Pants

This morning Griffin's pants were too short.  And when I say pants, I mean  ALL of his pants.  What started with "Hey Griff, I have some bad news..."

"What?"

"Your pants are too short.  You're going to have to change them.  I know.  I know.  But it's your own fault.  You grew last night.  Stop doing that."

...turned into a minor fashion show in his bedroom.

"Nope.  Those are too short, too."

"What about these?"

"Yeah.  Those should work.  I think I just bought those...What?!  They are too short, too?  What size are they?  They are size eight.  They should fit.  Are you pulling them up to your armpits?  No?  Alright.  That's it.  You are in big trouble, mister!  How dare you grow out of all your pants?!"

At this point, his sister joined us.  "Am I in trouble, too?"

"Yes.  As a matter of fact you are both in very big trouble because neither of you will listen to me.  How many times do I have to say it?  STOP GROWING!"  They love this monologue.  They think it is soooo funny, and what good am I if I can't be funny once in a while.

"We can't help it!" they argue.

"Oh, really!  Well then I'll just have to take matters into my own hands, won't I?  Maybe I'll make you walk around with something super heavy on your heads.  That'll do it.  Ooh yeah, and then I'll chain some cannon balls to your ears.  So what if you're a hunchback?  I gotta' do what I gotta' do if you're not going to listen already..."  I could do this bit all day.

Except that I have to go buy my guy some pants... 

You know what they say about a joke.  That there is a germ a truth at the heart of it?  Well, there is that teeny tiny (not so tiny) part of me that really does wish they would stop growing--just for a minute--and let me catch my breath already.  Does it really have to go this quickly?  Most of the time I feel like their childhood is water running through my fingers, when I just want to catch it, hold onto it, and admire it for a minute.

Last spring, when I attended Women's Conference, singer/songwriter Hillary Weeks shared a little phrase during her performance that has tumbled around in my brain since then.  She said that over the breakfast table one morning, the thought occurred to her that we are privileged to know our children as children.

And she's right.  I am privileged to know these little people.  They will be adults before I know it.  They will spend the majority of their lives in big bodies with big problems and big worries.  But for now, I get to witness their joy and, perhaps, their spirits in their purest forms, before the awkwardness of teenage years, before the struggle of adulthood.  I get to witness hope undefiled.  I get to witness faith without cynicism.  I get to witness love without conditions.  I get to witness their childhood.

I only wish it lasted a bit longer.

Forgetting Regrets

Something my kids said the other day was funny.  So funny that I thought, "I have to write that down on the blog."  But I didn't.  Because while they were being funny, they were also being a handful, and I was busy wiping them or wiping something they spilled.  Or picking something off of them or picking something they dropped.  Or cleaning them or cleaning up after them.  You get the picture.

And now I can't remember what they said.  As often as I try to scour that spot in my brain, scratching again and again at the place where that moment once sat, I can not recall it.  I can only remember that I found it incredibly funny.  And that makes me sad, that empty spot in my brain.  (And, by the way, nothing looks any cleaner around here than it did before.  That makes me sad, too, but in a different way.)

Oooh, I hope in heaven I get a DVD of all the highlights, along with a remote control so I can rewind and watch as many times as I want.  Over and over until I'm filled.  Until all those empty spots of great moments that I meant to remember, or forgot to take notice of in the first place, are fully recollected, fully appreciated, fully present. 

Until then, I'll just keep blogging.

Favorite quote of the day:

Griffin (in the back seat tying his new school shoes--his first pair of tie-on's ever.)  Ugh!  I can't do it.  I only got half of the bunny ear in the--hmph!  (Now with a bit of a whine in his voice.)  I only have two arms, and I need three 'cause I have to make two bunny ears and then I can't get the...rest...done!

Me:  I've felt like that a lot of times myself.

p.s.  School starts on Wednesday.  I'll be back to regular posting on Thursday.  That is if anyone is still there.  "Hello?  Is this thing on?"

Discoveries in San Diego

at Coronado

some things I learned/relearned about this kid:

he is a great traveler

he is curious

he will watch the same movie 13 times in a row

asking him not to spill is like asking the wind not to blow

he wants to know just about everything

he wants to tell anyone what he knows

he may be a little nervous at first, but once he gets the hang of it he's pretty fearless

he has no concept of time

he has no concept of money

he'll get grouchy before he realizes he's hungry

he loves crepes

he has a big heart

he loves me

and I really, really love him.

Feeding the bat rays at Sea World.  We spent two hours with them.  Not kidding.

More bat rays.

We're still there and still loving it!

Watching the polar bears.

In front of the USS Midway.

He loved the self-guided tour of the aircraft carrier.

More careful listening.

He was fascinated with the airplanes.  Grandpa Wicke (Col. USAF Ret.)  may have a pilot on his hands!

Oh, What do you do in the Summertime?

How do I know it is summer?  We have already had a family BBQ and swim party.  We have already taken a family cartrip.  We started swim team.  My daughter is already begging for a sleepover with her best friend in the whole wide world.  ("Pleeeeeeease?") We are all a tiny bit sunburned.  I'm wearing my swimsuit.  I'm sweaty.  And tomorrow is the beginning of summer movies.

Those are the signs of summer around here, and it's only been a week.  Whew!

And somewhere, amid all that chaos, we already created a favorite memory for me.  On Friday, when the kids ran out of things to do and began bickering, I called them into the dining room.  "Come here, kiddos and bring the book!" I insisted.  Logan dutifully grabbed Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of Nimh, and I convinced a mopey Griffin to participate with the promise of something special. 

I handed him all the blankets out of the ottoman, and then he and I hung them over and around the dining room table.  Then the three of us, armed with snacks, pillows, and a good book, climbed into our little "rat's nest" underneath and read an hour away--with no bickering.  Imaginations only allowed.

And imaginations at work is the best summer sign of all!

Celebration

Last night, when Mr. Wicke got home from work, we took our little family out for a end-of-the-school-year celebration.  Logan had reached her personal goal of breaking 700% for her assigned reading goal and Griffin...well, Griffin had improved his classroom deportment from near-criminal to at least acceptable.  We'll take what we can get.

I had to laugh when a friend told me that her son got a yellow card (gasp!) the other day, an unheard of incident in their household.  So unheard of, actually, that when--as she was tucking him into bed--she asked if he had gotten a green card that day and he shook his head, she automatically responded with a delighted, "Did you get a purple card?"  See, that made me laugh right out loud.  Really hard.  Of course she'd ask that.  He has actually received a few of those commendations.  I, on the other hand, didn't even know purple cards existed!

But, I have to hand it to my Griffin.  He's come a long way this year.  No more sticks.  No more special timer.  Only a couple of (well-deserved) yellow cards in the last couple of months.  And that is to say nothing of his academic performance which has always been excellent.  We are very proud of him.  I give him a purple card in my heart; how about that?

And Logan, as her teacher announced yesterday at their class awards program, received the "Voracious Reader" award; according to the computer's count, she has read 944,000 words in her outside reading this year!  Her teacher told me we should be very proud as that was an outstanding accomplishment, and we are.

So pleased, in fact, that we celebrated with bean and cheese burritoes, quesedillas, and churros at Rubios.  Then it was off to the mall where they each picked a Webkinz.  If ever I let Logan choose a reward, she suggests a Webkinz, and Griffin follows along in her footsteps.  Logan chose the Portuguese Water Dog (us and the Obama's) and Griffin got the Golden Retriever.  I'm not sure how many Webkinz Logan needs before she reaches the saturation point, but so far we have not met it.  She is "collecting" them, as she told us very matter-of-factly.

And while she is busy collecting stuffed animals, I am collecting a heartful of memories.  Yesterday, when I bumped into a couple of women from church, they both commented how they would love to go back to when their kids were little again.  How those were the sweetest, golden years.  I thought of that while I watched Griffin's end of year slide show that he brought home yesterday, and I got a little teary-eyed.  All those happy moments come and gone. 

Already my children are changing.  Learning.  Growing.  Exactly as they should be.  Yet I know it is just a blink and a breath before the children in front of my eyes are gone.  In just a couple of years, she won't love Webkinz anymore.  And Griffin, while still having a mischievous twinkle in his eye, will no longer poke his teacher's bottom (I HOPE!) or come home covered in mud.  I cannot stop it, but I can celebrate it.  We can celebrate the milestones, the happy moments, the changes, and the growth. 

There is never too much celebration.  Never too much of telling them how proud we are to be their parents.  Never, never too much love.

More Ugh...and a Little Fear

This morning:

Logan:  Oh, no.  Not a bow!  Mom!  Why do you have to put a bow in my hair?

Me:  What?  It's cute.  You don't have to wear it if you don't want to.

Logan:  Well, I'm doing my best to look like a 10 year old, and the bow isn't helpin'.

Me:  (gulp...She's making me do that a lot lately.)

The Art of the Well Written Note

The tooth fairy is my least favorite of the magical characters.  She's a bit forgetful, and not very prompt.  Sometimes she shows up a couple of days late, at least around here.  And her demanding those teeth?  C'mon.  Doesn't she know that six, seven, and eight year olds lose everything?  How in the world are they supposed to keep track of those miniscule teeth?

The phrase "I lost my tooth!" is always accompanied by tears.  We should know.  I don't think Griffin has gotten any of his first four actually under the pillow.  Instead he has had to settle for a note of explanation which he hoped the tooth fairy would honor.  She did. 

Tonight, though, I really thought we had it.  He managed to get home from school with it still in his pocket.  After he dropped it on the back patio, we were able to locate it.  When he misplaced it after dinner, he was able to find it.  But then, just as he was brushing his teeth before bed, I heard the other shoe drop in the form of heartbroken sobs.

"What happened?" I asked as I hurried toward the bathroom.

He met me outside the door, tears streaming down his face.  "I lost my tooth."

Man, we were so close this time.

"It went down the drain!" he cried.

"Oh, no.  Were you trying to make it nice and shiny?"  I guessed taking in the wet toothbrush, puddles of water, and copious amount of toothpaste covering the vanity.

"Yes.  And then I dropped it, and it went down the drain."

"Don't cry, honey.  We'll see if Daddy can get it," I said.

"Yeah," Logan comforted.  "And if he can't we can just write a note."

We're good at notes around here.

Mr. Wicke did find it, but if somehow Griffin loses it between the bathroom and his bed, we've got it covered.  Take that, Tooth Fairy!

Valentine Victory

I did it!  Despite the odds, I pulled off the  New-Annual Family Valentine's Dinner.  I was not showered or makeuped but a festive dinner was on the table.  The menu wasn't fancy, but it was the food my children would love and eat.  Meat, mashed potatoes and gravy, and corn are a big hit in this family.  I didn't create the banners, but I did buy a new runner and made my homemade Valentines.  As it turned out, this project was an exercise in letting some things go to let the bigger things be:  An appropriate analogy for most of my mothering, actually.

Treats I knew my kids would love:  Candy and Webkinz!

Ironically, I found the webkinz at CVS while I was waiting for their prescriptions to be filled.

The kids were soooo surprised!

But you just can't teach 'em table manners... "Um...you've got something right here."

The best part?  The next day when Logan said, "You know what you are really good at?"

"What?" I replied.

"Making us nice surprises."

"Well, that's my goal in life, to make you happy," I said.

"You know what the problem with your goal is?" she responded.  "You already accomplished it."

I don't always get it right, but this one was a win.

P.S.  And just so you know it's not all roses and paper doilies around here, later on I'll tell you what caused her to yell, "This is the worst Valentine's Day ever!"  Ah...the sweet ying and yang of motherhood.

Rediscovering My Inner Party Girl

I used to throw parties.  All kinds of parties.  Themed parties, birthday parties, parties just because it was summer, or fall, or President's Day.  But most of all I had parties that couldn't really be called parties; gatherings really; just because friends came by and just because I had a huge pot full of soup and soup can feed a lot of people.  And of course we couldn't get together without playing a game or two and laughing until we cried, and then it just felt like a party.

I don't do that now.  Mostly because it's hard to find a sitter, and mostly because I am tired all. of. the time.  And even making a big pot of soup seems like a chore. 

I'm not sure I like this new me.  I'm hoping it is just a phase.

And maybe it is, because just yesterday I was inspired by Bloom to do something festive for Valentine's Day.  While perusing their site, suddenly in my mind I saw a luncheon for my favorite girlfriends with pink and red banners and burgandy chargers with my dark pink toile plates.  I could serve girly food and make homemade valentines...

And then I thought...my kids would love a party like that.  It struck me that if I'm going to make such grandios plans, why not do it for my favorite people on the planet?  I want them to remember their childhood as full of fun surprises, and I don't want them to know that I'm tired  all. of. the time.  I want to be the fun mom.

So my days of party planning may not be over after all.  Perhaps my parties just got more intimate:  Like dinner on china plates, in the dining room with banners and homemade valentines.

Sweet, Sweet, Sweet

As I was cleaning today, I came across this.  What more could a momma ask for?  (Two points of clarification:  Bubba is Logan's nickname for Baby Lincoln, and no that is not a beard.)

A Dinosaur Party for Griffin

The party season has begun!  From October 1st through Christmas we are very busy here at The Tea Party Place.  Griffin's birthday is the kick off, followed by my own, then Halloween, then Logan's birthday, then Thanksgiving, and then Christmas.  Whew! I'm tired just thinking about it, so I try not to.  "Just one party at a time," that's my motto.

This one was a huge success.  The kids loved making their own dinosaur fossils out of salt dough and the archeological dig in the park for "dinosaur bones" was a blast.  Luckily for me they were selling a bag of bones at the halloween store.  Once I got Griffin to stop telling everyone I was burying "people bones" we were just fine.

Making Fossils

Party Hats

Digging for Dinosaur Bones

Now it's on to planning a Clue party for Logan. Since she loves mysteries--particularly Nancy Drew--I had the bright idea of basing the party off of the Clue board game. She's excited...now I just have to figure out how to do it.

Pros and Cons of Summer

Pros of summer: I get to spend lots of time with my kids.

Cons of summer: I get to spend lots of time with my kids.

Like Dickens said: It was the best of times; it was the worst of times. During the summer I get to do a lot of things with my kiddos that we don't have time for in the school year. Already we have been to the library--twice, started swim team practices--every day, been on a trip to the lake, started co-op summer school classes, had family to visit, started daily chores, and today I'm teaching them how to make cookies. That's a lot in just two weeks, and I'm grateful for this extra time. Grateful to really get a chance to mother.

But I'd be lying if I didn't say that I hate the bickering that accompanies it. And trying to get them to listen is like trying to capture a butterfly. Their attention flits in every direction.

And I may have realized why public school was instituted in the first place. I was talking to another mom at swim team practices and she was saying how behind in laundry she was. "I thought since we'd be swimming so much during the summer that there would be less laundry to do!" I'm in the same boat, but the thing is between the extra activities, the extra lunches to make, the extra referee-ing, and the extra entertaining that is necessary with all of this free time, I find I have very little free time of my own.

I don't think I'm alone in this. (Jeez, I hope not!) I for one am going to try to remind myself that this time is precious. It is so fleeting, and I will never be able to get it back. Maybe I can put up with the bickering if I remember that it is not forever. Not even close. And maybe a little alone time once in a while may help too! Movie night, anyone?

VIP Event: The Zoo Tour

I don't mean to brag, but not long ago Mr. Wicke and I were invited to a private zoo.

Here is a picture of the entrance:


As it was a VIP event only, no one was allowed in without a specially designed ticket:


We saw all kinds of animals, including giraffes, zebras, monkeys, bears, birds and horses, but these two were the owner's favorites:



You can see how well cared for they were in their private quarters.

The tour ended with a trip to the gift shop where a wide variety of items was available for purchase.


I chose a book on "Big Cats" and enjoyed it immensely for five minutes before I was instructed to give it back so their supply would not be diminished. When I hesitated to return it on the grounds that it should be mine with the act of purchase, I was quietly instructed that I "should just pretend."

Hey, if you own a private zoo, you can run it any way you want, I guess.