfor to just get used to the idea. So there stood the crib, with no mattress and no baby.
I finally gave him the go-ahead tonight. And I was okay until after the kids went to bed, thankfully. It was the bedding that got me. Folding up the little bed-skirt and the bumper, all in green and yellow gingham with dragon flies, since we didn't know when I bought it if Anna was a boy or a girl. I remember looking at so many different bedding sets and longing for something really special. When I saw this one I knew I had found it.
I remember shopping for furniture for the baby's room and stopping in my tracks when I saw the crib in the store. Nothing elaborate, just a beautiful, distressed white wooden crib with rounded arch ends. Perfect. I remember how small Anna looked when we put her in there the first time. The way she would sleep sideways in it with her feet sticking out through the side rails. David said while he was taking it down he thought about the first time she and Cade each stood up in the crib. Walking into the room and being surprised and delighted to see their little faces beaming with the pride of their new accomplishment, and their little chubby hands gripping the rail.
Moving Anna out of the crib wasn't hard at all. I got matching bedding for her twin bed and we rearranged the room to accommodate both her bed and the crib (and the glider and the changing table). It was exciting because we were preparing for the arrival of her brother. Taking the crib down was a totally different feeling. As I changed Cade's diaper before he went to bed, I thought, "Pretty soon, I'll never buy Desitin again either." I never thought I'd get choked up over buying Desitin. But this marks the end. The end of babies and all the sweet things that come with them. (It's easy to forget all the sleepless nights and round-the-clock feedings when you're feeling sentimental.)
Thinking about packing that bedding away was almost too much to bear. It's a visible reminder that you can't stop your kids from growing up and time from moving forward. No matter how much you sometimes want to. So I just laid the bedding in the chair in our bedroom. Maybe tomorrow I will feel like putting it away. Or maybe the next day.
June 20, 2005
From: Stephanie
Re: Photo-Counter-Girl From Hell
My day started out so well today. I got up at 7:00am and got about an hour's worth of work done in the office while everything was still quiet and nobody was begging for chocolate milk or climbing on the back of my chair while I typed. Then off for a great work out at the gym, followed by a trip to the grocery store. I was ahead of schedule and life was good.
Now a trip to the grocery store with a three- AND fouryear-old is not easy. But in hot pursuit of my "Mother of the Year Award," I managed to make a great start. First we all went to the potty. I've learned to get that out of the way first. There's something about full grocery carts that make the Triplett Kids' bladders unbearably tight. I have spent more time in the bathroom at the Super Wal-Mart than I care to recount. I've even done an interview in there with a newspaper reporter (true story). I used to be one of those people who despised public restrooms. They gave me the heebie jeebies. I once had the talents to use the toilet without any part of my body touching any part of the bathroom, except for one index finger, which skillfully flushed and operated the door lock and faucet.
No one ever told me just how intimately I would become involved with public toilets once I became a Mother. I crouch on the floor, inches from the germ-encrusted sides of them. I've lost my balance trying to pull up tiny pants and actually touched the floor. Now that Timmy's come along, I have to actually TOUCH the seat to lift it. And, I've been to virtually every toilet in Northeast Atlanta, a few along I-20 and I-95, and well, now that I think about it, probably every state on the east coast. I spend more time in public restrooms than I do talking on the phone to my mother. Just another one of those weird turns your life takes when you become a mother.
Anyway, when the toilet treachery was complete, it was off to the produce section. I gave each of them bags, and had them each find and count vegetables and fruits to fill up their bags. Six zucchini, an onion, carrots for our bunny, etc. I was navigating this grocery trip like a pro like someone who deserved to write a book for the parenting section. But about 15 minutes into our hunt, (at approximately the frozen vegetable aisle), Timmy decided we needed a return emergency trip back to the bathroom because he had to (and I quote) "make a poopy." So, it was back to the bathroom we went.
Now the good news is that since I had a boy, I'm finally getting some of my questions answered about why it is men take SO LONG in the bathroom. What exactly DO they do in there? I certainly don't have time to READ in the water closet. Get in and get out is my motto. But men stay in there for hours. If they're anything like Timmy, it's because they're just not quite sure when they're finished. And, not wanting to risk leaving, only to return moments later, they just wait it out. You know, to be sure. So, another 15 minutes in the bathroom. Another 5 to 6 minutes trying to wash three pairs of hands in front of an automatic, motion-sensor faucet that doesn't work (I SO agree with Ellen Degeneres about all this automatic crap that really just makes everything harder), and BACK to aisle four.
To make a long story short by the end of the trip, my beloved children were on my very, last nerve. I was over the poking, crying, fighting, and swinging. I was threatening them along with every other parent standing in the long lines at the checkout.
But then, things got even worse. I stopped at Eckerd on the way home to pick up some pictures from the photo counter. Now there's a new girl there and, well I just don't like her. My old photo-counter-girl and I were on a first name basis. I walked in. She filled out my envelope and told me when to come back. The new girl just isn't very bright. And, in my opinion, has the personality of a sharp rock. She was trying to explain to me why both envelopes of pictures were the same price, even though she says she didn't charge me for the roll that only had 8 exposures used. And she wasn't doing a very good job. Meanwhile, I heard a crash. Sara and Timmy had knocked down a sign. It was about 12 inches off the ground on the side of the film counter. I made them sit on the floor in front of me so I could finish our business. I said, "I'm so sorry. My children just knocked that laminated sign down, and I'm not sure how to put it back up." She didn't say anything to console me. Just maliciously rolled her eyes and sighed. I didn't like her attitude. So I said, "Oh, I guess you don't have children." She replied, "Oh yes I do, but they are well behaved." (Can you believe that?) Now I was offended and mad.
"Are you implying that my children are NOT well behaved?" (They aren't, but other people aren't allowed to say that.) As she started stammering, I continued, "You know, your bedside manner could use a little work. You have an attitude every time I come in here. And I'm not coming back." As I tried to replace the sign, she came from behind the counter and tried to help me and apologize. But it was no use. I was embarrassed, offended, and Eckerd's photo counter just lost a $120 per month customer. There's a new CVS opening down the street next month and I think I'll become THEIR best customer instead.
All kids have good days and bad days. That's what I'm going to tell the manager when I call him tomorrow about his photo-counter-bitch.
In the meantime, if any of you have any advice for making kids under the age of 5 stand still in a store, please e-mail me, because if I don't find a solution soon, I'm going to spend the next 10 years rotting away on my sofa, shopping QVC from the comfort of my living room.
June 15, 2005
From: Sara
Is this as good as it gets?
This year will mark David's and my ten-year anniversary. You would think that we would be in a great place in our marriage now. You'd think we would have learned a lot about what makes each other tick and what the other one wants and what makes each of us happy. I feel that I have learned a lot about my husband over the years, although I'm sure I could improve on meeting his needs. But he, more poor knucklehead husband, still remains largely clueless on how to interact with me on many issues. Or, in more blunt terms, how not to piss me off every five minutes.
Take for instance Mother's Day. My very first Mother's Day five years ago went largely unnoticed. No card from Anna, no card from him. No big deal, I had just been through the most transformative, wrenching time of my life adjusting to motherhood. But okay, I'll cut him a little slack on that one. It was my first Mother's Day. I had hoped that things would improve. But have they? You be the judge.
This past Mother's Day, my dear husband informs me that he has made plans to go golfing with his dad and brothers. (Guess I wouldn't be getting the proverbial breakfast in bed.) The look of shock on my face wasn't enough to clue him in. I had to explain to him that I really wanted to spend Mother's Day with my husband and children. He reluctantly changed his golf plans. He'd golf on Saturday before instead. Okay, I could live with that compromise.
So what do I wake to on Mother's Day morn? A gift (and I use the term loosely) that was wrapped (as in loosely thrown around) in tissue paper laying on a box top. It was a wooden "Welcome to the Lake" sign that he had picked up at a store on his way back from golfing the day before. There was also a card. (Again, I use the term "card" loosely.) My Mother's Day card was one of those little business card sized ones that florists stick in flower arrangements. He had scrawled on it, "Happy Mother's Day! Love, David." I was so overcome with emotion from the thoughtfulness he had put into that gift. He must have spent at least four or five minutes pulling that all together.
Now if you'll remember from The Mommy Chronicles, David suggested to me many years ago that we reserve large purchases for the house for birthdays and Christmas. And you'll remember that when I asked for furniture for my screened porch one year for my birthday, he moaned and groaned and complained until the whole thing turned into a big fiasco.
My birthday is coming up next month and I've wanted a new table and chairs for our deck for ages. The one we have now is cheap green plastic that has turned white in spots from me scrubbing it year after year in some attempt to make it look halfway presentable. The edge of the table is broken in one place and has a jagged edge that has to be covered with a tablecloth. If one of the kids happens to run into it I'm sure they would need stitches. Oh, and did I forget to mention that the reason the table has a jagged broken edge is because my dear husband heaved it over the side of our deck to get it to the backyard a couple of years ago. (Our deck is very high off the ground.) It would have been too much of a hassle to pull out the plastic legs and carry them and the (lightweight) plastic top down to the basement and out into the backyard. No, throwing it over the side of the deck was a much better idea.
So what does my husband do when I mention that I would like to get a new table and chairs for the deck? The husband who suggested this "large purchases reserved for birthdays and Christmas to begin with? He says to me, "Don't you think that's a lot to ask for? Don't you think that much money is excessive? Do you really think we can afford that right now?" Funny how we can always afford the stuff he wants. Like the boat motor he just bought for his fishing boat that has still yet to run.
It's not so much what he is saying to me, but how he's saying it. I never get a response like, "Wow honey, I would love to be able to get that for you, but I just don't think we can afford that right now. How about we get it in the fall and I get you something else for your birthday?" No, I get attacked for asking for an "excessive" birthday gift. I told him to just forget it.
Want to know what's ironic? He'll end up getting it for me. I know him. But he just can't seem to do it without putting me through the ringer first. It always has to be this big fight and then he shows me what a good guy he is by going ahead and getting me what I want, against his better judgment, but just to show me how much he loves me.
Yeah. I feel loved.
What I feel is depressed. After ten years, ten years, is this the best he can do? I thought marriage got better with time. I thought men mellowed and "learned." If this is what I have to look forward to, we'll probably be sleeping in separate bedrooms by the time I'm 40. Happy birthday to me.
June 16, 2005
From: Stephanie
Re: That's Why They Call It "Super"
Today, I glued my finger to a tube of Super Glue while trying to fix one of Sara's sandals. Remember all those rumours you used to hear about when you were a kid about SuperGlue ripping your skin off if you glued your skin to something? Well, they're true. That's all I have to say, except for, "Ouch!"
I think it says alot for my life that this is the very best thing I could come up with for today's blog. Unless of course, you'd like to hear me rant (yet again) about how my children have to go to the bathroom in each and every store that we enter. It's just too bad you don't get Frequent Flyer Miles for bathroom use. We would have earned a trip to Europe and back by now.
June 14, 2005
From: Stephanie
Father's Day: A Weaker Moment
I've certainly done MY share of complaining and criticizing my poor husband, Tim. And he certainly hasn't left me short on material. But on this Father's Day, I can't help but realize how blessed my children are to have him as their Dad.
His patience with them is immense. He sacrifices hours of sleep every night to comfort our little Sara when she wakes from a bad dream and asks him to please sleep in her room. And he really doesn't seem to mind sleeping in a princess bed surrounded by pink flower-covered mesh and a picket fence headboard.
On Saturdays, when a lot of Dads are golfing or enjoying the game, he is usually pushing his kids on the swings in the back yard or cleaning out their baby pool.
He hasn't cleaned a toilet in 4 1/2 years, I haven't seen the counter on his bathroom sink in over two months, and he fixes everything (wood, engines, toys, you name it) with duct tape (and is convinced that it worked). But he is the father of my two most valuable possessions, and he is absolutely the most incredible Dad I know.
When it comes to Polly Pocket boxing matches, P.J. dances in the living room, brushing tangled hair without pulling, or re-enacting anything entertaining for children by Jim Carrey - he's the man. He never misses a dress rehearsal, pre-school program or birthday party. So in honor of Father's Day, here's a big THANK YOU to Tim and to all those Dads out there who make the necessary sacrifices to give your kids the very best of yourself.
Remember that you are not only being a great Dad, you're also teaching your children how to treat their kids. You'll have your whole life to golf and watch the game. Be sure to spend time with your kids before they're "too cool" to spend time with you.
Happy Father's Day!
I have no idea what day it is because it's summer
From: Stephanie
Where's The Justice?
Summer! Don't you love it? Summertime is when I really bask in the benefits of being a stay-at-home Mom. The housework gets pushed aside so I can take the kids to the pool.
And I especially love summer in Georgia. It's SO hot you almost HAVE to go to the pool. The pool is much more necessary for survival in the summer than vacuuming or cleaning toilets.
And, to top it all off, I'm happy to announce that this is the first summer that I've actually been able to sit down in a lounge chair at the pool instead of having to be in the water ensuring a child's survival. Sara and Timmy are finally old enough to play almost entirely by themselves (with the help of their trusty "floaty" suits) and the talents of a good lifeguard. I may actually get a real tan on my legs for the first time since college. Dare to dream.
As I was lounging at the pool yesterday, I noticed some Dads who were keeping track of their little ones too. And I couldn't help but wonder why it is that men get to wear those huge swim trunks that ironically cover all of a woman's "target areas." Men are virtually covered from their belly buttons to the tops of their knees. And it's considered fashionable. They get to cover almost 1/3 of their body, while we run around chasing little kids between lounge chairs in our bra and panties. How did that happen? When in history, did this become acceptable? (I certainly didn't get to vote on it).
Oh sure, I could opt for a one-piece suit. But my stomach is my best (and only) feature so I can't cover it up. And besides, one-piece suits certainly weren't designed for those of us that are lacking in the chest area. There's no middle ground for us. It's either a suit like Grandma's or our bra and panties. How can we win? And the only men who seem to be interested in wearing a gender-equaling bikini are usually the ones who shouldn't be. "Illegal use of spandex," as my neighbor so delicately puts it. First this bathing suit thing, and now Michael Jackson is a free man. IS THERE NO JUSTICE LEFT IN THE WORLD??!!
June 12, 2005
From: Stephanie
My 20-Year High School Reunion
No worries, Sara. That's what friends are for. And Sara and I tested our relationship further than ever before this weekend. I took Sara with me to a class reunion mixer after our book signing. Nothing tests a friendship like meeting the people you went to high school with!
Yesterday was my 20-year High School Reunion in Fayetteville, North Carolina. Nothing restores your faith in yourself like meeting the people you grew up with.
On the trip back to my hometown, I told Tim a story about a guy that used to sit in front of me in homeroom. And every day, (and I mean EVERY), I used to put a sign on his back. Day after day, this poor boy would leave class with both arms twisted over his head and behind him, trying to peel off whatever slanderous phrase I had posted between his shoulder blades. I have to admit, I was a professional. The standard "kick me" or "I'm gay" was beneath a joker of my talents. Instead, I quoted from best-selling literature like Richard Bach's Jonathan Livingston Seagull: "Keep American Clean Eat A Pigeon" was my favorite. And, I used address labels - sticky on one side, so they could be applied with little or no pressure. When the poor kid figured out what I was doing and began removing them, I began to adhere TWO every day, so that after removing one sticker - there was still another present, allowing students to taunt him on his way down the crowded hall to first period. His name was Danny. And I explained to my husband that I dreaded seeing him. I felt like a terrible, awful, dreadful person and I would have to apologize profusely to poor, innocent Danny.
Well, he was there. One of the first people I recognized in fact.
And I spent the first five minutes of our reunion groveling and apologizing. But as the night wore on, I realized that my memory had betrayed me. Danny was anything but innocent. He began to tell me stories of how he torments people at his current job by replacing their screensaver with pictures from www.ratemypoop.com while his unsuspecting victims are at lunch. He told me about a situation at his office that he called
"Pottygate." Apparently, there's been some friction over the men using the women's bathroom and leaving the seat up. According to Danny, it got a little ugly. So, in an effort to relive the tension, Danny affixed a "pull-fire cracker" to the raised toilet seat in the ladies room. When his victim put the seat down, the firecracker began snapping and cracking, sending her running out into the office yelling obscenities and chasing Danny around the office.
He also told me stories from High School, where on one occasion, he got caught climbing a fence to get to class on time. This was against school rules, and there happened to be a teacher waiting on the other side of the fence. Thinking quickly, Danny drew a crooked arm up next to his body and began talking and acting like he was handicapped. The amazing thing is that this actually worked! But he admits to getting some funny looks from that teacher in the hallway the rest of the year.
So I left my reunion with some very good laughs, and a rejuvenated sense of self. Maybe I'm the one who inspired Danny and sent him on his tirade of practical jokes. Maybe I did create a monster. But at least, I decided, I'm not one. And as for my relationship with Danny, I only wished I worked with him now. Tim and I are hoping to visit he and his family in Arizona later this year. He promised to send me some pull firecrackers between now and then.
Congratulations Douglas Byrd Senior High
Class of 1985!!
June 9, 2005
Tales from the Road: Adventures in book signings
From: Sara
Remember earlier when I talked about enjoying the "author-hood" ride? Well, I've recently learned that you can't enjoy the ride if the car won't run.
Leave it to Stephanie and me to ensure that virtually no trip on our book signing "tour" will be the least bit uneventful. First of all, there's the kid-factor. We each have two kids that have to be looked after during our events and while we are traveling to and from them. That makes matters considerably more complicated right from the start. Take for instance, our trip to Raleigh and Fayetteville this week.
I had planned to drive to Greensboro to meet my mother-in-law halfway between my house and hers on my way to Raleigh for our signing there. She would take the kids in my car and I'd take her car. (It's easier than swapping out all the car seats.) But when we got a last minute radio interview Thursday morning, I drove to Stephanie's parents' house in Fayetteville (about an hour from Raleigh) Wednesday night instead. Her parents and Tim graciously watched all the kids for us while we did the interview. Tim then drove all the kids to Raleigh to meet us. After a quick lunch, I set off with Anna and Cade to Greensboro to meet my mother-in-law as planned. The exchange went just fine and I headed back to Raleigh just in time to grab dinner before our signing.
The book signing went great. When it was over, Stephanie and I packed up all our paraphernalia to head back to her parents' house, after a quick stop by the home of Stephanie's friend, "Laura-with-the-four-kids." Not knowing my way around Raleigh, I was following Laura in her car, when my mother-in-law's car began to loose power. Fortunately I was able to get it off the road and park it at an Exxon station that also had a service bay. Whew!
I went inside and told the person working in the store that I was leaving the car. He gave me a little brown paper bag. I wrote my name, cell phone number and a description of the car all on the outside of the bag. I put the car key inside and placed it into the night drop box of the service station.
The next day, Bobby from the Exxon station called me to say that he believed the car had "blown a rod." Now I don't know much about cars, but I know that's not good. Basically the engine was shot. One thing was for sure; I would not be driving that car out of Raleigh.
"No problem," I told my mother-in-law. I'd just rent a car and drive to Virginia. She agreed that would be the best plan since she'd be without her car and could use the rental car as well. Okay. It would all work out. Or at least we thought so at the time.
Stephanie and I went on to do our book signing in Fayetteville that night. Her mom and grandmother came, a reporter and photographer from the Fayetteville Observer came to do a story on us, lots of Stephanie's friends from her hometown showed up, and we got to meet a lot of new moms too. It was a really fun night. One mother who came was dressed in a really attractive outfit, complete with a straw hat. Her little one-year-old son was wearing an adorable outfit. Cute boy clothes can be so hard to find so I couldn't resist asking where she had gotten his outfit. She ended up writing down a list of online stores where she shops for kid clothes! I feel like I have really gotten the scoop too because this woman had great taste. Her son even had playgroup cards (kind of like a dance card!) and calling cards. Did I mention he's one!?
Anyway, back to the car. When I woke up Saturday morning I immediately had an extremely disturbing thought. I didn't have my driver's license with me. David and I had gone to a concert last Sunday night and I had given him my license to keep in his wallet so I wouldn't have to carry my purse. I'd never gotten it back from him. I had a sick feeling in my stomach. There was no way a rental car company would release a car to me without a driver's license.
Steph to the rescue! She agreed to rent the car in her name and I would drive it to Virginia. Problem solved. Or so we thought again. So we headed to the Fayetteville airport to get a car. When we walked in we saw Avis, Hertz, Enterprise, Budget and Dollar all there one after the other. "This should be easy enough," I thought. We tried the first company and they wouldn't let me return the car anywhere but back to Fayetteville because the U.S. Open was coming to nearby Pinehurst in a week. That wouldn't work. Next.
The next company had no cars. And the next. We finally found a company that had a Dodge neon that they would let me (although they didn't know it was me) return to Raleigh. Okay, that would have to do. Stephanie filled out the forms and said she was going to add me as a driver. The lady at the counter said no. No driver's license, no driving the car. Period. I asked if I could pay for the car, so poor Stephanie wouldn't have the charge on her credit card. Nope. No driver's license, no taking your credit card either. Stephanie handed the woman her card. (Is she a good friend or what?)
After all the forms were filled out and Stephanie had taken a blood test and given a urine sample (just kidding, but sheesh! What a rigmarole it is to rent a car these days!), the lady went over the entire contract with us again, looking at Stephanie and saying, "And you agree that you will be the ONLY driver of this car and that the car will not leave the state of North Carolina." Mmm hmm," we both said together with fake smiles on our faces. I was going to Virginia.
Stephanie's mom was with us and as we were walking out she said, "What if they see Sara driving the car?"
"Mom, don't talk until we get out of here," Stephanie said. I felt like we were committing a crime. Stephanie's mother works for the IRS, so situations like this make her a bit uncomfortable. Heck, I was really uncomfortable! What if I got pulled over in Virginia driving a rental car that I was not authorized to drive, that was not supposed to leave North Carolina and with no driver's license! They'd probably take me straight to jail! Then they'd start looking for Stephanie! Can't you just see the headline? "Mommy Authors Arrested on Book Tour for Rental Car Scheme." Although Stephanie informed me that if anyone called and asked if she knew a Sara Ellington her response was going to be: "I don't know anyone by that name."
Thankfully I did make it to Virginia without incident. My mother-in-law's car did, in fact, need a whole new engine. Bobby at the Exxon station had a big week. And I found out once again how blessed I am to have a friend who'll bail me out of a jam.
June 2nd, 2005
From: Stephanie
Rainy Days
It's been raining for days. And I've realized that when my children are cooped up in the house for days on end - my house begins to take on the look of a civil war battlefield. Yesterday, I was on the phone with my decorator for less than 15 minutes, and at the end of my conversation, I found both children naked, locked in their bedrooms with little butterflies stamped in blue ink all over their naked bodies. (they're quite imaginative)
So I've come to the conclusion that I've got to keep them busy. I whipped out my handy-dandy craft books and made a list of things we needed to keep little hands and minds busy during rainy days this summer. This morning we visited Wal-Mart to stock up on our supplies. But I have to admit, I wonder what in the world was going through the cashier's mind with the collection of stuff I had gathered. Pipe cleaners, grass seed, red wine (that was for dinner tonight), glue, tissue paper, buttons, potting soil, aluminum foil, yarn, and bug repellant. As the loyal Wal-Mart cashier carefully scanned and bagged my assortment of treasures, surely she must have wondered if I was constructing a home made pipe bomb, instead of a bunch of kid's art projects.
It's funny because I remember when I first quit my job to become a stay-at-home mom, I bought all these artsy books because I was really looking forward to creating something each day with my little students. But I got discouraged early on when I realized that their little hands weren't quite adept with scissors and glue yet. Now that they are ready for those activities, I had placed them aside. So I'm trying to renew my goals this summer for holding my own little home-pre-school a few times a week to help keep little hands busy and little minds prepared for Pre-K in the fall.
May 25, 2005
From: Stephanie
Timmy's 3rd Birthday
Today is Timmy's third Birthday and I just want to sit down and cry. How can it be that my baby boy has been with us for three whole years? What happens to the time when you're surrounded by these tiny, adorable people?
I woke him up this morning with the traditional good-morning birthday cake. (I've always believed that little kids should get a cake first thing in the morning - so they can comprehend that it's their birthday ALL DAY). When we woke him up to sing to him, he was SO excited. With wide blue eyes, he kept saying, "I'm three? I'm really three? Mommy, I'm so happy I'm three!"
May 8th, 2005
From: Stephanie
Mother's Day Catastrophe
Just another story to prove my point - we just can't be a normal, Leave It To Beaver kind of family, no matter how hard we try. It started out to be a very relaxing and uneventful Mother's Day. I was awakened with all the usual Mother's Day activities: breakfast in bed (cold scrambled eggs adorned with a wilted pansy from the front yard), a few presents, hugs kisses, etc.
Tim decided that it would be fun to go to the lake near our house for a cookout for dinner. Lake Allatoona is just a few minutes from our house and is a lovely lake with lots of scenic picnic tables and good fishing spots for the kids. Timmy has his very own "Nemo" fishing pole and loves reeling in fish of any size.
It was a beautiful night. The chicken and veggie shish-ka-bobs were sizzling on the grill, and we were helping the kids fish for little blue gills along the shore line. Timmy managed to hook a little 7" fish, and he was thrilled with the excitement of actually pulling a real fish out of the water. But the moment quickly went downhill when we realized that the poor little fish had swallowed the hook. Tim had forgotten to bring any extra hooks or fishing tackle, so we had no way to cut the line. Plus, this was our only hook, and we didn't want to lose it and have the fishing fun be over for the night.
Tim and I quickly had a meeting of the minds. Expert angler that he is, Tim decided that we had to kill the fish. Giving it a quick and painless death would surely be better than ripping a hook out of it's "inerds". I was a little concerned and disgusted by the thought, but who am I to question his fishing expertise? He suggested slamming it against a rock. "What?" I yelled. "You can't let Timmy see his Father violently smashing his poor fishy on a rock! You'll damage him for life." Then Tim said, "I know what to do, I'll stomp on it." I suggested that he should do what he had to do, but not let Timmy witness it. So, he took about three steps away from Timmy and crushed the little fish on a rock with his foot. But just as his foot met the fish's flesh, Timmy turned just in time to see Daddy's foot crush his beloved catch and send fish guts flying in every direction. Of course, his 2-year-old reaction was sheer terror and he began to scream hysterically, his little voice echoing throughout the lake and across the span of picnic tables, "Daddy killed my fish!"
I was furious. "Why did you do it right in front of him?!" I asked. "I didn't think he was looking." "But he was two feet from you! Couldn't you have walked up to the parking lot or something?"
It took quite some time to get poor Timmy calmed down. We felt pretty bad too. A duck came along and ate the remaing pieces of fish mush - so that made us feel a little better. You know, circle of life and all that. When we got home, we spent about two hours on the Internet researching whether fish and worms feel pain. There are a lot of school's of thought, but the most convincing proof is that studies show that fish don't eat again for days after being caught on a hook. I think that pretty much says it all.
The next day, I was pushing Timmy through the grocery store, when his little mind conjured up the gory events of the previous day. He began, "Daddy killed my...." I stopped him in his tracks with a nice lollipop. Distraction is the very best parenting skill at this age. He hasn't mentioned it since.
Even a normal Mother's Day is a little too much pressure for the Triplett family.
Monday, April 18th
From: Stephanie
Typical Triplett Family Outing
No matter how normal we try to be it just never works out for us. I don't know why.
Tonight, after dinner, we decided to take the kids for a walk on the golf course. It was a beautiful night and the golf course is in it's peak. We put the kids in an older jogging stroller that our next door neighbor had passed on to us, and began our walk. Our golf course has a lot of water on it and the kids love looking at it. So every time we would pass a creek or pond, Tim would push the stroller as close to the water as possible so the kids could see it up close. He would push them so close, that the front wheel of the stroller would extend out over the water. I kept saying, "I don't think that's a good idea." But the kids loved it and so I stopped harping. Then, it happened. As we reached the largest part of the creek, Tim pushed them out over it and suddenly the handle broke off!
I looked up just in time to see the stroller go flying down the embankment and land in the water. Sara and Timmy were screaming, and the stroller started sinking, they looked like they were going to jump out. My motherly instincts kicked in and I immediately jumped in after them, without even thinking about the fact that I was fully clothed in pants, socks, shoes, etc. Tim, who is a either a little more rational, or a little too concerned about water temperature, calmly walked in (even though HE was dressed in sandals and shorts) and we lifted the stroller back out. Both children were shivering and crying. It was so cold. Tim and I were laughing by now. My shoes and clothing were soaked, and I had to squish all they way back home. Which would have been a brisk 15-minute walk, but turned into a 25-minute walk because Tim decided to try a "shortcut" that didn't work out, and added a few minutes to our adventure. (I'll never learn).
We were all fine and began really counting our blessings when we began to consider that we had been pushing them down huge, steep hills on the golf course. If the handle had let go at that moment, we would never have been able to catch it and the kids would have been seriously hurt. Who would have thought to check the security of the handle on a stroller? Leave it to us to turn a simple family outing into a brush with death.
April 9, 2005
Enjoying the 10-hour ride
From: Sara
Well, Stephanie and I put our kids and our friendship to the test on this trip. Actually, we all traveled together very well. Cade and Timmy had a couple of boy testosterone issues, but other than that, everyone did quite well. And I personally was thankful that Tim had left his day job to accompany us on this trip. If 72 hours with four kids and about 12 hours riding in the "hot seat" of the mini-van didn't send him running back to corporate America, nothing will.
Let me first explain what I mean by the term "hot seat." The hot seat is the seat occupied by the person who has to do all the servicing of the children while riding in the car. Having had some experience in the hot seat, I leaped at the chance to drive. Stephanie had wisely chosen to ride in the passenger seat. She convinced Tim that she needed to sit up front with me because we were going to "work" and talk about book stuff. But she and I both knew what she was doing. Meanwhile, Sara (the 4-year-old), Anna and Timmy occupied the third-row seat where we had wedged (and I mean wedged) their car seats in so tightly that if one came unbuckled four-letter words started flying among the adults. Cade was in one of the middle row captain's chairs, which left the other captain's chair, a.k.a. the Hot Seat, for Tim.
The "Hot Seat" is where you must heed every call for juice, pick up every dropped toy, dispense every Happy Meal to the appropriate customer, hand everything that can't be reached by little arms, clean up every spill, negotiate every dispute and so on. To put it bluntly, in the children's eyes, you are their bitch.
Trust me, no one wants to be in the hot seat. Especially not on a ride from Atlanta to Alabama. But God Bless him, Tim took it in stride. Then again, maybe he was just blissfully unaware of what he was getting himself into.
Being the performer, Tim couldn't resist entertaining us all along the way. First there was the gas station stop where Tim popped in his "Bubba teeth" and began to clean the windshield of the car in quite a theatrical manner. Every swipe across the glass with the squeegee ended with a flourish and a pirouette twirl. You can imagine how impressive that is coming from a 6'2" man wearing Bubba teeth.
To give you a little insight on Tim, these aren't just dime-store-variety fake teeth. These are custom-made, performance-grade teeth, specially fitted for Tim's mouth. No joke. And I don't think he goes anywhere without them. I've heard numerous stories of Tim losing his wallet, his keys, etc. Once we even found his checkbook at our house. But I have never heard of him losing his Bubba teeth. The man has his priorities.
Next he decided to stage an in-car performance using Polly Pocket dolls. He made one Stephanie and one me and acted out all sorts of scenes from our book, which were hilariously funny to us. Of course the kids thought it was hysterical too, even though they didn't get the jokes. But, Tim had the two Pollys get into a fistfight at the end of every scene and that's always good for a laugh with the kids. (Hey, we never miss an opportunity to impart a lesson on good family values.)
However Tim soon regretted the Polly Pocket skits. He was badgered for hours with "Pleeeease! Do it agaaaainnn!!!!" It wasn't so much fun for him after that.
You'll be glad to know that I was so indebted to him for the aforementioned New Bunny Incident (I cannot tell you how miserable losing New Bunny would have made those two days for me) that I let him drive pretty much the rest of the trip.
Day job or no day job, in my book, that Tim Triplett's a good man.
April 10, 2005
Book Signing, Fairhope, Alabama
From: Stephanie
This weekend we traveled to Fairhope, Alabama for a book signing at the Page and Palette Bookstore. The folks at the Page and Palette were so gracious. They had a beautiful spread complete with a baby shower cake, little diapers made out of napkins filled with mints, balloons and the works. But the real story line on this trip was what was happening behind the scenes at this book signing. Since my husband, Tim has chosen to no longer have full-time, gainful employment, he came along as the baby sitter (for all FOUR of our children).
He was on the right track when we found a playground close to the bookstore. Our son Timmy is close to being potty trained, but was having so much fun playing, that he had a very ugly accident in his pants. So, Tim had to load all four children back into the mini-van and drive back to the hotel, and unload them into the hotel room to change Timmy. He tried to make everyone go potty while in the room. But Sara's daughter Anna refused. (You can lead a horse to water) There was a Mexican restaurant nearby and he decided this would be a good, kid-friendly choice for dinner. So he shuffled all four of them into the restaurant.
Just as the food came, Anna announced that she had to go to the potty now. (Of course.) So, once again, he shuffled all four of them into the bathroom. And EVERYONE went potty again. (I can't speak for Sara, but I swear my children have bottomless bladders. They can literally go potty every 10 minutes or so.) At one point during the meal, baby Cade (23 months old) decided that the table was not the place he wanted to be. So he decided to stand in the pathway to the kitchen. Tim repeatedly asked him to come back to the table, but quickly decided that it was best to just keep him happy, and the wait staff would have to fend for themselves. It was then that Anna made a very serious announcement. She didn't have "New Bunny."
Now for those of you who don't know, New Bunny is Anna's very best friend. In fact, there's nothing "new" about "New Bunny." He looks more like he's been dragged behind a car for several miles. His head is barely attached to his body, and his coat is worn and threadbare. But where Anna goes-New Bunny goes. Period. And the fact that New Bunny was missing was right up there with the Kennedy Assassination Mystery. This was serious. So Tim, who did not want the reputation of New Bunny being lost on his watch, drove all of them back to the playground to begin the man-or should I say "Bunny" hunt.
He stopped by the bookstore to pick us up, but we had already gotten a ride back to the hotel. The owner of the bookstore accompanied Tim back to the playground and sat in the minivan with the kids while Tim feverishly combed the playground for any trace of little Anna's stuffed friend. He searched for about 20 minutes and then gave up.
When he got back to the car, he broke the news to Anna that New Bunny could not be found. She took the news pretty well. Thought for a moment and said, "But Mr. Tim, New Bunny was on the sidewalk next to the swings." So, he ran out once again to the location Anna had described and sure enough, there lay New Bunny, in all his ragged glory. Anna and New Bunny's reunion was a very happy moment. (But nobody was happier than Mr. Tim). It was quite an adventure and he definitely earned his stripes.
The next day, we drove over to Destin, Florida to spend the day on the beach. Destin is absolutely gorgeous and we found the perfect spot on the boardwalk complete with a playground on the beach for the kids, and a nearby margarita bar for us big kids.
It was a great trip, as for all of Sara's hang-ups about her mini-van, that vehicle is the deal. Even my huge Lincoln Navigator didn't offer as much space. When it comes to cramming four kids, three adults, New Bunny and all the necessary kid paraphernalia into a vehicle, a good mini-van can't be beat.
March 22, 2005
Enjoying the author-hood ride
From: Sara
Well, I must first comment on poor Tim. I love Tim dearly, but even David vouched for Stephanie on this one. "I heard you tell him not to do it until you got home," he said to Stephanie when he heard the computer travesty news. Fortunately, I also have all the book sequel emails on my computer, so he's off the hook on that one, but only as far as I'm concerned. Stephanie is still ready to divorce him, but I told her she can't. At least not until we write our sequel to The Mommy Chronicles. I mean, c'mon. The man just gives us too much good material to get rid of him now.
Stephanie mentioned that we were at The Virginia Festival of the Book (www.vabook.org), but she didn't tell you that we were panelists! It was so much fun, at least after I got over the sick feeling of being behind a microphone and in front of a crowd. Stephanie and I attended the Festival last year and went to nearly every seminar on publishing. It was amazingly helpful and we were thrilled to come back this year to participate as newly published authors. Our panel was titled "The Birth of a Baby, The Birth of a Book." We talked about becoming mothers and becoming authors.
The morning of our program, we had a phone-in radio interview scheduled in my hometown of Lynchburg, Virginia where we'd be doing a book signing the next day. However, our interview got bumped because a man jumped off one of the bridges that crosses the James River going into Lynchburg. Now, I grew up outside of Lynchburg lived there from age two until I finished college and no one EVER jumped off that freaking bridge. And the one day that I finally get to be on the radio in my hometown, some idiot decides to jump off the bridge. First time in at least twenty years. Go figure. (No, he didn't die, or I probably wouldn't be so crass about the whole thing. Probably.)
Anyway, back to Virginia Book. The moderator of our panel invited us to dinner at her house that evening. She moderated several other panels that day and invited the other authors as well. Her husband is an emergency room pediatrician (can you imagine?) and quite a cook. So we're standing around talking and having fun with these other authors who are charming and interesting and smart, and Stephanie looks at me and says, "You know, whatever happens with The Mommy Chronicles, we just have to enjoy this moment and all that we are getting to experience because of it." She's so right. We've gotten to meet so many interesting people that we never would have otherwise. It's like I say about motherhood, "Let's enjoy the ride."
March 21, 2005
Tim's First Day at Home
From: Stephanie
I always tell people that I hate it when Dr. Phil says, "You knew it was a snake when you picked it up," when he refers to marriage. I just want to scream, "But Phil! He was a bunny
when I picked him up--he turned into a snake!"
My husband, Tim, who didn't really like walking to the salad bar in front of a room of people, when we were dating, has somehow shed his introverted skin and gradually transformed himself into quite the entertainer. He's been working with AutoTrader.com as a Corporate Trainer for the past few years. He's done all kinds of creative things with their training department. Due to his gift of impressions, he even produced training seminars including David Letterman skits and Regis Philbin from "Who Wants to be a Millionaire" in order to keep the attention of his trainees.
One day, when searching for new material, he decided it would be a good idea to learn how to hypnotize people. So he traveled to Arizona and was trained and certified as a hypnotist. And, he loved it. He's become quite accomplished at all kinds of hypnotism: the kind for weight loss and to help people with bad habits like smoking. But what he really enjoys is Stage Hypnotism- this is the kind you see at comedy clubs where several people are hypnotized on stage and programmed to do all sorts of hilarious things. And, he's gotten pretty good at it. In fact, he's gotten so good at it, he's decided to quit his day job and become a full-time hypnotist.
He strategically waited until Sara and I were at the Virginia Festival of the Book to turn in his resignation. I knew he was going to quit I just didn't know exactly when. He claims his timing had nothing to do with the fact that I was going to be out of town for five days but I think otherwise.
Anyway, his company decided it wasn't necessary for him to stay for the required two weeks notice, so he cleaned out his office and immediately began working from home. On his first day at home, he decided to "fix" our/MY computer. We had some pretty nasty viruses that had accumulated over time, and he was going to do a total hard restore (which basically means everything is erased, and your computer is restored to the state it was in when you first brought it home from the store). I was out of town and BEGGED him to wait until I got home. "Please, please," I pleaded, "just wait two more days till I get home so I can organize my files on disk and make sure you save everything." His fatal last words were, "Trust me."
On my husband's FIRST day home he erased EVERYTHING I had ever created on that computer. The sequel to our book, all my e-mail addresses and contact lists, and pretty much everything of any importance. Did I say it was his FIRST day at home? Is this an omen of things to come? And that, my friends, is why I wrote a book chocked full of "Stupid Husband Stories." He just keeps the material coming.
