Second-Worst End-of-School-Year Mom Ever

So ... school ended a month-and-a-half ago, you say?  Right.  Here's the thing - I was tired.  By that last day of school, I.  Needed.  A.  Break.  This blog post pretty much sums up how I was feeling.  But now?  After a month-plus of sleeping in, beach trips with and without the kids, and four days into a camp where all three are gone for FOUR HOURS?  Now, my friends, I'm feeling rejuvenated (that 90-minute birthday massage last weekend may have helped).  So, here come a bunch (probably nauseatingly so) of pics from our summer so far.  But first, the last day of school:

 

  And this.  Because, while I know it's important not to focus on a little girl's ability to be nice and pretty (awesome initiative on that here), I mean, come on.

On her way to her last dance class.

Here's What You Don't Do ...

Here's what you don't do on your oldest's 8th birthday, when you're already feeling all verklempt about him not being a little kid anymore, about time passing too quickly, and about your journey together so far.  You don't accidentally come across this Amy Tan quote (I've inserted "son" for "daughter"):

 

“…I love my son. He and I have shared the same body. There is a part of his mind that is a part of mine. But when he was born he sprang from me like a slippery fish, and has been swimming away ever since. All his life, I have watched him as though from another shore.”

 

Because when you do, you end up crying onto your keyboard, trying to catch tiny breaths between the tears.  It's hard - motherhood.  This eight-year ride has been beautiful, challenging, magical, heartbreaking, exhilirating, and everything in between.  And always, an incredible, incredible honor.

 

Eight years old?  Whatevs.  As long as I'm living, my baby you'll be.



This and That, with a Side of Weepiness

So, Ben turns 8 next week.  And I'm kind of weepy about it.  I know, they're getting older every day, but it's that marking of years that gets me.  And, I think, that his birthday happens to fall at the same time as the end of the school year.  I mean, EIGHT years old AND third grade??  Geeze, I may as well start shopping for his college dorm room.  Whoever said, "The days are long, the years are short," was, well ... clearly a Mom.

 

Thankfully, life has been insanely busy, so I really don't have time to sit around and cry in my wine (which would just be sad and inappropriate anyway).  Before kids, May was just a month.  Now, it is a marathon of sports, field trips, school projects, and end-of-year celebrations:

 See?  The very picture of busy-ness.

 But seriously, learning to wink is very time consuming.

 As is cheering on the Braves.

 The boys just finished a session of swim lessons.

Noah's coach wasn't an ugly human being (just sayin').

 And Eliza is finishing her first session of dance classes.

And the sports.  Oh, the gift that just keeps taking and taking (our time).

But then there's a post-victory dog-pile moment like this and you have to love it.  Ben's baseball team plays their post-season tournament this weekend.  (See?  Since when do we have a kid old enough to be playing a sports tournament?)

End-of-year chess awards ceremony.

And Noah's end-of-year class art show.

I drove Ben's class on a field trip last week.  When I asked to take a picture, I got this "Seriously, Mom?" look, instead of the smiley arms-around-each-other pose of years past (sniff).

 

And then this:

 The sniffer of all sniffers.  (Maybe that doesn't sound right?)

We celebrated our dearest friend Ava's first communion a couple weeks ago.  I mean, really now.



 

 Of course, there's always Mother's Day to put it all into perspective. 

 I like to think I set the mothering bar at an attainable reach for those around me.  You know, don't want to make anyone feel bad with my awesome parenting skills.

 But I don't know.  Eliza kind of nailed it with this gift:  I nice AND clean!  Occasional bathing AND Hungry Hippo skillz.  Sorry, moms - can't help but do what I do.

 

And, according to Noah, if it all just gets to be too much, I can always do a load of laundry to take the edge off:

"I love her one hundred thousand and around the world."

Best.  Words.  Ever.

 The days are long.  The years are short.

I'm blessed through all of it.

That's My Girl

Despite Eliza's 2-year-old stubbornness, angst, irrationality, and overall craziness, she really does have my heart ... and my back.  Most recent case in point:

 

She and I were finishing up our weekly grocery trip, standing at the cash register, while she and the bagger exchanged their usual pleasantries:

"Hi, how are you?"

"Good."

"How old are you?"

"Two."

"Did you help Mommy shop today?"

"Yep."

 

When I'd paid and started to push the cart away, Eliza dramatically pointed to the bagger and screamed, with the volume and urgency of someone who was about to be hit by a car, "YOU FORGOT THE WIIINE!!!"  I turned around and, indeed, there sat my bottle of wine in its brown paper bag, overlooked and left behind.  I realize that many (perhaps most) moms would have shrunk in horror that their 2-year-old had shrieked such a thing in public.  But nope, not this mama.  I cupped her little face in my hands, kissed her cheek, said "thank you," and went back and picked up my almost-abandoned bottle of wine.  God love that little girl.

Landfill Guilt Relief

Sound the trumpets, pop the champagne, roll out the red carpet, have a parade, and do whatever else one does when celebrating a MILESTONE.  Because we are DIAPER FREE, people!  For good.  I think it was Eliza's little nod to Earth Day:  I shall contribute nasty diapers to the landfills no more!  Mind you, this was not an easy transition.  This girl is, after all, quite mule-ish.  It started like this:

 Hands on hips:  I not gonna go! (Not kidding, that's what she told me.)

 We eventually put on her big-girl underwear, which, turns out, was really just a step forward for me.  She decided to pee in them as frequently as she would a diaper.  Helpful hint:  baby wipes are a poor substitute for paper towels when trying to (discreetly) clean up a puddle of your child's urine in the grocery store aisle.

 

But she did it.  She flipped the switch and did it.  Potty-trained.  Day and night.  Hallelujah.  Amen.

This picture may not scream potty-trained, but it was taken yesterday at the park just after she used the potty ... in my car.  Because apparently that's what moms of girls have to do - ride around with a potty in their car because their kid can't just go behind a tree.  Luckily the buying of pink things somewhat makes up for it.

 

And this.  Because she probably read my last blog post and needed to disagree.  Went to Barnes & Noble last week and where did she spend her time?

At the Lego table.  You know, cuz we love Legos.

Something Land

There's something about Legos.  Kids are drawn to them -- they spend hours building intricate 500-piece constructions, they pore over catalogs, they clamor to go to the store with new birthday money to buy the latest set.  But not our kids.  Our kids could not care less about Legos.  Sure, they love building complex creations with popsicle sticks, cardboard, string, tape, you-name-it, but not Legos.  Not interested.  So, where did we decide would be the perfect family spring break destination?  LEGOLAND!  Cuz we're awesome like that.

 Double-decker carousel!

 

 Turns out you don't have to like Legos to like LEGOLAND!  The kids loved it.
Midway through our second day, the skies opened up and we were hit with a serious thunderstorm.  Of course, we were as far away from the entrance as one could possibly be, so we had to hightail it all the way through the park in bright yellow plastic LEGOLAND ponchos, Jess carrying Eliza, me pushing the stroller, and Ben and Noah freaking out that we were stuck in a tornado.  Fun times.
But not to fear, the Davises don't let a little thunderstorm ruin a vacation.  So, after drying off at the hotel, we ventured out to the Cypress Gardens Bowling Alley and Family Fun Center.

 Granny gone bowlin.

Thankfully, the rain did eventually stop after dinner, and we headed back to the park, rode the rides to our collective hearts' content, and then shut the place down.

And did we buy or play with one single Lego the entire trip?  Nope.  Success on every level.


Effin Muffins

Because Eliza is often possessed crazy extremely strong-willed, Jess and I take especially great pleasure in the things she does that make us laugh out loud.  Currently, that includes her pronunciation of the phrase English muffins:  Effin muffins.  It's equally funny when she yells, "I want a effin muffin!"  as when she yells, "I don't want a effin muffin!"

Sure, she looks all sweet here giving Daddy a Sunday morning breakfast hug, but this was taken just after a "I don't want a effin muffin!" outburst.

This girl is definitely on fi-yah!

(And will soon be running the world.)