Dear Past Self, Everything Turns Out Alright

Sometimes I think about what it would be like to go back in time and do things over knowing what I know now. 

Photo Courtesy of Nicole Hendricks

Like so many movies when adults go back to their adolescences or teen years and relive all the events that shaped their lives, I take this proverbial “Peggy Sue Got Married” approach to looking back on my own life and wonder what if….

Last night I had a hard time falling asleep and my mind went to that dark place called memories of high school, and I began listing off all the things I did that I may or may not have done the same if who I am today were in the same position.  After several embarrassing and painful memories popped into my head, I finally fell asleep.

Then today I was driving in my minivan on my way to have my third of four varicose vein procedures, very much my current self as opposed to my sixteen-year old self, and the song “Black” by Pearl Jam came on.  I think it was the classic rock station, but that’s beside the point. There is one line of the song that I have always loved,

“I know someday you'll have a beautiful life,

I know you'll be a star in somebody else's sky,

But why, why, why can't it be, can't it be mine?”

I remember listening to this song long ago and hoped and dreamed that I would be the star in someone’s sky.  I know, typical melancholy teenager, right?  Can you just see me in my room listening to my boom box hoping for whatever boy I had a crush on at that time was listening to the very same song thinking of me? Sad, but true.

I suddenly started thinking about the past again and rather than think of all the things I would change, I thought about what I would tell my past self that might be helpful.

When I was done, I had the most amazing moment of clarity realizing I am exactly where I'd hoped I'd be.  Based on the rut I've been in over the last several months, it was a welcome revelation of just  how wonderful life is and how much I have to be thankful for.

First and foremost, I would tell her not to eat the meat in the cafeteria.  Just sayin’.  In fact, I would tell my past self all sorts of things about what not to eat.  Imagine her dismay when I tell her about the fat free or gluten free movement!  I’d spare her from all those Snackwell’s that she thought were good for her because they were low fat. 

Then I’d tell her that despite the fact she’s pigeon holed as a theater person, she’s a fabulous runner and teach her some Pilates too.  Sounds stupid, but if you knew how much worrying I did about my body back then, you would understand why I’d love to teach her two things that I discovered later in life that changed my body and made me feel better about myself.  Hell, maybe I’d even end up with a scholarship.  However, that would also probably drastically alter the universe and how my life played out. Haven’t you seen “Back To Future?”

I’d tell her which boys to stay away from like the plague, which ones ended up being a waste of her time and energy and which one’s would break her heart.  I’d be careful not to discourage her too much, after all, some of those boys were worth kissing since we all need a little heartache to make us stronger.  I’d tell her boys are really all out for one thing and one thing only, so be careful.

I’d tell her to let things roll of her back and not be so sensitive, but warn her not to take anyone’s shit.  I’d tell her to be more confident in herself.

I would tell her to surround herself with people who make her feel good and do the same for the people she surrounds.

I’d tell her which friends will last the test of time, which one’s end up stabbing her in the back and which ones she will end up being friends with on Facebook that she barely even talks to now, hoping she will give them a chance because they are actually wonderful people.

I’d tell her to avoid stonewash jeans at all costs and not to go through that whole wearing boys’ clothes stage.

I would tell her that her future husband is actually walking the halls of high school right there with her and try to avoid running up to him to see if he has any dry cleaning that needs to be taken in or if he can stay home with the kid while I go out with my friends.  That would surely freak him out.

I would tell her to go home and hug her grandparents and thank them for letting her live with them.  I would tell her to have a cup of tea with her grandma and crack a joke with her grandpa. 

I would tell her to hug her mom and listen to her; she’s smarter than she thinks.  I would tell her she might be a pain in her ass about curfew and whom she hangs out with because she loves her and worries every single second she is away from the house. I would tell her to spend time with her mom instead of running off with her friends.  I would tell her to say “thank you” to her mom for constantly correcting her grammar instead of rolling her eyes.  All that information will be useful some day when she becomes a writer.

I would tell her to work just a little bit harder at school and pay attention in math class because, despite the fact that most of it doesn’t make any sense, she WILL use math some day.

I would tell her not to try so hard to make people like her.  I'd tell her just to be true to herself.

I would tell her to save her money and never to open that credit card in college. 

I would tell her that all those times her grandpa told her to mind her P’s and Q’s, he was talking about Pints and Quarts…like as in beer…which is actually really good advice as to not make a fool out of yourself when you’ve had too much to drink.

I would tell her that she really doesn’t know everything despite what she thinks.  She has a lot to learn.

I would tell her to have more fun and stop worrying so much; youth is fleeting.

I would tell her that despite the fact that she is lost and sad, everything will be okay. 

I would tell her that even though she feels empty, one day she will be whole.

I would tell her that even though she feels lonely, one day she will be needed and surrounded by love.

I would tell her not to be so angry, life is better than you think.

I would tell her not to worry about finding “the one,” because he’s closer than you think and some day he will complete you in every way.

I would tell her some day you won’t feel like “the poor kid.”

I would tell her all the things she hopes for; a family, a beautiful home, friendship and love, will all come to her.

I would tell her she’s beautiful and special and that all the things that she is experiencing will transform her from a girl into a strong, confident, capable woman.

I would tell her not to worry so much about the future and the unknown.  I would tell her to hang tight; everything is going to be all right.

Bubba Lion:The Prodigal Stuffed Animal

If any of you know Colin at all, you know Bubba Lion.

Bubba Lion is Colin's most favorite stuffed animal, although calling him "stuffed" is kind of an oxymoron.  He has been loved and cuddled since before Colin was born.  Over the last few weeks, Bubba Lion went missing and we thought that life would never be the same without him.

Bubba Lion came into our life just weeks before Colin was born.  Maddie and I were shopping at Carter's in order to prepare for his arrival and I let Maddie, who was just shy of 23 months old at the time, pick out a gift for her new baby brother.  She chose Bubba Lion.

As Colin go older, he took to the lion and preferred it over all his other stuffed animals.  He used to turn him upside down and rub the silky tag on the lion's butt as he sucked his thumb.  As with most favorite stuffed animals, he has suffered a lot of wear and tear over time.  After awhile, no matter how many times I washed him, he stilled looked dingy.

Bubba Lion was not always known as "Bubba Lion."  Colin initially called him "Baby," but Tom was somewhat insecure about the level of manliness this name conveyed despite the fact Colin was barely a year old.  We changed "Baby" to "Bubba" and eventually that also became Colin's nickname.  In the shadows was also another favorite stuffed animal named "Bubba Blue," who is a blue teddy bear.  Usually the two stuffed animals were a package deal, but over time Bubba Lion was the favorite.  Most of the time he had to have him in his possession if we left the house and I can't tell you how many times I have had to run back in the house and hunt him down even though we were already running late.

The early days of Bubba Lion.  Still in pretty good shape.

Bubba Lion is a real ladies' man.  The bear on the left is Maddie's comfort animal, "Chloe."

At "Touch A Truck" when Colin was 2 years old.  Can't leave home without Bubba Lion!

Snuggling with Kira (our late Husky), Finn McMissle and of course, Bubba Lion.

The ultimate comfort.  Grandpa, his thumb and Bubba Lion's silky tag on his butt.

Times may have changed, but that is Bubba Lion tucked in between Colin's
arms while he plays games on Tom's iPhone.

This is Colin today with his buddy.  So happy that he was found.

Over the last several years Bubba Lion has gone missing several times.  There have been plenty of occasions I have had to drive back to various restaurants, grocery stores, clothing stores, friends' houses or the childcare center at the gym because Colin had left him behind.  I dug through more lost-and-found bins for the love of this particular stuffed animal than I care to admit. No matter what, he was always salvaged.  There were play dates where I would get a phone call or text that Bubba Lion was found hiding out.  We also had a few incidents where bedtime would roll around and Bubba Lion was nowhere to be found and I would have to re-trace our steps and make embarrassing phone calls to friends or family asking if they could turn their house upside-down looking for the damn lion.

I know full-well that if I really followed the rules of "Love and Logic," I would have to subscribe to the "too bad, so sad" school of thinking that would leave Colin Bubba-less until we could get him back.  But no, I would send Tom back to the gym, a friend would spin by the house after a bar-b-que to deliver Bubba Lion home safely before bedtime and I often turned the car around on our driveway to head back and search under clothes racks at Children's Place to see if Colin had thrown him overboard from the stroller while I was shopping for pajamas.

Then there are the times he goes missing in the house.  I have found him tucked in the bag that I keep my yoga mat in.  I have found him shoved in trucks, drawers, cabinets, between beds, under cushions and under the couch.  I usually find myself standing in various rooms thinking to myself, "What would Colin do?"  Then, I think of the most ridiculous place I can think of, and it is there that I will find him.

Two years ago, Bubba Lion went missing until I happened to go out in the backyard and saw something strange tucked under one of the two-by-four's holding up the walls of our ice-skating rink.  Yes, we had an ice-skating rink in our backyard for two Winters.  (see entry entitled "Ice Capades").  It turns out our dog, who has a penchant for stuffed animals, had brought it outside and buried it like it was one of her kills.  After we defrosted poor Bubba Lion, he was good as new...or should I say good and "loved."

I am pretty sure that my emotional attachment to our friend is more intense than Colin's.  Don't get me wrong, Colin has thrown plenty of temper tantrums and meltdowns when wee can't find Bubba Lion.  However, but at this point in the game, the only one losing sleep over our missing friend is me.  I can blame my children's attachment to their security items on my own issues.

As a child, I had a blanket that I slept with every night.  I didn't necessarily bring it with me where ever I went, but wherever relaxation or sleep was involved, blankie was there with me.  I also used it to play dress up.  It was a veil when I pretended to be a bride.  It was my dress when I pretended to be a super model.  I wrapped my baby dolls in it when I pretended to be a mommy and even tucked it under my shirt when I pretended to be pregnant.

It was a yellow thermal blanket, that at one point, had a satin ribbon trim.  As time went on, the ribbon came off, the color turned from yellow to a beigish-gray and there was a dried up crusted piece of Hubba Bubba on the corner.  There were only a few holes in it and if I had to compare it to other wubbies I've come across, I'd say it was downright pristine. It had my scent, which I am pretty sure was a combination of what all good security items are made of--spit, sweat and snot.  As much as I loved when it was freshly washed, it took awhile to get that comforting smell back that I could press against my nose and take deep soothing breaths as I fell asleep at night.

I continued to sleep with my blankie straight into high school, college and even post-college.  I was living on my own in the city, working a full-time job, traveling all over the United States and still slept with my blankie.  I only occasionally brought it with me on business trips and would often be confidently walking through the airport in a black pants-suit, pulling my wheelie suitcase ready to take on the world...with a security blanket tucked gently in my Samsonite.

My mother told me when I was younger that she would never try to take my blanket away from me.  She knew that I was a mature young lady who grew up faster than I probably should have or needed to. She told me that if that blanket was my one streak of immaturity, she would give it to me.  I kept that blankie with me until the ripe old age of twenty-four and the only reason I don't have it today is because I left it in a hotel room on one of my business trips.  

At that point, I almost never traveled with it, but I was feeling down about having a long stint of business trips.  I had just done a load of laundry when I was packing for a trip to Denver, CO, and decided that bringing my freshly washed blankie would help ease my melancholy attitude about the trip.  Of course, because I wasn't used to having it with me, I forgot to get it out of the tangled sheets in the hotel room before I checked out.  I realized my error while I was on the plane on my way home.  I got that sick, sinking feeling you get when you come to the realization that something terrible has happened and you feel helpless.

I got off the plane and immediately called the Doubletree Hotel I had stayed at to see if housekeeping had found it.  I got forwarded to their voicemail and left a message with all my information.  Unfortunately, my blanket never arrived.  I grieved the loss of my buddy and over ten years later, I still get sick to my stomach thinking about it.  There is a happy ending to this tragic story, however.  When I was in fifth grade, my school made a time capsule where we had to write a letter to our future self and include something small that was important to us.  I cut a corner off my blankie.  When I returned to my school a few years back for my 20 year grade school reunion, they were also celebrating the church's 50th anniversary.  They dug up the time capsule and I was able to retrieve my letter and the small piece of my blankie that I placed in a sandwich bag inside the letter I wrote.

My mom and husband were with me at the anniversary celebration and watched as I cried like a baby with my precious little triangle of a blankie that I held up to my nose.  My mom rolled her eyes and my husband just laughed.  My classmates just looked at me like I was nuts.  They all wrote about who they had a crush on and who their best friends were and there I was carrying on like I never left the first grade, let alone made it to fifth.

So, when my own kids' precious stuffed animals, that are the equivalent to my blankie go missing, I go into full search-party mode.  Our latest case of the missing Bubba Lion was no exception.  I was part CSI, part bloodhound, part Sherlock Holmes.  I originally thought that Bubba Lion had to be in the house somewhere since he was last seen around Christmas and since Colin a case of Hand, Foot and Mouth, he didn't leave the house much for the week between Christmas and New Years.  When he didn't show up 2 1/2 weeks later, I began to worry.  I spent several nights trying to fall asleep as I recalled where we  went during that period of time.  I finally recalled the Friday after New Years when we spent the day running errands and ended up painting pottery at the local Color Me Mine.

I decided that the next day I would begin retracing our steps from that particular day starting with the pottery place.  We still hadn't picked up what we painted, so it was the perfect opportunity to see if they had it in their lost-and-found.  From there, we hit the Starbucks around the corner, since the cupcake shop we had stopped in that day was already closed.  Neither the pottery place nor Starbucks had Bubba Lion.

We needed to eat dinner before I had to be at the gym to teach a class, so we stopped at Portillos where we had lunch the day I thought Bubba Lion went missing.  I asked them to look in their lost and found for him and the gentleman informed me that he didn't find anything.  He also told me they only keep the items in their lost and found for about three weeks.  I had that sinking feeling I had experienced on the plane when I was 24-years old when I realized I left my blankie behind.  I envisioned Bubba Lion getting dumped in the garbage along with leftover beef sandwiches, styrofoam hamburger  boxes and ketchup soaked french fries.

We returned home and I said my fifth or sixth prayer to St. Anthony.  This time I dug deep and really pleaded with him to help us find Bubba Lion since Colin had started to show signs that the reality of Bubba Lion being lost and gone forever was setting in.  I pulled his bed out again.  I looked in every cubby, every cabinet, dresser, couch cushion and finally went through a bin of cars, trucks and Star Wars ships.  Bam!  There he was hiding under the X-Wing Fighter.

I pulled him out and held him up triumphantly and shouted, "I found BUBBA LION!!"  Colin, who was sitting in his bed waiting for me to tuck him in while I was dismantling his room, looked up with quite possibly the best expression I have ever seen come across his face.  It was a mixture of surprise, excitement, sheer joy and relief.  I know this because those were all the emotions I was feeling as well.  I put Bubba Lion up to my nose to smell that smell that was not only comforting to Colin, but to me because it smelled like my baby.

As my kids get older, many of the things from when they were babies are a distant memory.  All the bouncy seats are gone, the clothes have been donated and the Exersaucer is taking up half of someone else's family room as we speak.  But for both my children, they each have a stuffed animal that they have had since before they were born. While both Bubba Lion and Madelyn's bear, Chloe, have seen better days, they are the one constant in their ever-changing lives.

Perhaps that is why my mom let me keep my blankie with no argument.  After all, she had bribed my older brother with dollar bills countless times to get rid of his blankie.  Maybe she just wanted to keep a little piece of her "baby" a baby for as long as possible.  I really wouldn't be surprised seeing as how she still introduces me to people as "her baby" despite the fact I am pushing thirty-seven years old. I have a feeling that deep down my mom was almost as excited and emotional as I was the day I retrieved my little piece of blankie from the time capsule, much as I shared in Colin's excitement when we found Bubba Lion.  

Gravity

I don’t want to come off as a complainer or anything, but sometimes I just feel like gravity pulls a little harder on the Stien Family.

We are so very blessed to have a wonderful family, our health (for the most-part), great friends, and a lovely home that is filled with laughter on a daily basis.  Yet, somehow we always end up in these sit-com scenarios that leave me wondering if anyone else has this many calamities on a regular basis?

Last week was one of those weeks where everything seemed to go wrong and as I sit her Monday morning, the hits just keep on coming.  Last Monday I had just come off of a busy weekend helping plan a Santa 5k that was a huge success, but consumed my life leading up to it.  I went through my usual routine getting the kids off to school, writing my column for the magazines I write for, running errands and preparing for my cycle class that evening.  The kids also had karate, so I picked Maddie up from school, threw a snack in the backseat and she changed her clothes in the back of the minivan in the parking lot of the karate school.

When we got settled, I went to the desk to sign the kids up for the next session.  We had been doing a 2-week trial at a discounted price and I wanted them to continue on.  Colin has been going twice a week and Maddie once since she also has Religious Education and Figure Skating to fit in her busy schedule.   My eyes almost popped out of my head when they told me the grand total for a month’s worth of karate was $300!  That’s a car payment, people.  They also told me that the entire family could participate at that price.  Since Tom doesn’t get home from work until after 6 p.m. and I have the whole physical fitness thing covered with all my teaching, I told them that Tom nor I would be interested in participating. 

I decided that perhaps just Colin should take lessons since Maddie already has her skating.  Of course, explaining that to Maddie was no small feat.  Unfortunately, she had a bit of a breakdown right there at the karate school.  I tried to talk her off the ledge, but we both left feeling sad and my pocketbook a little thinner since even Colin’s lessons were going to run me $100 a month plus $70 for the uniform and necessary equipment, which they talked me into signing at least him up before I left that day.

I had that icky feeling tugging at me that the whole situation was not right.  Everyone was unhappy, even Colin because he doesn’t even want to go in the first place even though he needs it the most.  I got to the gym to teach and had to shift gears to be “on” for my class.  I actually felt much better after taking my aggressions out on my Spin bike until one of the girls from the childcare center entered my class just as I was finishing up.

Apparently, Colin had to go poop and didn’t quite make it to the bathroom in time.  He ended up peeing his pants and “touching cotton” leaving his underwear smeared with poop.  I raced into the childcare center where they had him quarantined in the boy’s bathroom and I tried to clean him up to the best of my ability. He was pretty upset and had already used half a roll of toilet paper to try and dry his pants and wipe his underwear and had left it in a pile in front of the toilet.  As least he didn’t put it in the toilet like he did the last time this happened and ended up almost clogging it up.  I got Maddie to sit with him while I went in the hall to call Tom to have him bring a change of clothes for Colin.  When I returned he had taken all that toilet paper and put it in the toilet.  Luckily I got there in time to retrieve it before he flushed it, which entailed grabbing wads of it with my hand and gradually flushing it. 

After thoroughly scrubbing my hands since I had just been fishing my son’s poopy toilet paper out of the toilet, I ran out to see if Tom had arrived with Colin’s clothes.  When Tom showed up with a pair of swishy pants instead of Colin’s preferred “soft pants,” I knew I would get push back.  Tom was able to handle this situation for me and we were finally on our way home to finally eat dinner at 8 p.m.

Meanwhile, I made the decision that if Maddie couldn’t also take karate, that it wasn’t fair for Colin to do it, especially since Colin’s was still going to cost me a pretty penny.  I did some research on the programs available at the other school Colin had taken his Little Ninja’s class at last year and I could have both kids take lessons once a week for $135 per month and their lessons would be on the same day at the same time. Not only did this alleviate a great deal of logistical issues, it also would prevent Wendy’s drive-thru for dinner.  Fast food dinners seem a bit counter productive when you are trying to instill a healthy lifestyle by participating in physical activities.

I called the other karate school to cancel and told them that we thought it would be best to wait until to the New Year and revisit our budget.  To be honest, I didn’t really think the price tag would be any less of a burden, but was trying to avoid saying, “We Quit.”  I know they were likely shaking their head thinking that is why Colin is the way he is and his behavior will never get better with a mom like me.  The owner offered to let Maddie stay and extra month free of charge, but that would land us one month further in to the whole experience and make it that much harder to say no.  I’ve been in sales; I know how these things work.

I took the cowardly way out and emailed that we would not be returning.  I did however come clean that we would be attending a different school that was more reasonably priced.  Now all I had to do was go in and face them in order to get my credit card swiped to get my money back.  I got in and out of there as quickly as possible before the owner’s wife karate chopped me, especially since Colin was running around on the karate mats with his shoes on and didn’t even bow in and out.

I was relieved to have that behind me when Thursday rolled around.  I had to teach cycle that evening and after I did homework with Maddie, we headed out.  Tom was downtown for a work dinner and I had planned on grabbing dinner after my class at the café at the gym.  This kids cooperated leaving the house for once and we were actually on time.  I hadn’t forgotten anything where I had to turn around and go back home for something.  I wasn’t frantically looking through my purse for something while I drove, wasn’t texting or even talking on my phone.  I had just turned the volume on the radio up slightly so the kids could hear the Christmas music I was playing.  I was only a block from the gym when I suddenly saw a car coming at me on the passenger side of the car.  I couldn’t slow down or speed up.  Everything went slow motion and finally the car ran into us.  I immediately looked in the back seat to make sure the kids were O.K.   Everyone was fine, thank God.

I jumped out of the car and the woman immediately began making excuses until she realized she quite simply just ran right into us.  Another witness ran up to make sure we were O.K. and gave us her contact info saying she saw the whole thing and knew for sure it was the other woman’s fault.  I called 911 and waited for the police to show up.  In the mean time I began making phone calls to Tom, my insurance agent, my boss, etc.

Ten minutes later, the cops still hadn’t shown up. Colin suggested that perhaps they were too busy eating donuts at the donut shop.  I still can’t figure out where he learned about that particular stereotype.  I called the police back and they said that they weren’t even on their way and that we should just exchange information and come into the police station to fill out a report.  I was relieved and figured I could even make it to my class on time.

After the woman backed away from my car, I tried to pull away only to find that my front tire felt funny.  My front tire was pushed in and I had to pull off to the side.  I eventually made my way to the gym figuring either I turn in at a restaurant/ice cream parlor parking lot or go a bit further up to the gym and have people at work to help me.  I drove very slowly and eventually got there.  I taught my class, for which I was 20 minutes late, only to have one of the girls from the childcare center come get me at the end of class to tell me Colin was acting up.  Apparently he didn’t handle the stress of the accident very well.  I got him out of there and then began the process of sorting out the details of having the car towed, talking to police and getting home.

I was talking to the police on the phone, because thankfully the woman had gone straight to the police department to fill out the report, and trying to give my side of the story.  Colin kept yelling at me that his name was “Max” not Colin when I gave the officer the names of the passengers.  That is what Colin has changed his name to this week.  Last week it was Alexander.  The week before it was Carlos.

The police came to look at the car, the tow truck came and my friend came to pick us up and take us home.  Now, all I had to do was get a rental car the next morning so I could get to my 9 a.m. cycle class I was teaching.  I called Enterprise at 7:30 a.m., right when they opened, and they were able to come pick me up at 8:15 a.m. immediately after I got Maddie on the bus.  It gave me just enough time to rent the car and get to my class.  Of course, when I went to close my garage door, it wouldn’t go down.  It took five tries and on the last try I said, “Please God.  Let my garage close.”  And it did.

The Enterprise rental car guy was pretty impressed.

The rest of the weekend went on pretty smoothly despite the extra ten minutes it took me to get the kids in and out of the Ford Focus I was sporting.  Let’s just say I love and miss my minivan.  Sunday we all went to church followed by a pancake breakfast with St. Nicholas.  From there we went to Michaels so I could get some more ribbon to finish decorating our Christmas tree.  Mind you, I’ve bee decorating Christmas trees for three weeks now.  Every time I turn around, Tom decides we need another one.

Tom dropped me off in front of the store and he and the kids decided to stay in the car and pull around when I came out since it was snowing and we didn’t want to drag everyone in.  I was just finishing up at the checkout counter when I saw the kids and Tom walk in the store.  Tom informed me that the screw that had been stuck in his truck tire finally came out and now he had a flat tire. Then my daughter revealed it happened while dad was “doing circles in the parking lot.”  Busted.  Turns out he was doing donuts the parking lot…with the kids in the car…with snow falling.  His response was, “It wasn’t donuts.  We were just driving in circles.  The back end didn’t even spin out.”  Seriously?  I was gone for ten minutes.  He wonders why I didn’t want any more kids.  Three is enough.

I called AAA to get a tow truck while he called tire repair shops.  His spare tire was stolen off his truck years ago and we never replaced it because it cost $700.  Bad decision.  Tom’s parents came and picked up the kids and I, and Tom spent the next five hours waiting for the tow truck and for his tire to get fixed.

I went home turned on some Christmas music, made hot chocolate for the kids, coffee for myself and finished the tree.  By the time Tom got home I had also worked out in the basement and made dinner.  Tom wasn’t happy with how his day had turned out, but knew he had no one to blame but himself.

Monday morning rolled around and when Maddie woke up she sent she wasn’t feeling well.  Then she looked up at me and I realized she had pink eye.  I had some leftover drops from the last time they had pink eye and called her out of school.  She and I did some grocery shopping and then went to pick Colin up from school.  We got home and planned on having a relaxing afternoon.   I had to work later in the evening and had arranged for my father-in-law to watch the kids since I couldn’t bring Maddie to the gym’s childcare center.  I was doing some work on my computer when Maddie came to report that there was a major problem upstairs. Colin had waited too long to get to the bathroom once again and got poop all over the bathroom. 

I found him doe-eyed with shitty shorts in the bathroom.  The odor was intense and could only be a result of him getting it on the floor, the walls, the entire roll of toilet paper, his pants, and down his legs.  He also managed to get it on every layer of the toilet seat.  I scrubbed the toilets, the floors, and the walls.  I tossed the roll of toilet paper, emptied the garbage can, gave Colin a bath and threw a load of laundry in.

All these things that happened over the last week are just the icing on the cake of our chaotic life and general running in circles like dogs chasing their tails.   I often wonder why I always feel like I’m moving against the grain. I try to find ways I can change how I am in order to make it through the day without major calamity.  I feel like I am walking through quick sand half the time, despite the fact I am always running at a frantic pace.  I know that there are probably a million things I could do to be more efficient, better organized and less frazzled. Despite the fact that I sometimes just want to press pause or just want to crawl into bed into a little ball to avoid all of it, I can’t help but be grateful that these are our biggest issues.

I’m grateful no one was hurt in the accident, and that my marriage is still intact despite Tom’s parking lot antics.  Despite the fact crawling in the backseat of a car not made for car seats takes major flexibility and core strength, the worst part of my rental car is that I don’t have seat warmers and XM Radio.  Can you say spoiled rotten?  I am grateful pink eye, which is 100% curable, is what I am calling the doctor about.  I could seriously do without the poop cleanup, but at least he’s going and not holding it.  I lived a charmed life and perhaps all of these “issues” are just life’s way of reminding how good I’ve got it?

Of course, without all of these wonderful “hiccups,” what in Gods name would I write about?  And that, my friends, is the silver lining in all of this. 

Zen and the Art of Being Colin

In a constant effort to channel and redirect Colin's energy, I think we've found it.

It has definitely been a process, but I think if we stick with our new regime, the results will have been worth the wait.  We've tried time-outs.  We've taken away privileges, toys and electronic any screen he could possibly stare at to no avail. When we moved several months ago, my in-laws had their treadmill in our basement until they moved.  During that time, the kids actually enjoyed going in our workout room and using the elliptical, spin bike, treadmill and even lifted some light weights.  Colin especially liked the treadmill and would get my heart rate elevated just standing there watching him.  He would crank up the speed and I would swear he was going to fly off the back of that thing, yet he just kept running.

At one of the gyms I work at, they have an indoor track that is open to the public and when the kids come with me, they always ask to take a few laps.  I usually tell them one lap, but Colin will always take extra.  He finishes breathless, but with a smile and a sense of accomplishment on his face.  Guess the running shoes don't fall far from shoe rack? Because if they did, then that would make him more like his father.

A few weeks ago, Colin was having a particularly hard time behaving.  Tom had been on a month-long stint of constant business trips and I was at my wits end with the amount of button pushing, limit testing and downright rude behavior Colin was dishing out.  I looked at him one morning after he had talked back to me for the fifth time since he opened his eyes only a half hour prior, and in an act of desperation, told him to drop and give me ten push-ups.  I figured, I teach all these classes and yell at people, push them to their limits and they all do exactly what I ask them to. There are even times when I scratch my head and some people will scratch their's because they do exactly what I do.

At first Colin looked at me quite puzzled.  I told him I was serious and since he had talked back, he had to give me ten push-ups.  He got down and gave me ten piss-poor push-ups.  Guess we will have to work on that.  Awhile later he talked back again and I made him give me ten more.  Once he caught on that I was serious, the day went more smoothly.  Later that week, Colin got in more trouble, as Colin is always capable of more trouble.  This time Tom was home and he led the calistenics.  He was a little more rough on him.  He had him doing sit-ups, push-ups and sprints up and down the stairs.  Despite the fact Colin usually enjoys physical activity, he was worn out by the end and not pleased with this form of punishment.  Of course, the rest of the day any time he stepped out of line, all we had to do was threaten him with any one of the exercises and he fell into line.

A few weeks ago, my mom was watching the kids and my she texted me that Colin had just informed her he does two hours of meditation each morning.  I had to laugh just imagining Colin, the newly crowned King of B.S., telling my mom this with complete sincerity.  While Colin doesn't typically do two hours of mediation, he had been known to sit cross legged with his hands on his knees, eyes closed and chanting "Om."  I know he got this notion from the "Buddies" movies where one of the dogs named "Buddha" practices yoga and meditation.  Still, the fact that he picked up on this particular dog's actions instead of the one who plays sports, is interesting to me.  Of course, there is another dog, "Butterball" who eats a lot that Colin likens himself to when he asks for bacon and bacon for breakfast.

Last week I found Colin doing push-ups in the family room, without punishment.  I asked him what he was doing and he said he was going to start with the push-ups, then do his sit-ups.  Then, he was going to do his meditation, followed by yoga and finally practice his karate chops.  His meditation lasted about five minutes, versus two hours, but the fact that he sat still and focused for that amount of time takes true discipline for a four-year old any way you slice it.  He asked me to do some yoga with him and I obliged despite the fact it has been awhile since I've done any.  I walked him through a basic flow that lasted about ten minutes and then he wanted to move on to karate chops.  He was using the furniture for his practice and I thought it might be a better idea if he used my arms instead of the arms of the chairs we just dropped a small fortune on.

He completed his practice and seemed quite please with himself in the end.  I also notice that his behavior for the remainder of the day was better than most.  It reminded me of his biting and overly aggressive phase.  The pediatrician had recommended playing rough with him, doing exercises where I pushed on his joints and having him do jumping exercises.  It is typically used for kids with sensory issues, but they offered it up and a suggestion before we left the house so he could better handle social settings.  The bottom line, this boy needs discipline, focus and to be worn out.

We recently had Colin in hockey and the coach was a real ball-buster.  Colin actually responded well to him, and I honestly wished this guy babysat in his spare time.  However, Colin was not to fond of the game "Shoot the Ducks" where the coach shot cones at the kids while they skated. After he completed his last session, he left the ice and proclaimed he was, "never coming back to this hockey class ever again."  I supposed getting knocked on his ass half a dozen times sealed the deal.  He told me he'd rather play soccer where he can score goals without the whole skating thing.

Our other plan is to put Colin back in karate.  Based on his most recent "zen approach," I think karate would offer the right combination of discipline, focus and the ability to learn when hurting people is okay and when it is not.  So far he is focused on kicking people down, hitting people and breaking things in two.  It would appear some clarity and direction is in order.

I find watching Colin's multi-faceted personality unfold completely amazing, entertaining and puzzling.  It is clear he is smart---probably too smart for his own good. He it constantly asking questions, expressing his opinion and offering up his own philosophy in his own little world.  Now, I just have to figure out how to convince him to believe in God even though he can't see him, and figure out how he developed a penchant for heavy metal music.  But that's another subject for another blog.

You Can't Make This Shit Up

I think I might have to change the name of my blog to "You Can't Make This Shit Up."

I sometimes wonder if people think I am making up some of the stories I tell about my life and my children. If I didn't live through it, I wouldn't believe it myself.  This morning was no exception.

It is pretty common for Tom to wake me up at 5:00 a.m. to ask wardrobe questions.  Despite 10 years of dressing him and explaining time and time again that you absolutely may not wear black shoes with navy blue pants, he still has the nerve to ask.  Other days it is the eternal argument of whether his pants are grey, brown or green.  I'm pretty sure he's color blind but won't admit it.  Therefore, we have an impossible conversation where I have to convince him that his eyes are playing tricks on him and to trust me.  Other times he asks for my opinion and then complains about what I end up picking for him.  If he asks me more than three questions, it is pretty much a given that I will not be able to fall back asleep.  He is able to pay money at work towards a charity in order to wear jeans for certain months at a time and it is worth every penny.

When Tom woke me this morning, I figured it was a question about whether or not he had clean boxers, but instead he asked if I had seen his phone.  I was puzzled because he usually has his phone attached to him, but he said he plugged it into the charger before he went to bed and it wasn't there.  We looked everywhere and were still left scratching our heads.  It appeared someone had broken into our house and only stolen Tom's phone.  Seemed unreasonable since we have an alarm system and most seasoned crooks would likely opt for more quality and quantity, and not just an iPhone 4 with a cracked case.  I joked that perhaps the Tooth Fairy stole it since she visited Maddie last night.  I finally suggested Colin as the culprit, and Tom found it hard to believe our little sound-sleeper would wake up in the middle of the night, unplug the phone and bring it up to his room. I decided to check anyway since we had exhausted all our efforts, and the only thing more ridiculous was the Tooth Fairy theory to fall back on.

 I entered Colin's room to find him under the covers, with Tom's phone and a flashlight, watching Netflix. I snatched it from him and brought it down to Tom so he could get to work.  Tom heard Colin crying and ran upstairs to console him.  Surprisingly, Tom was very calm and understanding.  I think he was actually more impressed than anything.

I told Colin he could come sleep in my bed for the rest of the morning, but still couldn't figure out why he was up in the middle of the night.  I asked him if he was trying to catch a glimpse of the Tooth Fairy.  He crawled into bed with me and a few minutes later proclaimed he wanted to go back to his own room.  I told him he had to go back to bed and not stay up an play.  Within a few minutes he was back again, curled up and fell asleep.  Luckily, after all my super sleuthing, I was able to fall back to sleep as well.  

When I woke up about an hour later, Maddie came downstairs and reported that the Tooth Fairy had not come.  I went up to help her look for the money, I myself planted the night before, and it was nowhere to be found.  It only took me a few moments to realize where the next place to look was.  I marched into Colin's room and found the money under his pillow.  In short, my four-year old had lifted electronics and cash in the middle of the night.  This does not bode well for his future.

I still maintain that all the money we are saving for Colin to go to college will end up going towards bail money some day.  Looks like we'll have to save his Tooth Fairy money too, just in case.