Mom of the Year Award

I never really thought I’d ever be in the running for Mom of the Year Award but it never crossed my mind I would be a candidate for Worst Mom of the Year Award… until today. Now I am fairly certain I would win.

Clinging to a small thread of hope and acting on desperate despair as I worried about my hectic work schedule this week, I sent Hope to school in spite of a sudden suspicious red, blood shot eye this morning.

Hope immediately went into drama mode when I mentioned her eye looked suspect, declaring that she must stay home and rest or she could infect her friends with this deadly disease. (This girl just may be on TV someday with her perfected acting skills and persuasion tactics). But I am not a casting agent so I dug up some seriously expired eye drops and sent her on her way… periodically checking my phone for that dreaded phone call that would deem her too contagious to stay in school.

The anticipated phone call came eventually but to my surprise Hope was in the nurse’s office complaining of an ear ache. The nurse assured me that Hope didn’t have a fever and thought her sudden symptoms may be a byproduct of an argument that ensued during a group project where Hope got her feelings hurt for some accusations of cheating while playing a game. Yes, yes… this sounded about right and just something that only Hope would dream up to come home early. Being St. Patrick’s day the nurse asked Hope if she really needed to go home or if she thought she could stay through the assembly where some special dancers would be performing. Of course, Hope responded that she wasn’t really that sick and would like to stay to see the performance. We chalked it up to her extensive theatrical skills but wanting to demonstrate that I am a caring parent I offered to pick her up after school instead of sending her to dance.

After school I had a brief chat with her teacher about the “cheating incident” and we were on our way. I sent Hope to bed to rest reiterating that if we are sick we don’t watch movies or play – we have to rest. Tears ensued but I persisted. This was not going to be a special stay home day that Hope thoroughly enjoyed because that would only set a precedent for disastrous things to come.

Well, the forced tears turned into something more along the lines of agonizing pain and I had to rethink my previous policies. I threatened a visit to the doctor thinking surely this would produce the truth of an ill conceived plan to stay home. The only response I received was eager willingness to cooperate with any plans to relieve an aching ear.

I pondered my options… make the trek to the doctor and pay the $20 to have them tell me nothing is wrong or risk a midnight visit to the ER if Hope’s theatrics turned out to be legitimate suffering. I reluctantly decided on a quick visit to the doctor to eradicate any lingering question of my parenting abilities.

Hope was diagnosed with a double ear infection and an eye infection. To Hope’s delight the doctor suggested we keep her home on Thursday, at least until the eye infection was cleared up.

I momentarily felt a bit of guilt for doubting my girl and I turned my attention to apologizing for my lack of sensitivity and promising to see to it that she is comfortable and coddled until her health returns in full form.

I admit defeat on the ear and eye infection – my doubts about any illnesses were shrouded by Hope’s ability to manipulate and skillfully act and I was just plain wrong in my diagnoses this time… but as I watched Hope run through the house tonight playing gleefully as she destroyed our house and tortured her brothers I decided she was cured enough to return to school in the morning.

Unfortunately Hope’s intimidating aura came back to haunt me as she is fully aware that she has the upper hand in this debate. She has it stuck in her head and on the tip of her tongue that she is not allowed to go to school tomorrow because she could infect her friends. Should I protest and insist she is well enough to go to school she will certainly make it known to all that she has an eye infection and she’s not supposed to be at school (but her mean, heartless mom made her attend anyway) and I will undoubtedly get that call that will make me question my ability to parent this smart little cookie.

Hope wins this battle…

I have lost any chance of running for the Mom of the Year Award and I am feeling inadequate enough to nominate myself to the Worst Mom of the Year Award.

And I am afraid to admit that this is only the tip of the iceberg... how in the world can such a small innocent human being cause me to question so much of what I believe and shatter my confidence as a parent so easily?

Forever...

While reading bed time stories tonight I paused to let Nico carefully articulate his interpretation of the book:

“Airpanes… go… way… up, up… in du… sky. It’s vewy dangwous… I have ta howd on tight!”

With his little legs crossed and his arms demonstrating an airplane flying high in the sky I watched his wondering mind conjure up these deep thoughts and I desperately wanted to bottle up all his two year old cuteness and keep it with me forever.

Hope was smitten with his adorable revelation and planted a big kiss on his cheek proclaiming that she loved him just as much as she loves the Jonas Brothers (yes, the teenage boy band) and then predicted that our little Nico was so delightful that he would be in the Jonas Brothers band when he grew up.

I want to bottle up all her charming hopes and dreams, her endearing innocence and her enchanting confidence to fuel her spirit forever.

Flying the Nest

We were all born and raised in Boise, Idaho. Inevitably we all eventually flew away from the nest. One departed for an adventure in New York. Another found refuge far away from her childhood home in the Midwest. College life in McMinnville was in store for yet another. And the solace of the peaceful ocean town of Astoria was most appealing for the youngest.

A few of us made a pit stop back in Boise on our respective journeys to unearth that place that we could call home. There were adventures in Eugene, camp counseling in Yelm, temporary homes in Medford, even a four year stint in Seattle. And who can forget the countless apartments all throughout Portland?

One by one we made our way from the dry Boise desert to the soggy streets of the Northwest. One by one we sought out Portland neighborhoods that fit our lifestyles – a place where we would each create new lives and establish happy homes of our very own. Only one sister remains in Seattle anxiously awaiting her cue to claim stake on her own corner of Portland.

Portland was the “big city” we would visit as children. It’s the place we ventured out to when we visited distant relatives. It’s the place where we remember sleeping in cramped motor home quarters camped in the mall parking lots when we needed to leave our “small town” to find the latest fashions.

Portland isn’t a place we sought out knowing we would find sanctuary. It’s a place that we all happened upon at one time or another and it just felt like home. This is the place we all came back to after various adventures in our young adult lives. It’s the place that we will all soon call home.

Did you ever imagine that all four of your girls would end up in Portland?

The Week of the Wounded

Riley walked in the door last Monday carrying his front tooth in his hand. During Martial Arts his teeth collided with Nick’s head sending his front tooth literally flying.

Three times he has lost this tooth now. A sidewalk curb, a parked car and now a friends head…this third time was the charm… with orthodontic work complete and old enough to now to get a crown we decided it was high time for a more permanent fix. A lengthy dental visit commenced that attested to Riley’s stamina for extreme pain.

While I no longer wince when Riley walks in the door with a tooth in hand, nor do I conjure up unrealistic scenarios where Riley’s childhood is doomed as he endures years of teasing and torture any longer, but I do wonder how many more times this affliction will nuisance him and I have always dreaded the pain that would surely ensue from crowning a front tooth at such a young age - when nerves are so easily exposed in
adolescence.

But Riley was a trooper – even after countless injections couldn’t numb the pain. I think the idea of stronger remedy fueled his endurance to just get through the procedure one final time. With a temporary crown in place we now patiently await the (hopefully) final visit to the dentist to repair this impairment that has become the bane of Riley’s childhood.

My goal now is to keep the crown securely in place well into Riley’s adult life.

Just when I had become accustomed to the news of a lost permanent tooth and found myself taking pride in my ability to put inevitable childhood mishaps into realistic perspectives – keeping my fear in check, focusing on the actuality of each situation, recognizing the reality and not assuming the improbable worst - I encountered another childhood collision that humbled me.

I’m not actually that tough Mom that takes all her children’s bumps, bruises and breaks in stride after all. Despite our past stitches, head wounds and broken teeth I failed to remain calm, cool and collected when Nico tripped getting in to bed and planted his face directly into the bed rail on Thursday night. My knees buckled, my hands shook ferociously and my heart raced violently as I imagined the worst – unable to see the damage through pouring blood I was certain Nico’s nose had either been completely severed or was certainly smashed into his skull.

I panicked… I cried… I prayed desperately…

We were all in the room preparing to give our nightly “kisses from everyone” when Nico fell. The sound of the impact sent chills through my spine and I held my breath as Roger picked up our crying babe to assess the damage. Roger is much more relaxed in emergencies so when I saw him panic I nearly lost it. I had to make that split second decision – crumble into a ball of fear or fight through my terror, comfort my babe and get him to the hospital without falling apart.

We bundled him up and applied pressure to his bloody nose as we made our way to the hospital. The amount of blood was alarming but by the time we reached the emergency room Nico was sitting up wondering what all the fuss was about. He was put out to stitch up the wound on his nose and apply suture glue to his cheek. He awoke a bit grumpy still perplexed by the monitors and begging to go home.

After a mere 5 hours of sleep Nico awoke Friday morning no worse for the wear, oblivious to the wounds on his face. He caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror later that morning and did a double take inching closer to get a good look at his bruised and battered face. “What’s that on my nose? Get it off!” he naively announced. He bounded through the house all day bumping into everything despite my attempts to steer him clear of any impact to his wounds. Obviously he recovered quite quickly – his physical wounds went unnoticed by this innocent babe but my psyche remains forever scarred.

I couldn’t bear to look at his bed, reliving the fall, my knees buckling and hands going weak each time it replayed in my mind. The bed frame was packed up and immediately put on Craig’s list – a mattress on the floor now deemed to be the safest place for my clumsy child to sleep.

Seven stitches later, a bit of suture glue, some good hallucinogen drugs and a minor scar to remind Nico of this incident that he will unlikely ever remember – but a memory that I will always replay in my mind and forever feel responsible for. Nico was our little trooper – me not so much! I will never be the brave one in emergencies that involve my children.

But I am thankful for my little (and big) troopers and I am looking forward to a new week and anxiously hoping to keep our future wounds to minor scrapes and bruises.

Bitter Resentment Bit Me in the Butt

I was stewing one recent evening while preparing dinner… I was simmering up a hefty dose of self pity and this unhealthy concoction of perceived misfortune was reaching its boiling point.

I don’t like to cook. I want to like it but I really just prefer to eat the food, not prepare it.

While my chicken burned I opened the fridge to find my broccoli was no longer in a state to be considered a healthy vegetable side dish. Left with a meal my family would surely snub their noses at, my distaste for cooking became a raging battle of sympathy for my relentless recent efforts to have a suitable meal on the table when the family came through the door with their ravenous appetites.

I will readily admit that the desire to cook and the skills to produce any sort of delectable varieties for family dinners is entirely missing from my inherent composition. But my worthy efforts remain commonly unrecognized by my dinner critiques.

My resentment for this dinner chore (spurred from a disastrous meal and vocal complaints from the dinner patrons) became evident to all as I complained about all the food I had prepared lately, blaming Roger for sloughing off dinner duties that inevitably fell on my (incapable) hands.

Roger begged to differ and insisted we base my grievances on facts. He concocted a dinner chart and promptly rushed home from work each evening to have dinner on the table and ceremoniously place a tally under his name on the dinner chart.

You would think I would be happy – I’m no longer cooking dinner (although I still adamantly believe that throwing a frozen pizza in the oven for dinner does NOT constitute a tally on the dinner chart).

Over the weekend we found ourselves mischievously microwaving prepared meals for the children ensuring one more tally on the dinner chart.

As Roger prematurely celebrated in his perceived win in this battle my resentment over dinner duties began to take some focus. I knew Roger’s efforts were in jest. We both knew he could not keep up his masquerade of family chef forever. And I realized that I didn’t actually need him to share the dinner burden equally. I simply wanted to be appreciated for my persistent efforts despite the often dreadful outcome.

Resentment clouded my true feelings, spawned debilitating anger and fueled my reaction to blame, spinning others into actions that produced undesired results. Bitter resentment bit me in the butt as I watched Roger’s dinner tallies significantly outnumber my marks.

But with the dinner battle behind us and a dinner chart concocted out of jesting rivalry we can now laugh at my foolishness and focus on appreciating those efforts by all that bring us together at the dinner table each night to dine on an arguably tolerable meal.

For the Love of Laundry

I have a ridiculously large mountain of laundry that I have strategically placed in my main hallway. I am admittedly embarrassed by this filth. My intentions were worthy. The way I figure it is I will walk by the ever growing pile of dirty clothes about 80 times tonight and that alone will be enough motivation to start the 20 or so plus cycles that will leave us with empty laundry baskets for at least 10 minutes.

But I am an inherent procrastinator (a god-given gene from my father) so I decided to blog instead. However, because procrastination runs thick through my soul and leaves me deferring every last detail until the very last minute, despite my desperate claims to alter this dawdling behavior, I found myself daydreaming about the impending weekend instead.

My thoughts drifted into my fantasy land. My babysitter is visiting tomorrow, after a nearly three week hiatus, to relinquish us from the daily demands of three determined (determined to drive us crazy, that is) children, allowing us to actually escape into this fantasy land where delectable food will delight our palates, fine wine will quench our thirst and alter our moods making us believe we actually live in this fantasy land all the time, conversations will drift into taking vacations abroad, plans will be set in motion to make our dream of moving into a suitable house a reality and we will reminisce on all the joy our children bring us – consciously focusing on only the positive side of parenting to ensure we remain firmly suited within our fantasy land.

All this daydreaming was brusquely interrupted by the nagging mountain of laundry in my hall. The reality of slipping into this fantasy land with Roger tomorrow night requires me to wash, dry, fold and put away every last basket of laundry prior to Carrie’s arrival to avoid being dubbed as a lousy housekeeper.

(Perhaps I have more immediate concerns to address than procrastinating – should I first focus on my obsession with how I am perceived by others?)

Maybe I could find a large closet to stuff all this dirty laundry into, to where it could wait, unseen, until we are forced to wear dirty underwear – which is typically my cue to stop delaying the inevitable. Our current abode lacks any significant storage which is probably for the best or my propensity to procrastinate would surely result in this latter alternative.

And just when I thought the mountain of laundry could not reproduce on it’s own I found animal vomit on my bedding resulting in at least 4 more loads.

Laundry is my evil nemesis. Someday when I am relinquished from inordinate daycare costs I think I will outsource this task. Roger believes we have a laundry fairy. I am going to become a believer too.

Just on a side note this post was going to be less about laundry and contain more pertinent, memorable events that occur in the Gronke household but Riley donned his “I love you Mommy” charm and sent me to the store in search of Gatorade.

I obviously have more personal issues to add to my list of faults right along side procrastination and perception: Riley’s ability to manipulate me into a midnight Gatorade. And I didn’t just buy Gatorade. I bought 5 Gatorades, a Sprite, Jelly Bellys and a Snickers bar.

I am a sucker… who hates laundry… and worries too much about keeping my house clean for guests…

But tomorrow night these worries will all become distant memories of my former life as a peasant women when I assume the role of Queen in my fantasy land, dining at lavish restaurants, ordering only the finest wine, hiring a capable caretaker to oversee my princess and princes’ well being, all while I make future plans to perfect my kingdom.

A Winter Memory Worth Reliving

Ok, I get the point… that previous post was not the best published work to leave out there for weeks on end. In my fervor to publish a post chalked full of substance… some witty insight, a lesson learned, breaking news, etc. I developed a debilitating case of writer’s block.

But today, as I struggled once again to conjure up any valuable insight or recall a worthwhile lesson it dawned on me that I was attempting to magically orchestrate a memory worth documenting. With recent happenings deemed blog unworthy or recent events too raucous to be considered blog friendly I was searching more distant memories but I failed to feel the emotion that fuels my writing.

I quickly realized I could not scheme up a memory – the best memories spontaneously occur when I least expect it.

As if spurred from a cue life threw me some witticism… a memory worth reliving… a story commendable of publishing…

With Winter Formal this weekend I began my usual preparations – repeatedly inquiring about Riley’s plans (getting these kids to decide on definite times and places is torture), attempting to subconsciously influence where to go for dinner and coolly providing him with topics for easy small talk, nonchalantly reminding Riley of proper “date etiquette” (open doors, pay for dinner, don’t text when she’s talking, look her in the eye, ask her to dance, hold her hand, etc.), casually probing about his date’s personality (where did you meet her, is she talkative, are you really dating a cheerleader??).

Riley is not a planner (I can assume a trait he has picked up from his father) so I tried to be patient but there were a few details I had to see were taken care of. Clothes had to be ironed, a tie had to be purchased and a wrist corsage had to be ordered.

I texted Riley on Thursday to confirm he wanted a wrist corsage for his date… after all, it’s been nearly 20 years since I was in high school and I had no idea if corsages were still a tradition. Riley, of course, had no idea what a wrist corsage was so after a brief explanation and a text to his girlfriend it was deemed that she did indeed want a corsage, confirming the tradition holds true to present day. But before I could start my internet search for the perfect flowers I fielded a phone call from a very confused teenager…

“Mom, you got my text that Natalie does want a wrist thingy, right? Well, she asked me if I wanted this one thing that I can’t even pronounce but I have no idea what she’s talking about…”

“A boutonniere?” I chuckled.

“YES! What the heck is that?”

I explained and then he asked ME, “So, do I want one?”

I told him he’s look awfully funny without one.

It’s just a good thing this conversation took place between Riley and me. Laughing at Riley’s naivety I conveyed this dialogue to Roger and he claims his response would have been something along these lines:

“Whoa, your girlfriend asked you if you wanted a boutonniere already? What kind of date is this and what kind of girl are you taking to this dance? You must have really scored because your Mom and I have been married for a long time and she’s never offered to give me a boutonniere?”

I’m pretty sure I’d be getting a very angry phone call from a parent tonight if parenting were left entirely up to Roger.

But with me interceding on this conversation I felt comfortable sending Riley out on his own. Approximately 2 hours before Winter Formal commenced we had some definite plans. Riley and Natalie would meet for dinner at a close by neighborhood restaurant. They’d have to go alone – just the two of them because of the late hour (Natalie had been at a cheerleading event in Eugene all day). I would pick them up after dinner and drive them to the dance. Natalie’s parents would take them home - a strategic move on their part to be certain.

It dawned on me that having a teenage girl will be entirely different from having a teenage boy when Roger declared that he would absolutely have to meet any and all boys prior to Hope leaving our house on a date, albeit without any such demands as Riley left our house to meet this mystery girl for this particular date.

Riley was undoubtedly nervous. This was his first real date as just a boy and a girl – a shy girl and an even shier boy. I had to apply some last minute deodorant under an already buttoned, tucked in shirt. I missed his armpits, covered his arms and brushed his chin with the deodorant. We laughed hysterically. I doused him with cologne. Roger tied his tie and we were off. Riley’s breathing was heavy – a sure sign of his nerves.

We dropped our bundle of nerves off at the restaurant, trying to covertly catch a glimpse of his girlfriend. My heart sank as I watched him enter the restaurant and shake hands with none other than Natalie’s parents. Another strategic (and smart) move on their part. But my babe was already nervous. That had to be torture.

We reluctantly made our way to McDonalds to let the little ones exert their rambunctious energy and await our cue to pick up the teenagers and drop them off at the dance. I desperately wanted to jump back in the truck, park in the restaurant lot and commence on a little innocent spying. Were they talking? Had I given Riley enough topics to get him through dinner? Was he texting? Did Natalie’s parents stay at the restaurant while they ate?

I begrudgingly refrained. I waited for my text and was off like a 911 call when it came. Despite my prompting to open the car door for a girl Riley prompted Natalie to get in the front and he sat in the back. Awkward – yes! I had prepared the car so they both could sit in the back. Obviously, he was too nervous to listen. Conveniently the school was a mere ¼ mile down the road because it turns out I was a bundle of nerves myself. I get WAY into this sort of thing… wanting it to all work out just perfectly without any of those awkward moments… which just leaves me babbling and clouds my judgment.

Riley got in the car with his boutonniere in hand. The teenagers couldn’t figure out how to secure it to Riley’s shirt. So, when we got to the school we all got out and I demanded Riley allow me to attach it. It took a few tries – like I said, it’s been a while. But we got the flower secured and they were off – thanking me for the ride. As I pulled away I realized that I made Riley’s poor date stand in the drizzle in her adorable, strapless formal as I pinned on his boutonniere.

I hate to admit that he gets his inherent nervousness from me. Now I’m afraid he may get poor manners from me as well.

Regardless, the boutonniere stayed in place and it sounds like they really had an incredible time. Riley has survived his first date all on his own. I’m so proud of his bravery – so willing to take his girlfriend out on his own when all his friends had plans that didn’t work with Natalie’s cheerleading event.

Now we’ll just have to see if they’re still an item come Monday…