Tag Archives: Biddie

Biddie(13) is a twee bit obsessed with a certain boy band from across the pond. She bought the One Direction video with money from her babysitting gig and conned Steve into watching it with her. This is the conversation I overheard.

Steve: “Do any of these guys play instruments?”

Biddie: “Oh, yeah. Harry plays the kazoo. And that one plays the triangle.”

Steve: “So they’re real musicians then.”

Thinking that their musical talent might not be the main draw. . .

—Erin


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The Best Homes Are People Not Places

Happy Memorial Day, everyone! I hope you have had plenty of family time and have taken a moment to think about our freedom and remember all of the women and men who have secured it for us. That’s what it’s all about, right?

Erin is spending Memorial Day Weekend at the beach celebrating Ace’s 15th birthday. But I’m relaxing with my family close to home, going to some parties, doing some baking, and attacking some yard work. So there is no reason to skip Stasha’s Monday Listicle: 10 WORDS THAT DESCRIBE YOUR HOME. A girl can only haul so much mulch or bake so many cookies without a break. Quick word of advice, don’t let those two activities cross paths. Mulch in baked goods cannot be passed off as fiber.

Erin's Weekend

Ellen's Weekend. This is totally representative of my discovery of the snake skin shed in the holly bush I was trimming. No exaggeration.

So where to begin? Erin threw out this helpful email, “My house is known as command central.” Gee, I think we all can say that. Not really enough to work with. Even though I’m not rollicking on the beach, I have better things to do than create lists out of thin air.

Then there is the post we wrote about Erin’s Oasis and my counter post about The Coco Room Apocalypse. Quite frankly, they provided TOO much to work with. And since  my house hasn’t been completely clean since I started blogging, I was in no mood to review Erin’s neat house techniques, albeit, they are very good and handy.

See? I'm sappier than I let on.

So I was going to copy from this canvas on my wall because Erin has a very similar one hanging in her house. But it seemed very precious and quite frankly, a little plagiarize-y. I mean, do I really want to stoop to ripping off the equivalent a Hallmark card? I may have a touch of the sappy, but I ooze with integrity. I’m Googling right now to see if there is an ointment for that.

But I was inspired! The Listicle asks for words describing our homes, not our houses. I was on the right track with the wall art, but I needed originality. Our homes are the people who fill our hearts and clog our septic systems, not the disorderly conditions of our stray sock baskets. And since you can’t get more one-of-a-kind than the people in our lives, I present without further ado…

The People Who Transform Our Houses Into Homes

(While the names have been changed per our kids’ requests, the personalities are all real.)

Erin’s Army first…

They are almost this funny. Wait, they ARE this funny.

1. Ace. My oldest son just turned 15 years old and is completing his freshman year in High School.  He is a huge sports fan and plays soccer and runs track. Ace looks like my husband and acts like me. He can make friends with a light bulb.  He is funny, impetuous, and confounding.

2. Biddie. Her blog name came to me, because my husband’s family is Polish.  They used this nickname  for his sister when she was younger, because she was small but mighty.  That’s our Biddie. Thirteen years old, smart, creative, funny, and athletic, Biddie is everything I wish I was at her age.

3. Charlie. He is my 11 year old who loves soccer, Comic Books, and hats.  I swear that he is either going to be the Frat President in college or its mascot. The kid is slightly cracked, but in the best possible way. Everybody loves him. One of the nicest compliments a teacher gave us about him was that of the 24 kids in his class, twenty-three of them considered him one of their best friends. He is our soft, sweet center.

4. Deacon. He was the one I had the hardest time renaming for the blog. His actual name is soooo perfectly him that it was hard to imagine him or referring to him any other way.  Deacon is 8 years old and loves to build LEGOs, play soccer, and do science and art projects. At home, we sometimes call him The Hammer, because he has singular focus and knows what he wants.

5. Eddie.  Eddie is a total Momma’s boy. My husband implied that his obsession might be a little more than your average bear (do you see where we are going with this? Oedipal Complex?).  Eddie is 4 years old and loves Star Wars, stealing the iPad2 from his siblings, books, and hiking. He is stubborn, smart, and adorable—a deadly combo.

6. Steve. Last, but never least, is my husband of 15 years, Steve. When I told him that I was going to use military-inspired aliases for the blog and I thought that I might call him The Colonel (you know, because I am The General), he said, “I feel more like The Corporal.”  He makes me laugh most days, and he is the most patient, kind person I have ever known. He’s the best.  You are just going to have to trust me on this one.

Now Ellen’s Crew…

Don't worry, we only wear these pants on Thanksgiving..for the stretch. Oh and on Groundhog Day...for the style.

7. Frank. He is my soul mate and the best father I could imagine for our two girls.  We have been together since he hit on me on that fraternity house lawn.  I am blessed to have his support and love.  He is sharp and witty and definitely lightens me up.  I might be a smidge intense. I do have a tendency to tell him that he is lucky I don’t have an addictive personality, because he might be a bit of an enabler.  But hey, he boosts my ego when Coco gets done with me.

8. Coco. So, Coco is nearly 14.  I think she really picked the alias Cocoa because she loves chocolate, but I changed it to Coco because the girl has style.  She is a preternatural force.  She brought me to my knees as an infant with her colic and sometimes we question if the colic ever ended.  She is a musician, an athlete, an actress, a writer, and a first class student.  God gave her to me to keep me in my place.  You should thank her too, because she keeps me from thinking that I am all that and a bag of chips.  I am happy and blessed to know her.

9. Jellybean. She is 11.  She is the least pleased with any of this blog stuff.  She is a girl you want as your friend.  She is kind, but not sappy, and definitely has a bit of the imp about her; just ask the cat.  She is fun with a silly sense of humor, but has a well-defined BS meter.  She is happy to be with a group, but can go and do her own thing without forcing the group to conform to her.  She brings her determination to her sports, her Legos, and her schoolwork.  Jellybean just gets it done.  Her laugh has brought me joy from the first moment I heard it.

Hmmm…I ran out of family members. Seems like we didn’t have Monday Listicles in mind when we were squirting out kids. So number 1o is a bonus funny…

10. Antique White. This is something both of our families ridicule tease Erin about. She wants to paint everything in her home “Antique White,” (I know, that’s a whole different issue). She actually thinks she has painted everything “Antique White.” I, along with the entire Army and Crew, are here to tell the world, and her, once and for all: HER CHOSEN COLOR IS YELLOW!

So I guess the moral of this story is that Erin can’t suppress her sunny, positive personality with the bland and mundane, even when she tries.  

Fondly, Ellen

Booooooring Antique White or Sparkling Superfly Yellow?  Which do you think fits Erin best?

Now check out the other great Listicles, although I can almost guarantee they won’t contain a flying Boohbah.


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“No” is a Brussels Sprout

Ellen – “No” is the Brussels sprouts of the world of language.  But it’s not them, it’s you. People don’t know how to cook them!

My mommy doesn’t know how to cook Brussels sprouts

And people don’t know how to use the word “No.”

Erin –  We are here to tell you to embrace Brussels sprouts.

Ellen – Ok, Green Grocer, what we are really here to tell people is to embrace the word “No.”

Erin“No” is the ultimate negative word. When you see that on a sign, you know to put the brakes on.

Ellen – Like when you see a “No Alcohol Served Here” sign?

ErinYes! You know to walk the other way. But now who needs to focus?

Ellen – Ok, I’m talking about the word “No” in your mommy arsenal, because a “No” has to have firepower behind it to work. Sometimes this means getting off the couch to discipline after you’ve said “No” for the fifth time. Sometimes it means picking your battles wisely.

Erin –  Picking your battles is important. You can’t waste all of your bullets during a skirmish, because you won’t have any left for the real war. Strap on your helmet and pick up your gear, because we have a mission objective.

Ellen – We are just trying to raise human beings who can function and play with others safely in society.

ErinSometimes it is easier said than done. In a tale of woe from the front lines, I violated these tenets. I was lobbing grenades when I should have been using my energy to whittle down my laundry pile.

Ellen- You brought a world o’ hurt raining down on your head that you didn’t need. All over a doll.

Is this tarted up battle line worth it?

ErinBratz dolls were all the rage when Biddie was in early elementary school. To say that these toys irked me is soft-selling my real issue with them. They looked like Fun-Sized Streetwalkers to me—there was no way that my girl was going to be playing with those totems to anti-feminism.

Ellen – Yikes. You should have given that Bratz doll a heaping dose of the cold shoulder. Instead, you shoved that hussy front and center, giving her the spotlight.

ErinIt was a rookie mistake that blew up in my face. When I said, “You will never play with Bratz dolls,” what was interpreted by my seven year old’s brain was…

Ellen– “This is what I want to fight with you about for the next four years.”

ErinThat “No” catapulted those “Poster Dolls of Woman Hatred” to the status of forbidden fruit. And the battle lines were drawn.

Ellen– I am not going to say I told you so.

Erin- And you didn’t then. But your raised eyebrows, nail nibbling, and shuffle-step backward to avoid the shrapnel spoke volumes.

Ellen– I was concerned about your stand, because you did not control the battlefield. You just can’t dictate what is given to your child at birthdays. ((Please don’t be one of those mothers who has a birthday gift registry.)

Erin- When Biddie opened that package at her seventh birthday party, she gave me a look that said, “The gauntlet has been thrown down.” I cringed.

Ellen– You couldn’t win. If you let her keep the doll, you were going back on your principles, in essence branding yourself a big fat liar. But by taking it away, you were forced to be the villain.

ErinIf I had just ignored them like the Sisterhood told me to, Biddie would have played with the thing for about five minutes, chopped the doll’s hair off, and left her naked in the bottom of a toy bin, ripe to be whisked into the garbage can. I wouldn’t even escort THAT streetwalker to Goodwill.

Ellen- They only had about 15 minutes of fame in my house.

ErinI get it. The rigid oak tree snaps while the willow tree bends.

Ellen– O-kay, Sensei.

ErinBut there are times when the issue is worth it. In those moments, you have to stand your ground.

Ellen– And you have to start young. There are a million times a day with toddlers when you have to say no and mean it. “No, you can’t shave the cat.” “No, you can’t have mommy’s special juice.” ” No, you can’t draw a Sharpie mustache on your brother.”

ErinLife is hard in the trenches–wet, smelly, and monotonous. We get it! Who do you think is beside you in that foxhole? But if the “No” is worthy, you just can’t give in because you’re tired or they flash you those baby blues.

Ellen– Your “No” is not just an expression of negativity. Your “No” shows love, because it gives them the sense of safety they crave. No one is going to let them careen over the edge of that cliff–metaphorical or real. You are there to pull them back.

We frown on helicopter parenting too, but maybe Wile E.’s mommy could have supervised him a little better.

Erin–  No man gets left behind. They need that built into their brains. They are going to push. Boys, girls, toddlers, tweens, teens—they are all just looking for gaps in the fence line EVERY DAY. Boundaries are tough to maintain, but they actually make kids feel safe and empower them to spread their wings.

Ellen– You really are laying the foundation for your future on Planet Teen.

ErinBottom line: Say what you mean and mean what you say.

Ellen– All of this hit home when Coco threw her tantrum. I’m not talking about when she was 2 years old, but those were indeed nuclear. I’m talking about the one she threw a couple of months ago at the ripe ol’ age of 13.

Coco had to pay the piper for her actions by being grounded. This grounding would make her miss a prime social situation. Coco thought that if she righted her wrongs, she would be able to go to the prime social situation.

ErinCoco, that’s a negatory. Have you met your Mom?

Ellen – The meltdown she had when it sunk in that her penance was not going to shorten her term was epic.

I swear it felt like I was being pulled through one of those swirling time travel tunnels to the day my abundantly pregnant self had to abandon my grocery cart, awkwardly grab 2 year old Coco by her heel, and drag her out of the store. My ginormous self could not get a grip on her flailing body any other way.

ErinDon’t worry. She was also abundantly judged by every gawker in that store.

Ellen – But you know what else happened on that embarrassing day? I mortared a brick into the foundation of my parenting platform. When I said “No”, there was nothing she could do that would force me off of it.

And I was so glad for the precedent of consistency I had set when I faced her toddler meltdowns. The stakes only get higher. The issues only get weightier

ErinDo you see? Even though Coco was pushing, Ellen had some very firm legs to stand on.

Ellen – So, the Sisterhood Secret? Strong boundaries make strong kids.

ErinBoundaries are what children crave and need to feel safe. It is scary for them to think they run the show.

Ellen – And for the love of all that is good, don’t throw down over stupid stuff. Leave yourself some wiggle room, so that if your child presents a reasonable case, you can acknowledge their argument and compromise.

ErinPick your battles wisely or you are going to be too exhausted for the real issues.

Ellen – And here is the bonus Sisterhood Secret: Roast your Brussels sprouts!

Boundaries. They’re not just for coyotes.

 

 

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A Hit and A Miss: The Monday Listicle Game

This week on Monday Listicles we are following the prompt from Anna at The Mommy Padawan.  She charged us with creating a list of “10 things you really like about yourself, things you are good at, or your super powers!”

We actually feel pretty good about ourselves. This defies all reason if you check out our old school pictures, but what can we say, we were late bloomers. So, hopped up on our own hubris, we decided to ask our kids what they thought was good about us.

 Ellen

When I asked my kids what they liked about me, the resulting conversation felt like a rollicking three ring circus.  So my list got a little out of control. I’m going to give each of my kids five things, because when you get this much sunshine blown your way, it feels like Mother’s Day.

Jellybean (11)

1. You buy us Cheez-its three boxes at a time.

Me – But what do you like about ME, beyond what I buy for you? You know, the inner me?

Jellybean – You have intestines.

That’s my girl!

2. Your fashion sense isn’t embarrassing.

Whew!

3. You do doctor stuff like healing my wounds.

4. You make great Tater Tot casserole and you stay fit.

Those two things seem kinda contradictory, don’t they?

5. You made me.

And my heart sings.

Coco (13)

1. You’re able to persevere through anything.

Wow.

2. You don’t get all uncomfortably up in my life.

3. You can parasail, rock climb, canoe, kayak, and hike.

Like a boss.

4. You are very creative with your blog.

That’s it. I need no other praise.

5. But what do you like about yourself, Mom?

Well, well.

Me – I like that I can pretty much do anything I put my mind to.

Jellybean and Coco – Yeah, we can see that.

Wow. Validation is mine, reflected back to me by my daughters’ words.

Erin

Wow. Reading Ellen’s kids’ reflections on their mom is sweet and inspiring and dear. My first thought after I asked my crew what they liked about me and heard their responses: “Huh, now I know why some animals eat their offspring.”

Sometimes Momma Bear just has to take matters into her own, er, paws!

To be fair, we were traveling in the car when I asked them, but here is the list unedited (and my crew didn’t make it anywhere close to 10!).

Me: So, what is something I do really well?

Crickets. Nada. Nothing. Then this. . .

1. Ace (14): You make great chocolate chip cookies.

Um, okay, he’s fourteen. All he thinks about is food.

2. Charlie (11): You are a great baker. You make great chocolate chip cookies.

Ok, slacker, your brother just said. . .

3. Deacon (8): Hmm, let me think. . . you make great chocolate chip cookies.

Really, boys? Where’s the love?

Now, I have heard that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, but I didn’t know this applied to little men as well.

But I do make a damn, fine cookie if I say so myself.

Girl child made me feel slightly better . . .

4. Biddie (13, and my new favorite child): You are a creative writer, a good friend to everyone, you stay fit, and have a good fashion sense. Oh, and you make really good chocolate chip cookies.

Well, she is definitely fishing for something, but I’ll take it.

But the piece de resistance!!  My sweet baby who still cuddles me and tells me that I am his girlfriend and the most beautiful woman alive, what does he have to say??

5. Eddie (4): You are really good at yelling at Daddy.

(I feel like I need a disclaimer here: WE WERE ON A CAR TRIP! I was driving, and Steve was being a front-seat driver.)

Seriously? Are you kidding me?? The whole car thought that was a total hoot and raucous laughter ensued.

Charlie chimed in: “No do-overs! You have to put that on the blog.”

So there you go. Ellen’s kids sound like they want to nominate her for Mother of the Year, and MY kids sound like they want me in their own little sweatshop churning out the baked goods or appearing as a guest on Maury.

It just goes to prove what I have always known: My superpower is finding the humor in anything!!

So just to recap. . .

How Ellen’s Kids See Her: ROCK STAR

My kids tell me I look like Michael Jackson

How Erin’s Kids See Her: COOKIE JAR

My Kids tell me I look like Betty Crocker

Thank you to Stasha once again for her Monday Listicles. Without her, we might not have these beautiful family moments to treasure. But, in all seriousness, she has created a lovely community of writers who start their week off “write” with a list. Great writers, great blogs—what are you waiting for?? Get over there! Erin and Ellen

 

 

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Step Away From The Confetti Cannon

Ellen– I might be climbing on a soapbox, but not every female maturation milestone is a Hallmark-confetti-cannon-scrapbooking-buy-a-charm-for-the-bracelet moment. Some things can just unfold and happen.

ErinFirst words, first steps, first birthdays–celebrate away.

Ellen– First bra, first heels, first bottle of foundation—why make a big deal about it?

Step Away From The Confetti Cannon

ErinTrips to the American Girl Store, those over-the-top birthday parties, even the elaborate preschool graduation ceremonies have upped the ante for us all. We get it! You’re so used to celebrating, commemorating, and shutterflying it all for posterity that you are a little unclear as to what exactly you SHOULD be celebrating.

And all this fascination with “My baby is growing up!” milestones has led to a parenting landmine: arbitrarily deciding WHEN they should occur.

Ellen– Let’s start with make-up. I realize that the acceptable age to start wearing make-up elicits a permanent eyeliner drawn in the sand response from a lot of mothers, but why?

ErinRandom hard and fast rules do exactly one thing really well: Establish the battle lines. Other than that, they are completely useless as guiding principles. When confrontation or acquiescence are the only choices, nothing is assured but a bloody battle ahead.

They Will Never Take Our Eyeliner!

 

Ellen– Now, we all MAY be able to agree that 9 is too young to be be-dazzled.

ErinBut we are here to tell you that the water gets really murky after that. And don’t be delusional enough to think you can control the tide. Ever consider your daughter can go into the bathroom upon arrival at school, put on the make-up and wash it off before she comes home?

Ellen– Yes, even YOUR angel is capable of that.

ErinWanting to feel comfortable with yourself is a powerful thing. Is this really the battle you want to wage? Do you want to set up a scenario for dishonesty?

Ellen– As with all arguments, it’s about defining terms. When my daughter began wearing make-up in 6th grade, we were talking about mascara and lip gloss—not full-on-pole-dancing-kohl-rimmed-eye-with-glitter-thrown-in-for-good-measure.

When I noticed Coco’s interest and saw where the rest of the girls in her class were, I just bought her the mascara and lipstick from Walgreens. I presented it to her one day and asked if this was something that she was interested in.

We had a mother-daughter moment without fanfare. By giving her those things, I acknowledged I was paying attention to what was going on in her life. No girls’ weekend to the flagship MAC store in NYC was needed.

She progressed to smudgy brown eyeliner and subtle shadows from there, but I have always monitored their use and stepped in with guidance as needed. Liquid black eyeliner gets calmly replaced on the shelf without drama because shopping for cosmetics hasn’t been set up to be a big deal.

ErinI can feel hackles raising. I felt the same way. I did not wear make-up until after the birth of my second child, so it was not my thing. At. All.

But then my pale-lashed, redheaded Biddie confided to me in one of our mother-daughter pillow talks that she felt self-conscious about having HER school picture taken:“Nobody can see my lashes, Mom, it makes me feel weird.”

Now, we have had the talks about inner beauty, looks not being important, etc. but I remember middle school perhaps a little too keenly. One tube of medium-brown mascara gave my girl one less thing to worry about.

Ellen– Okay, so if you are not judging us yet, let’s see if I can push you to the edge.

ErinWait for it…

Ellen– My 13 year old daughter has her hair highlighted.

ErinStop! Don’t leave this post to go Google ‘Toddler and Tiaras.’ Ellen and Coco were not contestants.

Ellen– If you had asked me when Coco was 8 what I thought about tweens getting their hair colored, there would have been a lot of sputtering about skin-deep beauty, oppression of women, and maybe even a “Hellz No!”

ErinAh, but arbitrary pre-judgment will bite you every time.

Ellen– My Coco was born in July and she is a full-on summer girl. Come 80 degree weather and she transforms – golden tan through her layers of SPF 50, light brown hair streaked with blonde.

This was just a natural cycle for her until she began competitive swimming when she was 9. Natural blonding plus hours submersed in the swamp of public pool chemicals led to VERY BLONDE.

ErinCome October, this led to trashy Jerry-Springer-worthy roots.

Ellen– So I would take her to my salon to get it “fixed” back to her winter color. Until this year when she said, “My blonde hair feels more me. I don’t want it to go away.”

Ugh, really? I needed to think about that. Well, while I was thinking about it and formulating my eloquent speech about her inner beauty shining brighter than any blonde beacon on her head (see, the speech still needs work), picture day arrived. When I say arrived, I mean Coco remembered to give me the form at 7:30 pm—the night before. Bam. That is how Coco rolls.

Erin I’m seeing a trend here. Maybe the real problem is picture day.

Ellen – Her roots were bad, people, BAD! I can’t stand roots. Makes me feel creepy, especially for my adolescent because it made her look like I condoned her coloring her hair AND we didn’t keep up with it. Double judgement! And I definitely wasn’t putting out the cost of a tank of gas for pictures with roots.

ErinThis is where I get to say “HELLZ NO!” School pictures are expensive!

Ellen– So I played my own little inner game of Worst Case Scenario School Pictures Edition: Trashy Roots vs. Drugstore Hair Color. L’Oreal won. To sum it up: the roots were fixed, my daughter was impressed, the pictures were classy, and Coco was riding on the hair coloring highway.

ErinLest you all still feel like judging Ellen, or Coco for that matter, I go camping and outdoor adventuring with them twice a summer. Coco doesn’t bring make-up or a hair dryer with us. She is a trooper, and her make-up-wearing, highlighting ways haven’t seemed to curb her flair for the hanging-out-in-the-woods variety of fun. She hikes, bikes and kayaks without an ounce of vanity.

Ellen– See? Hair color does not define a woman. No need to draw a line. Besides, it’s easier to see the ticks in her blonde locks. Hey, that might be my new explanation for the highlighting: preventive medicine.

Erin Nice spin.

Ellen– But seriously, I made the choice that supported my daughter and made her feel relaxed and content in her own skin. I listened to her.

Erin– And the Sisterhood learned to never say never. Not everything deserves a battle. Not everything deserves a party. Sometimes you can just let things happen.

Ellen– So, I’m begging you to just follow your daughter’s lead and consider what makes her comfortable. This even goes for leg shaving. There is no magic age for wielding a razor, just consider what is right for your daughter, not what makes you feel like you still have a little girl.

And for the love of little boobies, please just bring the first bras home, let her try them on, return what doesn’t fit and move on from there. Once you get past the first bra stage, your girl will feel fine with shopping for bras.

ErinAnd you know why? Because you didn’t make her feel all “My girl is becoming a WOOOMMAAN!”

EllenBut for all of you saying, “Sisterhood, you just don’t know how to celebrate this womanhood stuff, we’re not listening to you on this one,” we’re going to make one final plea. Just please don’t throw a party for her first period.

Erin– Just because there is a company that makes menarche tableware and “Pin the Ovary on the Uterus” games does NOT make it a good idea. If you’re putting tampons in a favor bag, it’s time to take a step back.

Ellen– We are not making this up. Menarche Parties R’Us is for real. Yes, you read the name correctly.

ErinSo if you’re in our camp, you’ll be peeing your pants laughing over this.

Ellen– And if you disagree with us, you’ve got yourself a supplier for throwing one humdinger of a “Girlhood to Womanhood” party.

Erin – The only winner? Mortification.

Ellen– Cue the confetti!

Mwahah confetti cannon

 

 

 

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Don’t Box ‘Em In

Erin: Spring is in the air and it is time to log some serious hours at one of my favorite places: the playground.

Well, this is a little fancier than what we have around here. But, you get the drift.

Ellen: The air is fresh, the sun is warm, the kids burn energy, and you get to talk to some adults. The kids get friend time. You get friend time. Everybody wins.

Erin: There is much to love about these hubs of mommydom—the mutual admiration (“No, you’re the best mom.” “No, you are.”), the shared responsibility (Little Darling is being watched by multiple sets of eyes), even the commiseration feels right, especially when it involves passing a sippy cup of wine. Just kidding. That never happens. Often. 

Ellen:  What happens at the playground stays at the playground.

Erin: And one of the best things happening at the playground is the information highway. It picks up where all of the What to Expect the First Year, Second Year, Any Year parenting books leave off.

Ellen: You get to compare notes with other moms and find out that it’s a little unusual that your bedtime routine for one toddler takes 3 hours, 3 adults, a Broadway review, and a voodoo doll.

Pleasant, pleasant dreams.

Erin: Hearing how other parents do things gives you a measuring stick because, as we have said before, parenting in a vacuum can lead to some funky results. Note the voodoo doll mentioned above.

But the conversation can quickly morph from friendly sharing into a game of labels and comparisons.

Ellen: All good things have a catch. What is it about having a kid that makes everyone claim expert rights in psychology and human development? You know what I mean? They just want to categorize this tiny person based on a very shallow resume. I think we can give a human being a little time to develop and show his inner mettle considering he just learned to poop on the potty yesterday.

Erin: Most of it just makes you wish you hadn’t commented on her kid’s cute hat and started the conversation in the first place.

Ellen: Sometimes parents do a fair amount of unfair extrapolating into the future. In general, this irks me. Kids come with their built-in DNA, but there’s a whole lot of living left to do after they make their entrance. Nature vs. nurture, and all that.

Having my choices narrowed down makes me feel itchy and twitchy. And a mom whipping out her tarot cards and declaring her child’s future label makes me want to have at that mythical sippy cup of wine.

Erin: You know what we mean. “Little Johnny ALWAYS swings the highest—we need to sign him up for gymnastics. Here we come, Olympics!” “Sweet Petunia ALWAYS wins every race—she is going to be a track star.”

Ellen: “Little Drexel builds such good Lego towers, he is going to be the next Frank Lloyd Wright.”

Erin: “Lovely Rita ALWAYS writes tickets—she is going to be a meter maid.” Hmm, well, that could happen.

Ellen: We understand the inclination to make certain assumptions based on what you are seeing. It is fun to dream, but I have seen kids burdened with labels such as klutzy, spastic, and sassy when they are barely out of diapers. Are these the labels you want your kids to build their identities on?

“Oh, she is such a blonde,” may seem adorable when she is 4 years old, but it is a real problem when your 15 year old is using that excuse for why she left her saxophone on the subway. She has a belief that this is who she really is: blondes are allowed to be ditzy, because it’s cute and expected.

If on one hand you believe that you are the center of your children’s worlds, you cannot ignore the other hand where your perceptions of your kids molds how they view themselves.

Erin: In a parenting seminar I went to several years ago, the speaker talked about how we all wished we could have a crystal ball to see how this all turns out. I think a significant part of parenting is fighting the urge to frame a situation a certain way or, in this case, fighting the urge to label your chick before he’s fully hatched. We all wanna do it. We just shouldn’t.

Ellen: We shouldn’t because they are constantly changing and morphing before our very eyes. A little perspective. Wouldn’t it make you prickle if someone labeled you after observing you for a moment in time? If I was pigeonholed by the past 3 bronchitis-riddled-weeks of my life, I would be a couch-potato-screwing-up-my-schedule-OCD-doorknob-cleaning-freak.

Erin: In my own little lab of a family, I have two great examples of how I woulda had the whole thing backasswards if I had made these assumptions. First, there was Ace (14)—he could barely walk a straight line, was bruised from head to toe, and fell off everything—even the first step of our deck. I was more than a little concerned that Social Services might not believe what a total klutz of a kid we were growing here. 

But you know what?  We ignored what was right in front of our face and signed him up for Socceroos anyway. Eventually, he outgrew his clumsiness as lots of boys do by age 10. (It’s a developmental thing, who knew?) And now, after dreams of  being a professional soccer player, he also dreams of being a sports journalist. 

And then there’s our sweet Biddie (13)—the most wonderful girl ever to emerge from demon spawn. Biddie was the toughest baby around, and then became the Toddler from Hell.

We were kicked out of Library Storytime, playgroup, and dance class. Even the priest at Mass told us that God would understand if we took a break for a while. If I had been so inclined, I could have slapped a “Handle with Care” or “Caution: Flammable” label on this one, and everyone would have known to stand back. But I didn’t (I was a little busy churning out siblings), and a good thing too, because school was the antidote to her wild ways. Competent, capable, clever, and kind, Biddie is now the girl you count on to get things done. Those old labels would look about as relevant today as a reference to the Contras in Nicaragua.

Ellen: And then we have my Coco (13) of the yipping answers in kindergarten fame.  What would have happened if I had just labeled her as a difficult, hyperactive student? Today, she is one of the most communicative people I know. She writes novels, learns entire scripts in a single bound, and delivers speeches like she was born to stand on stage.  I would have been incorrectly pigeonholing her and clipping her wings—that’s what would have happened.

Erin: And if cramming your offspring into pigeonholes is a parenting foul, there is the ugly cousin of expecting your child to be a savant at everything he or she touches.

Ellen: You know the parent we are talking about. Suzy loves to chase butterflies, so we are signing her up for a marathon. Betty loves to pick dandelions so we are enrolling her in The Future Horticulturists of America.

It is okay for your child to have interests that aren’t pursued as formal activities. And it is okay for kids to try things and not like them, or horror of horrors, not be good at them.

Erin:  There has to be a balance between nurturing their interests and expecting them to excel at everything they touch. Spoiler Alert: most of us don’t excel at anything in particular, but we have learned to be pretty clever and accomplished at things we enjoy. We have also learned that one of the great joys of life is trying new things as we grow. Flexing our mental and physical muscles is how we become more fully ourselves (it’s the impulse that drives perfectly happy 40 year olds to start something new—like a blog).

Ellen: But expecting kids to have enough savvy to know they are going to like something before they try it is unfair pressure. It is hard for a 5 year old to imagine what soccer is going to be like when they just mastered walking 3 years ago.

Erin:  Bottom Line: Our chicks are cute and fuzzy, but they aren’t the most self-aware  peeps hanging around the barnyard. Yet. They need a little push sometimes to find their way around the farm.  

Ellen: But after that little nudge, heck, sometimes it’s really a push (no inert couch potatoes allowed), they need us to stand back and give them some breathing room. But to be clear, once committed, there is no quitting mid-stream. Coco’s second grade season of soccer was one of the most miserable springs we have had. But by the end of the season, we (and the tri-state area) were very confident that soccer was not Coco’s thing. We finished the season, but she was not locked in for the rest of her life.

Erin:   This is where the learning happens after all—in the space between having your hand held and flying away on your own.

Ellen: Because sometimes those pigeonholes come from an ugly place. Is it really likely that all four girls of a gymnastics coach really want to spend every waking moment twirling on the uneven bars? I must have missed the med school class where they discussed the dominant back-walkover-gene.

Erin: Is that four year old really dying to play  football? Or is somebody working something out through their kid on a field? A childhood is a terrible thing to waste, especially chasing daddy’s dream.

Ellen: Even when motives are more benign and the dream for the child seems bright, shiny and something anyone would want, pigeonholing is a dubious business.

Heck, I got channeled into being a doctor in 8th grade, only to walk away when I was 28. It was my dream, but I didn’t know what I was wishing for and once I was on the track, it was hard to get off (who wouldn’t want to be a doctor!). I wish I had known how tightly I was boxed in.  I wish I had had a little room to stretch and explore other opportunities.

Erin: So, all I am really trying to say is that when you are hanging around the playground, bite your tongue or at least fight the urge bubbling up in you to label these chicks. They need some good feed and a little room to grow. We have no idea how this will turn out, but that is where the fun comes in.

Ellen:  And if you think we are total slackers and that our kids won’t end up in the Olympics or at Carnegie Hall because we aren’t identifying, nurturing, and labeling their genius, there’s this book called Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mom by Amy Chu. She has some very good points, too. You can check it out, and we can discuss like the non-labeling parents we are.

 

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Don’t Have All of Your Friends in One Basket

"Don't Have All of Your Friends in One Basket" Parenting Advice: Diversify your kids's groups of friends. Sisterhood of the Sensible Moms

Tribes are a big part of Planet Teen © .  Your friends, your buds, your posse—If you are a teen, this core group can make or break your day. Most of the time, things are peaceful, sometimes less so. Here’s our take on maintaining your sanity when the tribe is rocky.

Ellen– If you have a teen or a tween, it feels like “PEER PRESSURE!” screams from every poster, magazine, and After School Special. Oh wait, After School Specials were my generation.

ErinAll of us of a certain age remember them—we had five channels and no remote. If you were a kid allowed to watch TV, you were tuning into such gems as My Mom’s Having A Baby—live birth and everything (should have probably taken notes or something) and Rookie of the Year (girls are great at sports too–who knew?) 

Ellen– Remember “Schoolboy Father,” where Rob Lowe lobbies to have custody of his baby even though he’s 16?

ErinWhat’s not to love? Anyway, these specials didn’t just aim to entertain, they had loftier goals—they wanted to educate us on some of the dangers of adolescence. 

Peer pressure figured in a lot of them. Apparently, friends were the real wolves in the forest. The ones with their sheep’s clothing sliding off in their not-so-subtle attempts to ruin your life.

Ellen– But in a rare turn, I’m going to look at the brighter side of things. Peer is not the bad word here. Peers can also provide wonderful support and encouragement.

Erin- Unfortunately, there is no way to order a “well-adjusted-fun-sweet-tempered-best-bud-for-your-kid” on the internet.

Ellen– Yet.

ErinBut you really are looking for more than “Hey, I’m a kid, you’re a kid” when trying to find a peer group that works for your kids.

Ellen- Now don’t get crazy ideas in your head about interviews and DNA samples. Your child has always got to have freedom in choosing his or her own friends.

ErinBut you know what they don’t have a choice over? Their birth year. For no other reason than when they were popped out into this world, they are stuck with their birth cohort at school.  In some schools, this group could be together for their entire K -12 lives.

Ellen– For some this could be the most comfortable fit in the world.

ErinFor others, the fit could be as awkward as OJ trying to squeeze his meaty paw into that glove.

Ellen– But while choosing your child’s friends is not something you should try to do or face dire consequences, what if you gave them more choices?

I have a phrase that I have coined, “Don’t Have All of Your Friends in One Basket.” Get it? A play off of the idiom, “Don’t Place All Your Eggs in One Basket.” I know, not a huge stretch, but focus on the wisdom of it, not my creativity.

"Don't Have All of Your Friends in One Basket" Parenting Advice: Diversify your kids's groups of friends. Sisterhood of the Sensible Moms

Thanks to Jellybean for crafting these friends

ErinIf I had any useful “Little House on the Prairie” skills, I would cross-stitch that sucker onto a dishtowel—that’s how genius this is! When kids are hanging together all the time, like in an elementary school classroom, nerves are bound to be frayed and cliques are bound to be formed. And you pray it won’t happen, but at some point your child might end up odd man out—kicked out of the basket.

Ellen– You know how you temper the angst? Move those kids around. Shake it up and create different baskets to land in. Through the grace of Lady Luck, I have nurtured and encouraged various circles of friends for my girls.

Erin– It’s like dosey-doe-ing your way through the square dance of life—switching partners just when things start to get a little ugly. I have nurtured such dance moves in my own crew, and we are all much happier for it.

Ellen– Sometimes it is better to be lucky than good. We didn’t start out with this strategy—it just kind of grew. But when Middle School reared its ugly head, we realized what a special thing our kids had.

Erin– Sixth grade was an ugly beast for Biddie. Dear sweet girls who had been close friends morphed into something else entirely. Our perfect fit was off, and school became a painful, ugly place.

Biddie was ready to cut the girls out. But we have a small school, it really did just look like hormones run amok (I never for one minute thought the girls were intentionally hurting her), and now was the time to learn how to deal with difficult people. Ellen shared her “Don’t Poop In Your Own Den” maxim, and we took it to heart. We also took a break.

"Don't Have All of Your Friends in One Basket" Parenting Advice: Diversify your kids's groups of friends. Sisterhood of the Sensible Moms

You heard us.

EllenIn case you are just joining us, “Don’t Poop In Your Own Den,” means not to cause a stink in a place where you have to stay.  Just like Ross and Rachel you can take a break without both sides knowing, but unlike in “Friends,” it can be a good thing—the best thing even.

ErinI asked Biddie, “Listen, who is not involved with the drama?” She told me about studious, quiet Abby who read during lunch.

“Well, girlie, Abby just became your new best friend.”

Biddie took a break from the school girl drama with a series of great books (Highly recommend The Penderwick books and The Lightning Thief series), and a quiet non-drama buddy to sit with at lunch. She focused her middle school friend energy (which is limitless) on her neighborhood friends, Ellen’s girls and their associated posse, and her track buddies.

No more sleepovers with school friends for a whole semester. No more afterschool time with them either. I keep hearing Ross from Friends voice, “WE WERE ON A BREAK.”

 

And you know what? After a spring and a summer laying low, by the time we reconvened for 7th grade in the fall, all had settled and life has been drama-free. We know we were lucky. We are also pretty darn happy.

Ellen– So I guess we would like to help you tweak your luck. If you have young kids, you are primed for this advice.

ErinAnd even if you have older kids, it’s really never too late to put this in action. Even if these “baskets” start when the kids are young, they are constantly morphing and shifting.

Ellen– One of the most important groups in our lives is the “Baby Friends.” These are a group of kids from our original playgroup. And I use the term “original” loosely.  On a playgroup pickiness scale of 10, I’m probably a 15.

Erin– I know not of this scale you speak of. I have zero radar and am not picky in the least. This brings its own issues sometimes, but I’ll try to stay focused.

Ellen– The playgroup members shifted around quite a bit in the beginning until the moms found a good fit.

Yes, we based it more on the moms than the kids. The kids were two—they didn’t care who they were snatching the toy from.

It all started with MOMS Club. You can see if they have a local chapter near you. It might be a good fit.

ErinFast forward 11 years and Ellen’s Labor Day party was a showcase for this group in action. Many of the people there were from the original MOMS Club group, but many were new friends who had fallen into the bunch. We Mom friends live in all the corners of our rural county, so the kids don’t get to see each other much anymore. But they fell in together like their days in the sandbox were yesterday.

Ellen– I think the giant inflatable water slide helped.

"Don't Have All of Your Friends in One Basket" Parenting Advice: Diversify your kids's groups of friends. Sisterhood of the Sensible Moms

This wasn’t even half of the kids there

ErinNow don’t despair if playgroup days have passed you by. Playgroup for elementary school is spelled like this: extracurricular activities.

That’s right. Once your kids are wiping their own noses and tying their own shoes, that sandbox looks like a soccer field, a Boy Scout or Girl Scout meeting, a dance studio, or a Destination ImagiNation team practice.

Ellen – It looks like a church youth group, a theater stage, or a Lego League. There is a fit for every personality type, so start googling now. Look at your local Parks and Recreation, community college, or library website for activities that make your child feel happy and comfortable. Service groups are a good warm and fuzzy fit, too, because they are already  made up of kids who are willing to work for the good of the community.

ErinSo when that snit of a mole hill becomes a mountain of frenemy warfare, a nice safe basket will be ready and waiting for your babies to jump into until the storm passes.

-Ellen and Erin

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Never Have I Ever: School Projects Edition

We’d never do our kid’s homework, but papier-mâché and science projects just don’t happen on kitchen tables without some intervention and guidance.

Erin–  Oy, this week may qualify as the Everest for School Projects, but I do believe we have made it to base camp. This week has been non-stop. Ellen and I have both been up to our eyeballs in school projects.

Ellen– Well, if you have been up to your eyeballs, I guess I’ve been up to my armpits. I do only have two kids to your five, after all.

ErinFor the record, when we were planning said family, nobody mentioned school projects times 5. Factor that in, people! It should be right up there with college tuition and the cost of diapers.

And I am not feeling your math on this one. The proportions don’t seem right. I have 5. You have 2. I’m not seeing a 3/5 difference between the armpits and the eyeballs.

Ellen– I was dealing with epidemiology, laminar flow patterns, and Rube Goldberg machines. I think that closes the gap.

ErinWell, I need a drink to even pretend that I want you to expand on that.

Ellen– Remember the drinking games in college? Ah, those were the days. We had such endless hours of time that we had to create games so that drinking lasted long enough to fill them.

Erin–  Ahh, those WERE the days! Loved the game “Never Have I Ever”! Somebody would start by making a statement that starts with “Never have I ever”. Then anybody who “had ever” had to drink.  I remember this being one of the more structured drinking games with rules and everything. There was even moral high ground: lying was strictly forboten.

Ellen– Holy Preciousness. You all can save your eye muscles the strain of the eye roll. I have you covered. I guess they liked their drinking games with contrived Shakespearean structure at Erin’s liberal arts college.

ErinI think it had something to do with being run by Jesuits, but I’m just guessing.

Ellen– Anyway, I went to the University of Maryland during the period when they were transitioning from being a contender on Playboy’s Top Party School List to Not-Your-Safety-School.

Our games were not structured, and the only moral high ground was not to target your best friend’s boyfriend as your next hook-up. That being said, we also played ‘Never Have I Ever,” just without the integrity.

 ErinCan you imagine if The Sisterhood crashed the party on those poor 20-somethings?

Ellen – Ooo, I’m envisioning “Never Have I Ever: The School Projects Edition.” We would either make those poor Innocents’ heads explode or exponentially increase their dedication to birth control use.

Clucking Adorable

ErinIt might go something like this:

Innocent 1: Never Have I Ever violated a farm animal.

Erin: (Take a drink) Check. I just shoved a rooster in a can.

Innocent 1: Did you just say you shoved a rooster up your can?

Table shouts: “Spill the story, spill the story.”

Erin: Puh-leez. We had to papier-mâché a rooster for a third grade character in a can project.

Innocent 1: Well, that was a lot more boring than I thought it would be.

(Sideways glances among the Innocents. A few raised eyebrows.)

 Innocent 2: Never Have I Ever dabbled in bondage.

Ellen: (Takes a drink) Well, I may not technically qualify, but seeing as I already took the drink, I’m going to go for it. Yesterday, I had to scour the house for a pulley, steel cable, and duct tape so that Coco (13) could construct her Rube Goldberg machine. But, the rubric did specifically say the machine could not “imply profane, indecent, or lewd expressions,” so I’m going to take a penalty drink for game foul.

NOT Coco’s Rube Goldberg Machine

 

Innocent 1 whispers to Innocent 2: Wait, what did she say?

Innocent 2: I think she said that Rudy Goldberg, you know, from Econ class, puts roosters in bondage…

Innocent 3: Never Have I Ever worn knock-offs or discount. (Smirks as she pushes perfectly manicured hand through shiny, sleek hair)

Erin: (Takes a drink). Hunger games T-shirt for book report for seventh grader. Biddie(13) had to create original designs based on characters from the book, print her designs onto transfers and iron them on. They were originals, but you can’t get more discount than ink-jet transfers on Wal-Mart t-shirts.

Innocent 3: O. Kay. (looks at Innocents 1 and 2 with scarcely concealed horror)

Innocent 4: Never Have I Ever seen a musical. (Clearly lying or overcompensating for something.)

Ellen: Just hand me the bottle. I’m living in High School Musical, and Coco is only in 8th grade. Last year, Leader of the Pack: 5 times. This year, Bye Bye Birdie: 5 times. I love you, Drama, oh yes I do.

Wait, I’ll take another party foul drink, because I actually do love it.

Innocent 5: Never Have I Ever abused any balls.

Ellen: Oh Sweetie. Party foul for wince-producing flirting and/or poor attempt at double entendre. On second thought, I’ll take the drink for my snarkalicious judgment. You’re young and perky; you can totally pull off a line like that.

Erin-whispers to Ellen: But only for about 5 more years. Snicker, snicker.

Innocent 2: Slow down on the party foul drinks, Lady. After this tequila, all we have is a garbage can full of grain and Kool-Aid.

Fraternity House Punch Bowl

Erin: (Takes a drink) Hey, back off. Do you want her to start talking about the Rube Goldberg thing again? Oh, and back to the balls,  fill me up, because I helped Charlie(11) cut an old foam ball in half to create a model of the animal cell.

Innocent 1: I don’t think that is what she meant…

Erin: It’s a DRINKING game (speaking slowly just in case she’s a little slow). Now pass the bottle.

Innocent 6 (clearly here only because her roommates think she spends too many Saturday nights at the library or babysitting): Never Will I Ever Force My Child to Pursue Something She is Not Passionate About.

The Sisterhood: GROAN!

Ellen and Erin: PARTY FOUL! No future tense. You don’t KNOW what you’ll do.

Ellen: Going to take two drinks for this one. Just to numb the pain. I forced Jellybean (11) to join Science Olympiad; to push her beyond her desires for perfection. I thought it was an activity where she could learn and create without worrying about the grade on the report card.  But I am paying for it. I am now teaching fifth graders epidemiology.

The Sisterhood: By unanimous vote, we vetoed the idea of hitting up Red Box and just having them watch Contagion.

Innocents: Next!

Erin: Never Have I Ever built a salinometer.

All of the Innocents in unison: WHO let all of these chicks in here!?!

Ellen (Takes a drink): Score a third drink for Science Olympiad. We constructed one out of drinking straws and modeling clay. It took two hours. I could have gotten one on Amazon for $15.95 in 15 seconds. AND it was eligible for Free Super Saving Shipping. I could have added that callous buffer I’ve had my eye on to the cart and been good to go.

We love you Amazon, oh yes we do!

I have advanced science degrees and six summers working in a marine biology lab on my resume and I’m having a hard time finding the worth in this. I have to avoid eye contact with the girls when I proclaim, “This is a great learning experience.”

Innocent 4: Maybe you should say it with jazz hands. Jazz hands make everything more convincing.

Innocent 2: Yeah,  you’ve never seen a musical! But more importantly, DON’T ENCOURAGE THEM!

Erin: At this point, we have finished off the bottle of tequila and have moved onto slurping up the garbage can of grain with the leftover drinking straws from the salinometer project.

The Sisterhood: Um, I think we’re about to get bounced from this shindig.

Ellen: You can throw us out, but if you procreate, we are your future.

Innocents run screaming from the room with hands over ears.

 Erin: Pipe down! We’re leaving. But just be grateful we didn’t bring the “Never Have I Ever: The Midnight Feedings/Mastitis/Explosive Poops Edition.”

 

 

 

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Virus Part III: The Full Menace

Erin In horror movies, the music rises, the lighting changes, and you know that evil and untoward things are coming. Our story is not like that. No warning, no ominous downbeat, but this foul thing landed in our household and when it unleashed its unholy wrath, we were defenseless.  Skewing this a bit towards the melodramatic, you say? Well, buckle up. It’s a bumpy ride.

Looking back on our innocence on Friday, I actually tear up a little. At 3pm, young Eddie, who is only 4 and not yet the master of the graceful upchuck, booted all over the bathroom. Not a big deal. Five kids. Spit and the other thing happen—a lot.

Eddie proceeded to spew like a geyser for the NEXT SIX HOURS. I was considering getting him an X-ray to make sure he doesn’t have 4 stomachs like a cow.

Ellen– Good lord, woman, are you drinking enough fluids? Delirium is setting in.

ErinAnyway, I washed my sick puppy, put him to bed, and cloroxed the bathroom. Crisis over. Oh, silly Erin, had I not learned how quickly things can go from kinda-bad to serious-sh%#-going-down to flat-out-apocalyptic mayhem?   

Ellen – Can you say Pollyanna? Erin has 5 kids. This is not her first turn down Dysentery Drive. Let’s ask her brother-in-law whose family they nearly killed 2 years ago with The Great Pittsburgh Easter Virus. I’m pretty sure he is still holding a grudge for turning the family celebration into a CDC point source investigation.

Erin Anyway, I might have heard that the preschool had a class-A-bigtime-stinky-virus, but that wasn’t what we had. A Sisterhood Secret is not to put much stock in rumors. I felt free to dispatch two of the boys to overnight sleepovers the next day. Umm, yeah, you can see where this is going. We were now THAT family. 

Ellen– Yes, Erin sent biological bombs into not one, but TWO, separate sleepovers. What is that scratching noise you hear? That is Erin’s name being added to the top of every Black List in the county.

Erin The phone calls started at 10pm.  Kids were dropping like flies, and I was working hard to keep up, but at 12am, Mom was down too.  I have almost zero recollection of the next few hours as our viral marauders had their way with me. Aliens could have landed, I dunno. . . Anyway, as I was completely sacked out on the couch or taking up residence in the bathroom, I had no time to think about how much worse this could get.

But apparently, it could get a lot worse. Steve took Ace to his soccer game, but exclaimed as Ace(14) opened the door, “You are going to have to find your own way home, because the plague is taking me down. Starting now.”

Ellen– Steve is not that kind of parent. This just shows how awful this thing was. And are you keeping score? Erin has just spread this crud to a whole new pool of victims.

Erin I can only imagine what the parents who gave my child a ride home thought of us. But I was beyond caring. Being wrapped around a toilet does that to a woman.

And now Steve was out too. We were Night of the Walking Dead, except that the best we could do was kind of groan and crawl. The healthy were forced into medic duty with full exposure to The Menace. Good times.  

And have I fully conveyed the virulence of this thing? By dawn, the Evil Viral Menace had claimed Biddie(13). I was a desperate woman now, begging for people to acknowledge my pain and suffering. I posted a pathetically transparent plea for sympathy on Facebook. People stroked my fragile ego and made me feel a little better, except for my brother-in-law. He did bring up the Easter thing.

Ellen– I told you there was a grudge. But she didn’t get to wallow in her little Facebook pity party for long.

ErinAce wanders over and says he STILL has a headache and blurry vision. Still? Huh? He wasn’t sick yet. I shook my head a little as if that would settle the information more coherently in my brain.

Ellen– Yes, Ace, with the unrefined information filter of a teenage boy, decided not to tell his parents that he got knocked in the head during the soccer game. He didn’t want to bother the sick parents. Kinda sweet.

ErinSo phone call to Ellen.

Ellen– Yes, it sounded like he had a concussion, but they were way too sick to go to the ER.

ErinYeah, the ER might have done us in. Our immunocompromised selves would either be further assaulted or end up killing some poor sick little old lady–not the best way to redeem our reputation as the Point Source for this mess in my hometown.

As the proud patient of the World’s Greatest Doctor, I was able to secure a private assessment of Ace’s concussion away from the ER with the caveat that we must wear masks so as not to infect the office. And we had to come in the back door. We were one step away from being quarantined.

Good news: concussion was mild and Ace was not in danger.

Bad news: two hours later, Ace fell victim to The Menace, too. That’s right, folks! 7/7. Seven in one nasty, viral blow!!

In my weakened state, I almost violated my tenant that motherhood is not a pissing contest. I nearly snarkasticly replied to my friend Nicole’s Facebook post: “And we are 5/5 with the stomach virus. Yay! We’re so nerdy that we even have to get 100 percent when it comes to illness percentages!” I was feeling a little competitive. What is 5/5 compared to 7/7? I refrained from posting, but perhaps mentioning her post here is equally snarkastic and competitive.

Ellen– Especially when you kind of stole her idea for the 7/7.  And by the way, MY family was sick, too, albeit it with a much more civilized virus. No love coming my way. Just sayin’.

ErinPerhaps both of you will take pity on me as the Viral Menace has beaten me down and blurred the lines of decency for me. I mean Nicole even sounded downright chipper in her post. I am not chipper. I am not happy. Clearly we had a different strain at our house.

 This thing crushed even my inner Pollyanna. Perhaps some musical cue or lighting shift could have signaled to me that the darkness was about to descend. It would have given me time to invest in Saltines and Seagram’s Ginger Ale. Or, at the very least, to hang a crucifix in the window or some garlic on the hearth.

Ellen– Erin’s birthday is coming up and I’m getting her a whole house fumigation. What’s that? A call just came in from the Health Department. They are honoring me with a medal for community service.

Want to read what came before? Check out Part I and Part II.

Noteworthy: Erin started this blog while still fighting the virus and Ellen did final edit while in the pediatrician’s office with her youngest. We’re hardcore like that.

 

 

 

 

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