Philly Moms

Whose vacation is it, anyway?

Today was our last full day in Rome.  And if I'd had my way, I would have spent it wandering the narrow medieval streets, popping into boutiques.  Or taking the tram up to the new MAXXI contemporary art museum. 

Instead, I was burped at by a brontosaurus and sneezed on by a mammoth.  Oh, and I spent about $60 for the privilege.  All over the city, the Time Elevator advertises itself.  It's one of those simulated motion rides, all about the history of Rome.   And for the last 4 1/2 weeks, my kids have wanted to do it. 

They have enjoyed many of the other activities that we've done (activities chosen, by and large, by the grown ups).  But they've also put up with countless visits to churches and shoe stores, lots and lots of walking, and numerous "picnics" involving yet another salami sandwich on a bench, because their parents didn't want to pay for another restaurant lunch.  Oh, and they put up with a lot of time in the apartment, away from their friends and toys. 

Reality Bites

We're in Rome, Italy -- three weeks into a five-week stay.  Our three children are all experiencing it quite differently.  Our oldest is soaking up the history and just being here, loving feeling like an "expert" on all things Roman.  Our daughter is seven, and she's enjoying the shopping and gelato.

Our youngest is four, and is having the toughest time.  Not that it's horrible, it's just that he's too young to really appreciate much of what the city has to offer, and frankly, he misses his toys.  On the other hand, he's more interested in speaking Italian than the other kids; he even likes to order for himself in restaurants.  And he is really enjoying learning stories of things that might have taken place here:  gladiators and the Colosseum in particular.

So it's a shame that the cold hard truth keeps getting in the way of his experience here.  During our visit to the Colosseum, we talked up gladiators and fighting.  We happily pointed out where the wild animals were kept, and fantasized about what animals there were.  So naturally, he turned to me -- in all seriousness -- and said "Mommy, can we come back here tomorrow and see the real gladiators fight the real wild animals?"  I don't even want to think about the look on his face when reality rained on his parade, and he found out that he will never see real gladiators fighting real wild animals.

Gearing up for a change of pace

Let me start off right now by saying that I realize I don't deserve a whole lot of sympathy for the completely stressful situation I'm in.  Nor do I have much right at all to complain about.  This is a completely stressful week -- coming on the heels of another completely stressful week.  It is almost entirely due to our own (my husband's and mine) decision, and for a very good reason.  We are getting ready to leave -- in one week -- for five weeks in an apartment in Rome.   With the kids. 

Which is fine (wonderful even!), but for the complete and utter stress of not only getting ready for the trip, but also wrapping up everyone's school years.  The two oldest will leave early, which means I get to skip all those year-end events, but means I have to wrap things up with all their teachers.  The youngest one's last day of preschool is today, which means I spent the last two days attending year-end events, and now have the pleasure of his company for the rest of my planning.  In addition to school-related events and trip packing and planning, because we'll be back in early July I have to line up the rest of our summer activities before we go. So it's all feeling like a bit much right now.

Watching the game, via text

I'm a lousy sports mom.  Really.  I can't stand to watch.  Maybe it's because my son loves to play, he's committed and he works hard, but he's not a natural athlete.  That's a hard combination, so it's hard to watch. 

I don't mind watching soccer so much.  Maybe because there isn't as much attention on the individual.  Or maybe because I know my son doesn't like soccer as much as baseball.  The more the kid likes the sport, the harder it is for me to sit through.  If he was really talented, I might be fine.  If he didn't love it so much, he wouldn't be play so I wouldn't have to watch.  If he wasn't so committed, I wouldn't mind watching because I'd know that he wasn't so disappointed with each strike out, each dropped ball.

It doesn't help that this year his team is more Bad News Bears than Philadelphia Phillies.  As write this, they've only won one game all season.  It was the game that conflicted with the Cub Scout jamboree; they were down so many players that they had to borrow some from another team.  The loaner players were a talented bunch. 

To trend or not to trend

My 7 year old daughter is into these "bandz."  In a big way. She collects them, trades them, shares them.  Takes them off and admires them.  Talks about them with her friends.  She owns the (apparently) elusive black microphone stand.  Adores the pink unicorn.  Wishes she had the Liberty Bell.

When I first learned about this craze, I assumed it was a first grade thing.  Maybe second grade, too.  Because my third grade son never mentioned the things.  But no, he informs me, all the grades are into it.  Just not him.  Apparently, my son is trend-proof.  A few years ago, he half-heartedly tried out Pokemon cards, but had to admit he really didn't like them (turns out, he only pretended to because his friends did).  So when the Bakugan craze hit, he didn't bother.  To tell the truth, this kid doesn't even really like toys much.  His allowance goes straight into the bank.  And just try to get him to pick out a souvenir on a trip, or at a ball game.  (Believe me, I've tried.)  I offered (pleaded?) to get him a Phillies t-shirt (Jayson Werth, his favorite!) during a mother-son outing to Citizens Bank Park last summer.  His response?  "But I've already got a Phillies shirt."  What sane third-grade baseball fan says that?

I know that I should get down on my knees and thank my lucky stars for a boy who not only asks me to spend virtually nothing on him, but has enough backbone to ignore the trends that "all the other kids" might be into.  But the thing is, I look at my daughter, soaking up the latest craze, craving souvenirs and trinkets, and I get it.

Just a big softie

It's that time of year again.  No more hiding behind sweaters and jeans, under hats or wrapped in scarves.  Time for shorts, short sleeves, and soon -- gulp -- swimsuits.  Yep, time once again to come to terms with my "new" body.  The softer version of me in my twenties.  I can't really call it new anymore, because I've looked this way for awhile, but I've only recently admitted to myself that this is what I look like now.

I wish I could call it a "mommy" body -- or somehow blame it all on the fact that I have had three pregnancies.  But I'm surrounded by enough moms who are thin as rails that I can't really blame it on the babies anymore.  (I long for the days when we all had little tiny babies, and we all had handy excuses for our softness.)

Last week was the last straw.  One afternoon, my four-year-old was lying on top of me, cuddling on the couch.  He was so happy, sighed in his contented way, and said "You're so big and soft and warm."  Shock number one.  Thanks, kid.  Did we have to use the word "soft" here?  "Cuddly" would have fit the bill. 

Mommy learns "Joey learns the touching rule"

Every year, first graders in my kids' school district see a movie called "Joey learns the touching rule."  It's part of a program teaching the kids about "safe touch."  We parents get a letter about a month prior to this, inviting us to a viewing and a question/answer session so that we know what our kids are seeing and can be prepared to talk to them about it.  

Two years ago, when my son was in third grade, I couldn't go to the parents' meeting and was torn up about it.  I talked to neighbors extensively until I was fairly satisfied that I knew what the deal was, but I certainly didn't want to miss it when I was invited this year, now that my daughter is in first grade.  I assumed that -- as important (although icky) a topic as this is -- most parents would try to attend.  So I made sure to get there early.  And there were six people there.  By the time the program started, there were ten.  Seven or eight trickled in late.  That's all.  And this was for the whole school district.  This was the daytime session, maybe the evening session that night would have more -- but there still seemed to me to be a lot of parents missing.  I make this sort of mistake all the time:  assuming that something will be packed when it's not, or vice versa.  But as the program began, I realized what was really going on: the parents who do come to this sort of thing aren't planning to sit idly by.  They have lots to talk about!!  And the other parents know it.

How much longer until winter?

Wow.  That was a horrible winter.  All that snow!!  I'm so glad it's over.  Phew.  What a relief to see such beautiful weather.  It's been so sunny and warm!  How great that the kids can play outside. 

There.  I said it.  Now I'll tell you how I really feel.  I actually enjoyed this winter.  I love snow, for one thing.  Really love it, and I was thrilled that we got so much this winter.  But the real thing is, all this spring weather means kids playing outside, and a whole new level of stress.  I'm not even talking about traffic here.  It's playground dynamics (or in this case, neighborhood dynamics), plain and simple.

I live on the enviable street in my town.  It's a cul de sac, so the traffic is minimal.  And there are tons of kids. Seriously, when you add in the kids from around the corner, there are maybe 30, from preschool to 6th grade.  And this year, Capture the Flag has taken over the street. 

Giving myself a break

Today, I'm giving myself a break. 

I've been hard on myself lately, as far as my parenting skills are concerned.  I feel like a failure.  I never established boundaries about where my children can (and can't) eat in the house.  My oldest doesn't even eat fruit anymore.  My daughter has been crawling into our bed at night, and we're too tired to move her back.  And my three year old watches too much tv.  Not too mention:  we don't always eat organic and local.  There may well be BPA in their water bottles, but it doesn't matter because they prefer their drinks with high fructose corn syrup. 

Most of the time, I can let these issues slide.   And take heart in the fact that my children are generally happy and healthy, they take pride in doing well in school, and tend to be respectful towards grown ups (though we're still working on the eye contact).  But lately, I've been feeling like a failed parent.  Seems like everytime I turn around, I encounter someone who seems to be doing better than me.

Then today I heard a story on the radio, and realized that I'm doing okay.  I'm doing better than okay.  I may actually be a fabulous parent.  Because while I can easily recall the last time I yelled at the kids, I honestly can't remember the last time I brought one of my children along while I robbed a jewelry store. 

Notes from a First Grader

Ever since my daughter figured out that letters make sounds, she's been writing things down.  Notes, shopping lists, feelings.  Only recently, though, can I decipher them.   These little notes are extremely enlightening.  Like little windows into her mind, I can tell what's going on with her.  They give me insight as to how to parent her, make me laugh, make me almost cry.

One day, cleaning her room, I found a note on the floor near her window seat.  It read "I love my mommee so much but she ax like she dusnt love me."  Wow.  Talk about tearing my heart out.  I'm sure on one recent day when she'd been sent to her room, she curled up in the corner and banged out that little doozy of a note.  And I'm thrilled to have a child who has already learned the benefits of writing down her feelings.   She never intended for me to see it (I know this because she often does leave notes for me to see), but I'm glad I did.  Even though I tell her often how much I love her, give her hugs and kisses, I can always show more love -- and you can bet after seeing this note, I do.