Harder than I thought

There's something about Christmas Eve. 

When I was a kid, it was my favorite day of the year.  I got to go with my dad and open presents.  Then to his family's and open more presents.  Then to more family to eat tamales.  Then he took me home where my grandma would be waiting up for me.  She would listen intently to all of my excitement, and then she sent me on my way to bed.  Of course, once I got old enough, she stopped waiting for me to go to bed.  When I got home that night, she would have already stuffed the stockings and placed the presents under the tree.  But she was still there, waiting for me when I got home.

Now that I'm the mama, most of the magic is gone.  (I say most because there's really nothing more magical than seeing the excitement in the eyes of your children.)  Now, I take my kids with me to their grandpa's to open presents.  Then we pack up the car and drive to more family to open more presents and play with cousins they really only see on Christmas and Easter.  Then we drive all the way back home quietly (mostly in hopes that they'll stay asleep once we arrive).  Every year, it gets a little harder to stay awake until I'm sure they're asleep.  Now I see why my grandma gave up eventually!

Also, every year about this time, I really miss her.  I miss the silly things she put in my stocking.  I miss the way she wore her Santa hat while sipping coffee & smoking.  I wish she was around to let me know if I'm doing this right.

This will be the first holiday that I'm on my own with the girls.  I naively thought it would be easier than this.  Putting on the smiley face for them is so much easier on a regular day.  I would give absolutely anything to be at my grandma's house tonight.  Warm & safe & secure in the knowledge that, in the morning, everything will be magical.  Instead, I will wait up late tonight until I know there are sugarplums dancing in the heads of my three girls.  I will pull out all of the presents and the stocking stuffers and quietly get them ready for the morning.  Then, in the morning, I will pull out all of the magic my grandma gave me over all of the years and sprinkle it on the three most important people in the world.  And, hopefully, all they'll remember about this Christmas is that it was just as amazing as every one that came before and after.

Quick note

I haven't been posting lately because I haven't had anything funny/witty/light hearted to say.  And, honestly, this won't be any of those things either; but, I'm tired of screaming inside about it.

This was Maya putting on her clothes after her winter dance recital yesterday.  Yes, the polka dot pettiskirt & polka dot legwarmers are her regular clothes.  Watching the recital with us were people who supposedly know my girls very well.  And yet, one of them still asked if this was her costume. Well...

Here is Maya in her "costume" at the park

and at a party

and watching tv

and playing outside.

I am quite confident that, if you looked at my daughter through an x-ray machine,  you would see she is filled with crinoline and tulle.  She is happiest in big, frilly, poofy clothes.  And, who wouldn't want to make their kid smile if all it took was a silly outfit? 

So, no, I am not a pageant mom.  No, I don't force my child to dress up for my own amusement.  If you saw the other two girls, you would know that this is not of my doing.  Maya is her own person.  Yes, it would be much easier sometimes if she would just put on a pair of jeans and tennis shoes.  But, that wouldn't be Maya.  So, I will continue to buy her pettiskirts, tutus, and sparkly shoes until she grows out of this faze.  Or, I will buy them until she's old and gray.  Either way, she will always be too fabulous for anyone who rolls their eyes and whispers about her mama when she walks by.

Things that go bump...or rattle...or roar

Is it just me, or is the world going crazy(ier)?  Things that aren't supposed to happen at all seem to be occurring with some frequency now.

My Eva has a lot of fear in her little body.  Not the blatant, cling-to-mama's-leg kind of fear.  But the what's-lurking-around-the-corner kind. 

She hates open doors.  Every bathroom & closet door has to be closed if she's near it.

She worries every time she hears anyone arguing.

She's quick to point out if someone is doing something she feels is dangerous.  She's genuinely concerned for complete strangers.

She also worries about things that will never happen to her.  Or at least, up until recently, I was confidently reassuring her would never happen to her.

When we go to the beach in the summer, she worries about sharks.  Remember...she doesn't go more than knee deep into the ocean.  So, I've always told her there are no sharks where she plays.  Then, last summer, at a beach very close to where we were, a girl was attacked by a shark in shallow water.  Great.

She worries about extreme weather.  She always asks questions to see if I will know what to do when something terrible happens.  "What if there's a flood?  Where should we go?"  "When a hurricane hits, what are we supposed to do?"  It doesn't help that she likes to watch the news with me.  So, when she sees something tragic on TV, she wants to know how to prepare herself to survive.  Remember, we live in Kansas.  I tell her all the time that there will never be a hurricane in Kansas.  Or a landslide.  Or an earthquake.  Then, last night, Kansas had an earthquake.  Just a small one (I didn't even know what it was until this morning), but the beds shook.  Fantastic.  I know she was thinking, "but you said that would never happen here!".  I hate it when Mother Nature makes a liar out of me.

My sweet Eva worries about everything that little girls should never think about.  When we go to the zoo, she wants to know how she can be sure the animals won't get out of their cages.  I give her the basic, boilerplate answer: Because they just won't.  Then, a few weeks ago, some moron set a menagerie of lions and tigers and bears literally loose.  She watched the news with me as I sat open-mouthed in awe of that man's stupidity.  Awesome.  Again, out of the corner of her eye, "but you said that would never happen!" 

So, as a mother, I'm left trying to reassure my kids that the likelihood of something dramatic happening to them in this tiny Midwestern town is too low to measure.  Meanwhile, between nature and complete idiots, dramatic nonsense is happening all around them.  Eva is a little ball of knots on a good slow-news day.  What does it do to her when wild exotic animals are roaming the streets or earthquakes are shaking her house?  Not good things, that's for sure.

So, if this stupid asteroid hits earth or a hurricane travels up the Missouri river, I will completely give up.  I will huddle under the covers with her and we will tremble in fear (or frustration) together.

Lessons I hope I've given (so far)

With so much tragedy in the world, sometimes I can't help but think about what would happen to my girls if I were taken from them today.  Obviously, they have a father and a family that love them to pieces.  So, I don't worry about them as far as the day-to-day life.  Although, I'm pretty sure no one would braid Maya's hair to her exact specifications, or patiently wait for Eva's peace to return, or know exactly which friends Sofia holds the most dear.  I mostly worry if they would remember anything about what I'm trying to teach them.  As their mother, I try to slip in life lessons wherever I can.  Sometimes they are overt, "Brushing your teeth will make people want to stand closer to you when you speak to them."  And, sometimes they are snuck in when they aren't looking, "Wow, you seem to have really pulled yourself together after taking some deep breaths!  What a great idea!"  Here are a few of the other things I hope they were paying attention to:

Do not mumble.  If you can't say it to their face, don't mumble it behind their back.

A walk in the warm sunshine can cure anything.

The right shoes, the more sparkly the better, can turn any day from boring to fabulous.

Look people in the eye when you're talking to them so they know you're telling the truth.

And, look them in the eye when they are speaking so you can see the truth in their words.

Lying makes everything worse.

Two things you will never really get back once they're gone:  trust and respect.  Even after forgiveness, the sting of betrayal always lingers.

You can forgive someone a million times; but if they keep doing the same thing a million times over, they're probably not worth your forgiveness.

No one will ever love you more than your mama.  Yes, you will have plenty of people in love with you; but none of them agreed to have you grow inside them, deform their body, have you ripped from their belly, and then let you run free through the world finding your own separate happiness.

Be yourself.  Anyone who tries to change you is blind to your perfection.  And, who wants to be someone's guide dog for the rest of their lives?!

Comb ALL of your hair, not just the part you can see from the front.  And, brush all of your teeth, not just the ones you can see from the front.  Finally, don't ever let anyone take a photo of you from behind, only what you can see from the front.

Eating healthy will not kill you, but it also won't make you a ton of friends when it's your turn to bring snacks.

When you're a mother, a hundred years from now... unless you take my advice and join a convent, you will gladly lay down your life for your children. 

Don't ever give up.  Trying and failing beats quitting every single time.

Take responsibility.  You can't blame everything that goes wrong on someone else.  Your mistakes are yours, own them.

Do I have more to teach them?  Probably, but only after I learn the lessons first.  Will they remember any of it, hopefully.  If I get taken from them tomorrow, I can only cross my fingers that they'll do more than worry who's going to make the pancakes.

Anatomy of my 9.1 mile run

P.S.  I was going to call this "Anatomy of a 9.1 mile run", but I figured others probably do it a lot better than me.

As a quick recap...
When I started running (exactly 14 runs ago), I barely made it to the end of my street before I had to walk a while.  And, the first run ended with the giant distance of 3.63 miles.  This morning, almost one and a half months later, I finished 9.1 miles.

And it went a little something like this:
When I got home from taking the girls to school, I put on two shirts and a jacket.  Because, lest we forget, I am not doing this for the "fun", it's to reduce the jiggle to an acceptable level.  So, I want to sweat as much as possible.  Then  I took off the ankle brace I've had to wear for a couple of weeks because it rubs the skin on my foot raw.  It's bad enough walking like a hundred year old man, I don't need to do it like I'm also walking on fire.  I strapped on my I-Pod and hit start on the phone app that monitors my speed, distance, calories burned, etc.

The first three miles are the hardest.  What gets me to push through?  The Rocky theme playing in my head and every boxing documentary I've ever seen.  Those shows always have the scene of the boxer running in a hoodie with an I-Pod. 

They also have a guy that follows them around in a car offering water.

And, I have to stop myself from shadow boxing on the public streets.

I wonder where I could find one of those guys - you know, for motivation.

Anyway, 1.25 miles in, I start the biggest hill.  And, inevitably, half way up I start calling myself names.  This hill is not my friend, but it was the goal I made for myself before I took up running.

At mile 3, I hit my stride... this generally lasts until mile 7.  During this "blissful" time, I wonder why I thought this was so hard.  I even start singing along to my I-Pod.

Around mile 5, I wonder where the people are that are supposed to be handing me a cup of water.  I always see that on tv!

7 miles is when my legs start to tighten and my arms start to clench.

At the 7.25 mark, I seriously contemplate passing my towel to the elderly lady on her morning stroll in an attempt to turn this into a relay.  Your turn, grandma!  I change my mind when she clenches her fists as I approach as if preparing to defend herself against me.  Although, at this point, she could probably take me in a fair fight.

7.5 miles in, I start back toward home.  This is where I allow my ten walking steps.  This is the only time I allow anything less than a steady jog.  This is also where I get to the small hill that always surprises me.  Maybe it's that my lower body is already turning to jello?

At 8.5 miles I reach the medium hill.  This hill got the best of me on my first run, but I have whooped it every time since!  This is also where I start hallucinating.  I truly start thinking someone's going to notice how hard I'm working, and then they will reward me.  Like I said... it's not rational thinking.

I find myself in my driveway at exactly 9.1 miles. It's a little over an hour and a half later.  OK, so I'm no speed demon, but I don't think that's too bad considering I'm running up and down hills and around corners and curves.  Not to mention the traffic I have to stop for.

Anyway, I've had almost a month and a half of running.  I still don't get how people can actually enjoy this, but I know I run because it's a little bit of time where no one is talking to me.  Oh, and also because now, when someone is really ticking me off, I can say to myself  "If you can go run this off, you might not have to kill them."

Reality check

I am tired of people who think their kids are perfect.

OK...let me back up a little.

My children are amazing little beings.  They are smart, beautiful and full of personality.  I mean full of it.  No, seriously, sometimes they are FULL OF IT.  I have been lied to, "stolen" from, whispered about and ignored.  And that was only a Tuesday.  I have had eyes rolled at me, feet stomped past me, and more than once I'm pretty sure someone has tried to trip me.  No, my children are no angels; they are human beings.

I know a lot of people who apparently gave birth to honest to goodness walk-on-water do-no-wrong super-humans.  Their children never cause the trouble they always seem to find themselves in.  Their children's teachers are obviously lying when they suggest that the kids might need a little discipline.  Their children never talk back or argue.  In fact, their children could teach my children a thing or two about everything.  Right.

Here's the problem... I have eyes.  I have seen these sweet boys knock other kids down.  I have watched these girls make other girls feel terrible about themselves because of something they said.  In short, there's a remote possibility that their children might also be human beings.  But don't tell the parents that.

Now, to be fair, I do know some kids that I am pretty sure are very close to perfect.  They are always respectful, treat all of the other kids the same, and don't seem to have the kind of eyes that do any rolling.  Amazingly, however, most of the parents of these kids swear they are just like mine... imperfect.

I am not one of those people who cannot see the faults in my children.  The girls are, after all, carrying half of my DNA around.  If you tell me that one of them was involved in a problem, my first reaction is not to blame the other kid.  I will do all of my investigating, then I will place blame accordingly.  If it falls on the shoulders of one of my girls, so be it.  I'm all about reality. 

And, at a certain point, I am afraid I'll have to pull some adults into reality with me.  Because, if you walk around your whole life with your head buried in the sand, you'll miss the amazing things that happen inside a child when they realize that perfect is entirely over-rated. 

Braces...take 1

Yesterday was the day I've been dreading since her teeth started coming in.  Eva got braces.  Well...only on her top four front teeth.  But still, they're braces.  And, in a couple of weeks, she will be getting a palate separator.  Doesn't that just sound barbaric?  Anyway, it just breaks my heart that Eva is the first one to get these.  Yes, her teeth have been obviously in need of braces since she had more than two of them.  Yes, she's been sucking her thumb since birth.  And, yes, I know she'll be thankful later.  But she was so stressed out about it!  For anyone who doesn't know, Eva has been diagnosed with selective mutism and fairly serious anxiety issues.  Without going into details (as that is her personal story), I will just say that this was extremely difficult for her.

the last picture with naked teeth I'll have for a long time

She chose brackets in two different colors.  Purple (her favorite color) and green (my favorite).  She is the sweetest child ever.  Then she got pink rubber bands (Maya's favorite color).  Though I don't think they let her choose that because she really doesn't like pink.  I held her shaking hands and rubbed her trembling legs while they glued the brackets on.  And, forty five minutes later, we were done.

Eva is the first person in our family to ever have braces, so none of us knew what to expect.  While she was at school, I made her favorite soup and some ice cream because I was afraid her mouth would hurt too much to chew anything.  Apparently, however, she may only be a little sore the second day.  Unfortunately, she was up almost all night worried and anxious.  My fingers are crossed that no one at school makes her uncomfortable about this.  Since she's only seven, she doesn't know anyone else with braces.  I tried to reassure her that, when everyone else is just starting down this road, she'll already be almost done.  In the second grade, that doesn't help much.

I can only hope that she'll handle this the way she does most things.  With a smile in her eyes and a gentle heart.

It took 8.76 miles

The safety and well-being of my children is not up for debate, discussion, misinterpretation or miscommunication.  Period.

Anyone who knows me knows that I am not the most laid-back person in the world.  However, as quickly as I am to anger, I am fairly quick about getting over things too.

Unless you mess with my children.

So, when I walked Maya into preschool this morning and discovered that the preschool classroom was devoid of adults, that was a problem for me.  We pay a lot of money to send her to the best preschool I could find.  It is well beyond our budget, but it was a great experience for Eva.  So, we scrape the tuition together every month.  With this absurd amount of money, we pay for three teachers to be in charge of the class.  This morning, only one of those teachers could be found, and she was just opening the front door for the four year olds to wander through.

No one made sure they went to the right class.
No one made sure they weren't hurting themselves or others.
No one made sure they weren't burning the school down.
or choking.
or crying.
or scared.
or that there wasn't a random adult in the room with them.
Nothing.

I don't usually walk Maya all the way in to the big classroom.  She likes it when I walk her inside to her coat hook, hug her, and get on my way.  But this morning I had to pay the tuition, so she agreed to let me walk her all the way inside.  This is the only way I knew what was happening. So, all of the parents who dropped their kids off at the door or left them at their coat hooks had no idea that they were sending their babies in to -------- no one.  These are four year old kids... not the most independent of our species.  After ten minutes and one other mother walking in to find the teachers MIA, the lead teacher wandered in and wondered aloud where the others were.  She didn't believe me that the kids were unattended.  She looked behind bookshelves like we were playing a big game of hide-and-seek.  I'm not kidding.  Finally, after going to get a teacher from another class to watch our preschoolers, one of the missing teachers wandered around the corner.  By the time I left, all three of the people who were supposed to look after my four year old were accounted for.  Unfortunately, the same could not be said for my peace of mind.

I was shaking when I finally pulled out of the parking lot.  My blood pressure was set to boiling.  It took an 8.76 mile run before the homicidal visions were blurred in my head.

I want to believe this was a one time thing, as the email waiting for me after my run said.  But, I don't take chances with the safety and well-being of my girls.

And that is not up for debate, discussion, misinterpretation or miscommunication.  Period.

I would do anything for you.  I would play any role for you.

When you're sad, I want to make you laugh.  You can count on me to say the first thing that pops into my head to make you laugh so hard you spit out your milk (or your problems, whichever is necessary).

When you're pissed off, I want to kick their ass... unless it's me, then you'll just have to get in line with all the other people who are mad at me.

I will help you connect the dots.  Then I will go back and erase the lines if you're not ready to see the whole picture.

When you succeed, I will be the loudest cheerleader on the sidelines - just ask anyone within ten miles of one of Eva's soccer games.

When you make a decision that I disagree with, I will keep my mouth shut and my fingers crossed.  Because, ultimately, this is your life and I'm just along for the ride until you kick me off.

If you fail, I will pick you up off the ground, dust you off, and help you find a better way to get the job done.

I am loyal to the end and committed to a fault.  Whatever you need, I will be right there with my bag of tricks.  Or a box of cookies - whatever is called for.

And, I will love doing all of this for you.  You will never hear me complain about taking care of you. 

But, sometimes, I wish you knew that the one who's pulling out all of the stops to take your mind off of your troubles could use a laugh herself.  That the one who will drop everything to help carry your load, sometimes has too much on her shoulders already.  That I would never tell you this because that might make you stop coming to me for help.  And, sometimes, the hand reaching out for my help is the only hand I've seen in months.

I am a strong, independent thinker.

I couldn't care less who thinks I should dress more "appropriately".  Your ideas on my choice of style (or lack thereof) don't effect me at all.  I don't care what you think of what I serve my family to eat or how I keep my house.  You have absolutely no say in any of the thoughts that swirl around in my head.

With one exception.

I care deeply about how I'm doing raising my girls.  And, when it comes to the kind of job I'm doing, I constantly compare myself to those around me.  I know they say that you won't know how you did as a mother until your children are grown, but I believe you get a pretty good idea when looking at the kids around you.

Now, don't get me wrong, I definitely have the cream of the crop of children.  My concern comes in when I'm trying to decide how badly I'm screwing them up.  To make this assessment, I need look no further than some of the moms of my girls' friends.

It is a veritable plethora of "Super Moms".  They work, they have successful marriages, and they have amazing kids.  They are the moms who welcome sleepovers at a moment's notice.  I have yet to have a single sleepover.  I would like to think it's because none of the girls have ever asked for one, but I know it's mostly because I don't need more girls in my house.  I feel like I'm living in a perpetual slumber party... no sleeping, lots of squealing, and plenty of "spa nights".  They are the moms who are raising kids who request donations to their favorite charities instead of presents.  If I even suggested that idea to my kids, they would think I had been abducted and replaced by a total moron.  They don't need any crap, but crap is what they desire every chance they get.  They are the moms who don't blink an eye when their child wants to sign up for yet another activity.  I am nearing my limit simply with two in Girl Scouts, one in dance, one in band, art club & a choir group, two in CCD, and one in soccer.  The moms who have it all together intimidate me.  And I really don't intimidate easily.

It is these women that make me stop when I want to choke myself for agreeing to make two different runs to three different schools in the morning so that Sofia could join the choir group.  Without these women around, unknowingly keeping me in check, I would have thrown in the towel by now.  And, while I know that I will never be the mom that all the other kids want to hang with, I use them as my inspiration to keep trying not to screw up the perfection I was blessed with in my kids.  Or, at the very least, hide it better.

Run #7

I'm up to 5.67 miles.  Not too bad for only being the eighth time I've ever run anywhere in my life.  (Seriously, in High School I was the kid who wrote their own note to get out of participating.  I never once did that stupid mile-run for the state assessment.)

Now, here's the problem:  I hurt my foot.  Actually, I hurt it while I was stretching after last Friday's run.  I thought it would feel better in the morning.  It didn't, but I did my Saturday run anyway.  (I'm super smart like that!)  Now, five days later, it still hurts.  I don't know what exactly I did, but the arch of my left foot hurts every time I take a step.  Unfortunately, I am one of those people who takes commitments very seriously.  I am determined to run three mornings a week.  I am determined to extend the run at least once a week.  I am determined to do this until there is ice covering the streets.  So, I will hobble through these damn runs if it kills me.  I want to say it's something profound or spiritual.  But, really, I am just incredibly hard headed and refuse to be beaten by anything - even my body.

So, I was slower today (5.6 mph average speed, 10:37 min/mi.).  In my defense though, in addition to the terrible pain in my stupid foot, it was also drizzling and cold.  And, I only saw one other person out running today (the hardcore lady I see everytime... she even has the fancy running paraphenalia.)  So, I feel like I accomplished something today. 

I would like to thank Stacy for texting me twice this morning so I could walk for a minute, I really needed that.  And, a special thank you to Kim for texting me yesterday morning because she thought yesterday was Wednesday.  At least she tried! 

And, if I could do this... anyone can get up and exercise a little today. 

Don't do it because I SAID so...

Because I know what it feels like to be at the bottom of everyone's list, I know that I will always put my girls at the tippy-top. 

Because I've been pushed down stairs, I know that it doesn't matter how big the opponent, I can put up a fight with the best of them.

Because I've been looked in the eye, I know it's possible to carry on a conversation with a man who isn't staring at your chest.

Because I know how to celebrate "new" clothes when they come home with my mother in a black trash bag, I know my kids can learn to appreciate what we can afford to give them.  Because, regardless of the label, at least they still have tags on them.

Because I have had to run to the neighbor's to call 911 when a man was choking my mother, I know I have it in me to save a life.

Because that same man was welcomed back into our home less than 48 hours later, I know I have it in me to take one too.

Because, less than a year after that, I was moved into that man's house, I know that it's possible for a mother to put anyone ahead of her child.

Because I have waited (more than once) for a father that didn't show up, I know that waiting on someone to whisk you away is time wasted.

Because I have had burned fingers with habaneros and eyeballs with jalapenos, I know to put on gloves every time I mess with them now.

Because I have cleaned vomit off of the ceiling, play-dough out of hair, and you-don't-want-to-know-what out of air vents, I know I can do anything given enough Lysol and deep breaths.

Because I have felt the warmth of my newborn babies' breath on my chest, I know what it means to love so much you can't breathe. 

Because I have seen real struggle, felt real loss, and witnessed absolute weakness, I know all people are capable of anything in any given situation.

Because I have watched someone I loved with all I had walk away, I know he didn't take the sunrise with him.

Because I have felt the sting of betrayal, I know I could never be that cruel.

Because I have tried my hardest and failed, I know that falling on my face won't kill me... even when I wish it would.

Because I have stood on my own two feet, I know I'll never need to step on anyone else's toes to make it to my destination.

And, because I know how hard lessons can be, I know to get them the first time whenever possible.


So, when I tell my children "Because I said so." I really mean, "Because I've done it before, and I know what's coming.  So, as much as I want you to follow your own path, I don't want you running into the same traps and walls.  I learned those lessons so that you don't have to."  Otherwise, every stumble I had in my life was for nothing.  And, I don't think I could live with that.

I still don't get it, but...

Day #4 of the running thing.    I'm up to 4.3 miles.  49 minutes.  Average speed 5.5 mph.  Steepest hill 614 ft. elevation.  (Can you tell I really like the app on my phone?)  However, the stupid thing says I only burned 430 calories.  No way!!  It was at least a cheesecake.  Anyway, I don't think the run today was too bad considering I'm still trying to get over this insane cold Maya brought home from school last Friday.

Here are some random thoughts I had this morning:

• If I'm going to continue this running thing, maybe I should get some exercise pants that fit.  Running while trying to hold up your pants is annoying.  However, having them fall down in front of the firehouse would definitely have me thinking twice about calling 911 if my house catches fire.
• No... cute running shoes sure do not make it more fun.
• Listening to my I-Pod while running means I don't want to talk to you - not that I can't hear you.  So, to the witches  lovely ladies that I passed this morning, !@#$ you. 
• This competitive streak may kill me.  Or at least give me a serious cramp.
• This unexplained spinal pain may be my body's way of telling me to stop.  But, pushing through it is my way of telling the doctor who messed up my first epidural to kiss my behind.
• Is it wrong to pray for someone to text me so that I have an excuse to walk?  Because, of course I'm carrying my phone just in case the preschool decides to text me that my baby is choking on a cheerio.  Seriously... someone text me!  I just want to walk for a few seconds!
• This is not nearly as fun as my afternoon walks with my favorite sparkly shoed kid.

So, one week (four runs) later, I still don't get why people enjoy this.  I'll keep at it though, if for no other reason than to lap those women two more times.

Jeans Season

So I think I'm the only person in the world who couldn't care less about "swimsuit season".  Well.... maybe that's an exaggeration... I am fairly sure that Tibetan monks aren't all that concerned with having six packs peak out from under just-a-little-too-tight t-shirts.  But, other than the monks and I, everyone else spends all spring losing weight.  I happen to use the summer to add some padding to protect my midsection should anyone feel the need to run into my hips with a mack truck.  You know... safety first and all of that.

All of this being said, the season I do prepare for is what I like to call "jeans season".  See, while I can successfully avoid donning a swimsuit for at least 87% of the summer, I can't go bottom-less for all of fall and winter.  Well, I could, but that would certainly make parent-teacher conferences a whole new level of awkward.  So, with the goal of not having to squeeze my ample rear into my "good day jeans"** I have begun preparing.

** Am I the only one with a pair of jeans that, every time you put them on, you think "Wow, did I lose weight?  I know I shouldn't be able to zip these up!"  If I am, you should definitely go get a pair!  They really turn a "shouldn't have had that extra cappuccino"day into that "I think I could use another cookie" day!  Seriously... run right now to your nearest store and pick one up!

Anyway, I have decided that I shall start running.  Actually, I have decided that I can't spend every minute that Maya is in school crying over a bowl of flour and sugar.  And, since I gravitate to my kitchen every moment I'm in my house, I had to get out of here.  And, yesterday was day one of my new routine.  Let me just say now... I abhor running.  I truly don't get it.  Unless someone is chasing you or your child is being swept away by the ocean... why do you need to get anywhere faster than a quick step?  I can't say I know yet, but maybe I'll figure it out by day 2?  * Doubtful.

According to my new app... I ran 3.63 miles yesterday morning.  At a top speed of 11.4 mph.  With an average pace of 9:45/mile.  Slow, I'm sure.  But no one was chasing me, so I don't think it's too bad.  Put one of these hillbillies on a tractor behind me, and I'm sure I would've beaten any average Olympic sprinter.  My phone also tells me that I burned 364 calories.  However, I find that to be grossly underestimated.  It was 47,000 degrees.   There is a bigg-ish hill at the end of my route.  And, I looked like I had just come from the shower by the time I made it back to my house.  So, according to my very scientific estimates, I burned at least an enchilada platter and a margarita. 

Day 2 of my new routine is tomorrow.  Since I woke up this morning without any soreness or pain, I suppose I should go further?  Or...  I could go get bigger jeans and an enchilada platter.  We'll see...

Free time?

So many people have asked me how I'm spending my time without my baby.  Well, here are just a few of the ways:

Raspberry Lemonade Cupcakes

Root Beer Float Cupcakes

Candy-Covered Chocolate Apples

Croissants



In other words, my time is spent crying over my oven.  Seriously, I'm not exaggerating. 

Yesterday was the first time all three of the girls were in school.  When I got home from dropping them all off at their respective schools, I went around to let Maya out of her carseat.  Again... I dropped ALL of them off at school.  Once I got over the shock of an empty backseat, I went in to clean the house.  More than once, I called out to Maya because it was so quiet.  It was quiet because NO ONE was home.  The moment that was done (and my hands started shaking again), I needed something else to do.  So I made chiles rellenos.  While they cooled, I started the spaghetti sauce for dinner.  While that simmered, I made burritos out of the chiles.  Then it was time to go get Maya from preschool.  It had been exactly two hours and twenty five minutes since I dropped her off.

I sat outside the preschool and tried to loosen the knots in my stomach.  Since I had left her at 8:00 that morning, I had a clean house, a weeks worth of lunches for the husband, and half of dinner done.  But I would've traded all of that for those two and a half hours back with my baby.  I keep waiting for the "relief" to set in.  The yeah-I-finally-get-time-to-myself feeling that everyone said I would get.  I don't even see that on the distant horizon.

I've had three kids in school for three days, and all I can see fading is the definition of my waist line.  I hope school lets out before I have to let all of my jeans out.

Deep Breaths

Today was the day.  The day my heart was ripped from my chest, a nametag placed on it's back, and it was lured away by new toys.  The day I learned what it felt like to have a limb severed.  Oh yeah, it was also the day my baby girl became a preschooler.

While I have been in complete denial about the arrival of this fateful day, in the back of my mind I knew it was coming.  Hurtling toward me like a runaway train.  I didn't even get her a new dress for the occasion because, once I finally admitted that the day was approaching, I couldn't find a single dress I liked.  This has never happened before!  I usually have to stop myself from buying every thing in the store.  So, she went to her first day in an old dress.  Of course, I did get her a backpack.  But that's only because it was on clearance at Pottery Barn Kids.  And it was really cute.  And I could pretend it was only for dress-up purposes.  And throughout the summer, I reminded her about once a week that Preschool was coming!  She had some very interesting takes on it:

Me:  "In preschool you get to sing lots of songs!"

Maya:  "ALL BY MYSELF!!"

Me:  "No, everyone gets to sing."

Maya:  "Why??!!"

Maya:  "Mama, I'm not going to be able to go to the first day of preschool"

Me:  "Why not?!"

Maya:  "Because I'm not gonna feel good."

Me:  "Only three breakfasts left until preschool!"

Maya:  "You better make them good than!"

Anyway, yesterday, we actually got to the matter of preparing.

First, we made our "Kissing Hands".  This was something the preschool did on Eva's first day.  It really helped during those first few days.  I can clearly remember clutching it to my chest as I sobbed all the way home.  Since the school didn't assign it this year, I did it on my own.  So, Maya's is in her back pack and mine was clutched to my chest as I sobbed all the way home.

Then, we packed up her backpack and tied the little name card I made on the outside.  After lunch, we went for back to school haircuts.  Both of her sisters got one, but she refused because she wants to be "like Rapunzel".  With her braid now reaching to her waist, I'd say she's well on her way.

For dinner, I made her favorite.  Chicken enchiladas have been her favorite meal since before she turned three and they have always been the only thing she always eats.

She picked out the dress she wanted to wear and we did the requisite pedicure.  After all, a girl can't start preschool without bright pink toenails! Well, at least not this girl.  While sisters were getting ready for bed, we snuggled in a chair and talked about the big day.  We talked about all of the fun things she would get to do, and I told her how I couldn't wait to hear all about it when she got home.  We talked about how lucky she was that she has a cousin in her class.  I asked her if she was going to make any other friends.  Her response: "Well, if they come to me". 
*This is probably a good time to mention the main reason why Maya needs to go to preschool.  She is a complete diva.  And, she needs to learn that she is not actually in charge of the whole world (though, to be fair, she does run this house with an iron fist).

After they finally settled down and fell asleep, I went in to stare at her.  It was the last time I'd watch my baby sleep.  Once school started, she would be an official "big girl".  I, predictably, didn't sleep at all.  This was going to be the last first day of preschool.  I got up with a stomach ache, and it hasn't passed yet.

I made her one of her favorite breakfasts (still trying to fulfill my instructions to make them good) and went in to wake her up.

Putting on a brave face, we sang songs about how great this day was.  We bounced around the house giggling about all the fun she was going to have. 
*Alright, maybe I was trying to delay everything by making her late for her first day.  But she thought it was fun, so we'll just go with that.
After getting dressed, teeth brushed, and hair done it was time for pictures.

This is my big girl.  Isn't she beautiful?

Then, it was off to school.  She was quiet, her mama was desperately trying to hold it together.  We made the long walk up to the front door.

Thanks to Sofia who offered to hold my camera for me... then evilly graciously documented the occasion.

She wouldn't let go of my hand when I asked her to take a picture outside of the school.  Or when I asked her to take a picture with her sisters.  So, that will just have to be memorialized in my mind.  Once inside, we hung her backpack on her hook.

Then, stood in line to get her nametag.  Luckily, her cousin was in line behind us, so she was a little comforted.  Though, she still wasn't ready to let go.  Once Elliot had his tag on, they slowly wandered off to the toys.  I thought that was it.  But, after a couple of minutes, she came running back to me. Of course, I hadn't left yet!  Once she got another hug, she went back to the play area.  Again, I thought she was done with me.  I moved closer to the door (as I felt I was about to throw up).  Remembering that I had two other kids there, I went to make sure they hadn't been kidnapped.  *Wouldn't that have been a great addition to the day!  When I came back in, I stood as far back as I could without losing sight of her.  She started searching for me, and when our eyes met (cue the soft music), she came running back with her arms outstretched.  That's when I officially lost it.  Through my tears, I told her to look at all of the fun toys and all of the cool kids (a GROSS over-statement).  She clung to me for a minute, looked at me with her big dark eyes and gave me a kiss.  I told her I loved her and I couldn't wait to hear all about her fun day.  Then, she slowly re-joined the group.  I couldn't stay in there a minute longer without showing all of those strangers (and my sympathetic cousin) my complete nervous breakdown.  I couldn't even speak to her sisters, so I told them to "come on" with hand signals.  I made it to the car before I went in to the (as Oprah would say) ugly cry.  It wasn't pretty.  But, with her little pink handprint clutched to my chest, I let it all go.  All of the anxiety, the stress, the emptiness, the insecurity, the longing, the loss ran down my face.  The two girls in the back of the car sat quietly in uncomfortable shock.  Their mama doesn't cry like that.  Their mama never loses control like that.  However, I had warned them about this all morning.  I assured them that, although I celebrate their first days now, when I dropped them off at preschool the first time - I cried just as hard.  I don't love Maya more, I just have a harder time with "first times" than I do with fourth and seventh times.

Once, I had gained enough composure, I put the car in drive and slowly left the parking lot.  All I could imagine was my baby running out the front door crying for me.  Wondering why I left her.  I am sure, however, that she was playing happily inside - not thinking about me.

Exactly two hours later (and 35 minutes early), I was right back at the front door anxiously awaiting her little face.

And, there she was.  I can proudly say that she was really excited to see me, though not nearly as excited as I was.  Apparently, the only thing she did today was get "fruity snacks" for someone's birthday treat.  I admit I was very disappointed that she didn't bring anything home for us to look at.  No drawings or anything!! I tried to convince her that she's learned everything she will ever need to know, so there's no need to go back again.  I don't think she's buying it though.  So, I guess we'll go through this again on Friday.

Today, and every day since Sofia was born, I let a little piece of me go.  There's no turning back now, she's on her way down her own road.  This is where she starts to shift away from me, and that's hard to accept.  Yes, this was just three hours in preschool, but it's her first three hours of life without me.  She didn't tell me every detail of her morning, so those are experiences I'll never share with her.  She's always been her own person, but never on her own.  I am so happy for her, but equally sad for me. 

Taking deep breaths until Friday.

Things I want to teach them

I want to tell them that everything will be alright.  I want to show them that things could be better, and that's why we're always moving forward.

I want to tell them that there is a light at the end of every tunnel - even if it's a million miles past the next exit.

I want to look them in the eyes and answer every one of their questions with all of the right answers.  Answers that will clear their worries and their confusion.  I want to make everything easy for them.

But is that fair?  Because, sometimes, things aren't alright.  And, sometimes I can't erase all of their fears.  And, often, things are not going to be easy.

They are still young enough that they think I know it all.  (Up until a couple of years ago, I thought I knew it all.)  Every answer I give them, they run with it.  So, I am as honest and forthcoming as I can be.  But, that doesn't mean that I'm not wrong. 

One day, when they're much older, I want to be able to tell them about all of my mistakes.  I want to sit them down and explain why it's important to look inside before searching outside of yourself.  I want to school them on the ways of being a young woman instead of an "average chick".  I want to tell them all about the giant errors I made and the huge lessons I learned from them.  Because, I don't want them to learn the hard way.  I don't ever want to have to apologize for not warning them about the brick wall in front of their faces.  As someone who's navigated the tricky roads they will encounter, I want to give them a map, a GPS, and a chauffeur to get them through it all.  But, is that any way to really live?  If I throw myself in front of every speeding bullet, how will they learn how to patch themselves up and keep moving?

All of my best lessons came after the biggest knockdowns.  Wouldn't it be a huge disservice to deny them their own lessons?  No one wants to see someone with a broken heart, but what if that's the only way to know what it feels like to have a full one?  What if trusting the wrong people is the only way to learn how to trust yourself?  And, what if throwing up in the bathroom of a club is the only way to learn that you should really eat something before you down all of those free drinks? 

I don't want them to be the girls who don't know what to do when they fall on their faces.  Or be afraid to make a mistake because they don't know how to handle failure.  Even the best trip up sometimes.  And, I want them to know that it's ok to make mistakes if you learn from them the first time.  If I'm always one step ahead, carrying them at the first sign of a stumble, I can't imagine how they'll learn to walk on their own two feet.  And, as women, that's the most important skill they'll need.  I don't want them to depend on anyone, so maybe that means me too.  How do I teach them to count on me without depending on me?  Or at least to be able to tell the difference between the people who will always be there and the ones who are just passing through. 

Because, more than anything, I want them to learn from me instead of with me.

The journey to "scratch-crazy"

I didn't use to cook.  There was a time when I couldn't make more than  salad & a sandwich.  People who have only known me in the last few years would never believe it, but I used to heat up a mean can of Chef Boyardee.

See, I wasn't raised with homemade food.  I've been feeding myself since I could see the top of the counter, and all I could reach was the microwave.  If it didn't need a can-opener or some bread, I didn't eat it.  Honestly, I don't think I even knew that people made their own food.  I assumed all people were fed by jolly white chefs who's pictures were emblazoned on cans of "pasta".  Of course, I also thought everyone's power and phone were cut off every month - so, what did I know??

When I started dating my husband, the first thing his mother said was "You need a Mexican woman.  She'll cook for you every night... that girl won't feed you anything."  Did someone say "challenge"?  Because that's what I heard.  Then his sister was constantly making snide comments about my presence in the kitchen of my own house.  Now, aside from my immense irritation with these two women, I was worried that they may be right.  And, since I can't ever let anyone be more right than me, I taught myself to cook.

It started with boxed "meals".  You know... add a pound of hamburger or an egg and oil.  And, I was so proud of myself.  *cringe*  I was feeding my man (and our daughter), so you couldn't tell me anything.  Then I started thinking "outside of the box".  After all, if someone could figure out what to put in the mixes I could certainly do the same.  What made that stupid faced-glove smarter than me?  I certainly didn't need his help to make hamburger casserole.  And, that's where it all started.

Now, here we are ten years later and I haven't used pre-made anything in a long time.  Everything that goes into my family (except the garbage their grandparent's feed them - which I refuse to ask about) is made from scratch.  I know exactly what is in every bite on their forks, and I'm proud of that.  Does that mean I look down on people who still dump the contents of a can in a pot and serve it to their kids?  Of course not.  I don't have a job outside of the house, but I know how hard it must be to work all day and come home to feed your family.  Working mothers don't have time to simmer soup all day or stand over a pot of enchilada sauce for hours making sure the seasoning is right.  However, I do have that kind of time.  Or at least I can fit it in between refereeing fights and helping with homework.  So, I do.

So many people have made a big deal out of how much I cook.  Yes, I spend 80% of my time in the kitchen.  Yes, if Maya walks in there and I'm not standing in front of the stove, she starts to panic and scream out my name.  Yes, my girls have never been introduced to Chef Boyardee or Papa Anyone.  Will they kick me for that one day?  Maybe, but I hope they'll appreciate the time I put into their bellies.

In first grade, Sofia told a mom who had brought cupcakes in to class for a birthday, "I don't eat cake from a store."  Last year, Eva came home and told me "Mama, no one else's mom makes the bread for their sandwiches."  When Maya plays in the kitchen, she's making "chocolate cupcakes with cream cheese filling and chocolate ganache". 
Yes, I may have gotten a little crazy with it. 
Yes, my husband does occasionally ask for Hamburger Helper or frozen pizza.  Yes, he is denied every time. 
But all I can say is... there's not a woman in his family who can out-cook me now.  He has even confessed that my food is better than his sainted sister's. 

Point.

Match.

Game.

Once again, one more week

One week from tomorrow, the school year madness will begin.  We'll go back to the struggle of getting the girls ready for school before the sun comes up.  Back to "Hurry up!!"  every two minutes while they take their sweet time eating breakfast.  Back to "Brush your teeth!"... "No, seriously, I meant ALL of your teeth."... "Do you need me to come and brush them for you?  No?  Then JUST DO IT!!".  Sound fun?  I can hardly wait *insert my patented sarcasm here.

The difference this year is that all three of the girls will be in school.  As a matter of fact, they'll be in three different schools for the first time.  Middle School, Elementary & Preschool.  My hands are shaking just typing that. 

Sofia lucked out in the fact that she starts Middle School the same year that Maya leaves me for the first time.  If I could focus on my trepidation of her being in school with 7th and 8th graders, we would be having talks about it every day.  About how she needs to avoid them like the plague.  About how they're stupid and evil and she should never listen to anything they say.  About how much I will love her when she gets to that age; but, until then, Middle Schoolers are our sworn enemy.  I don't think they should put ten year olds in with fourteen year olds.  They're not ready to be initiated into that step of life.  From what I hear, Middle School now is like High School was when I was a kid.  If that's true, this knot in my stomach is well deserved.  Seriously, neither of us is prepared for this step.

Eva will be in the Elementary School by herself this year.  And, while she hardly ever saw Sofia anyway, she's a little concerned about it.  My fingers are blue from being crossed so hard in hopes that she opens up a little bit this year.  We found out, however, that her friend (in truth, her only real friend) is in her class this time.  I definitely felt my shoulders relax a little when we learned that.  Honestly, I think this is the first time Eva will ever really feel the "middle child syndrome".  Her 2nd grade year is truly being lost between her sisters' current school years.

Which leads me to Maya's first day at Preschool.  Sigh.  Next Wednesday, I am expected to show up with my baby and then leave her there.  For three whole hours.  I don't know about all of that.  This will be the last "first day of preschool" I'll have to live through, and I can't imagine surviving it.  When Sofia started, I was a MESS.  In fact I pocket-dialed the preschool (because, of course, I had made it the top number in my cell phone) while I had a complete wailing breakdown in the parking lot.  Once the call got cut off, the school called the number back (they didn't know who it was) and asked if there was an emergency and should they call the police?  Yes, there was an emergency!  I had left my three year old with complete strangers!  What kind of mother was I?  Obviously, we both survived it.  When Eva started, it was a different kind of trauma.  She, of course, wouldn't speak a word.  She clung to my hand and pleaded to me with her giant eyes not to leave her.  So, I stood there with her for as long as I could.  Eventually, the teachers were able to walk her to the other side of the room.  Still staring at me with her big brown eyes, I backed out very slowly.  And sobbed all the way home, clutching the little handprint the school had suggested we make for each other.  Again, we both survived it.  Now, it's Maya's turn.  I'll walk her in to the school at 8:00 next Wednesday morning.  Though, to be honest, it's only because I will have already paid an enormous amount of money in tuition.  Once I pay for something, I have to go through with it.  So, her and I will slowly make our way into the big colorful room.  She'll have on her super cute new backpack and a new dress.  I'll have a wad of tissues in the pocket of my sweatpants.  She'll hold my hand.  Then, if I am right, she'll squirm from my grasp and join the other kids on the carpet squares.  I don't think she'll cry or plead or even notice when I leave.  She's a heartbreaker like that.  I, on the other hand, will sob, beg, and make a complete fool out of myself.  Normally, I pride myself on being very stoic and private about my feelings.  This goes right out the window on the first day of school.  The janitor will have to scrape me off of the floor, and I feel no shame in that.

I've been (half-) joking about how excited I am for school to start since the second day of summer break.  Now, it's almost here, and I'm not ready.  Not ready for the morning chaos.  Not ready for the homework chaos.  Not ready for Middle School.  Not ready for Preschool.  Not ready to admit that this is the next step toward these girls growing up.  I'm just not ready.

Until you've been a parent for awhile

There are all kind of books/articles/blogs/Hallmark cards that tell you the things you won't know until you become a parent.  They tell you about how you didn't know you could love like that and how you won't sleep the first year.  They tell you to remember all of it because it flies by so fast.  And, all of that is true.  However, there are some things that you can only learn with a few years experience of being a parent.  Now, obviously, my oldest is only ten; so, I haven't yet learned all there is to know about motherhood.  But I have had more lessons in the past few years that taught me more than anyone ever told me.

Yes, I didn't know I could love this much.  This overwhelming love can only be given to someone you nurture and watch grow every day.  However, it is matched only by the stifling need I have to protect these children.  Protect them from strangers, traffic, boogie men, rabid dogs, stampeding rhinos, lightning strikes, partially hydrogenated anything, red dye #8, heartbreaks, mean girls, shadows, bright lights, the thing that lives under their beds and in their closets, reality.  I could go on, but that would take more time away from my guard duty.

Perhaps because of the need to protect, I also have learned the meaning of frustration.  The kind of frustration that strangles you.  The kind that comes when you've been "potty training" for almost three !@#$ years.  The kind that comes from repeating the same simple request ten !@#$ times.  The kind that makes you want to take them by the shoulders and shake them, but you can't because you're sure there's a hidden camera somewhere in your house with a direct link to Child Protective Services.  Because, of course, these are your babies.  You love them.  And, although they do the most baffling things imaginable, you can't treat them the way you do anyone else.  My children have done things that would've had me breaking up with, cussing out, and/or dismantling anyone else; but, I still have to tuck them in at night.

No, you won't sleep much that first year.  But, it doesn't stop there.  You will wake up every time you hear anything for the rest of your life.  I swear, if my neighbor sneezes at two am, I'm up to say "Bless You".  I truly don't understand how my cousin and I were able to sneak out so much as teenagers, didn't our grandma still have her "mom ears"?  Maybe that's why old people start to lose their hearing - it's the only way they can get any rest.

They say that, once you have a child, it seems that your heart now lives outside of your body.  That you get to watch it walk around and grow.  You know what else you get to see??!!  Your money live outside of your wallet.  Your Friday evenings live outside the realm of fun.  Your plans live outside of the schedule that's so full of their social lives.  Your retirement live outside of your hands as you pray the money you're putting away for their college educations not be blown on a summer trip to Cancun in ten years. 

I have learned more in the last ten years than I ever would've learned if I had stayed in college and done something with my life.  And, more than any calculus or European history, these lessons have served me well.  At least, they've gotten me this far.  And, I certainly use them more than I ever use fractions.  So, take that 5th grade math teachers everywhere!

Our summer "vacation"

So, we just returned from our blissful-ish stay in North Carolina.  We spent eight days, nine nights at "our" beach house; and, we all had a wonderful time!

Of course, we rushed to the beach as soon as we woke up the first morning.

The girls dipped their toes in the ocean.

Then they commenced the joy that only comes with salt water splashing in their faces.

Breakfast was served every morning on the upper deck.

Snacks were enjoyed on the sand.

And, when it wasn't a million humid degrees outside, dinner was also served on the upper deck.

This year, I tried to teach them to boogie board.  I wouldn't say it was a rousing success, but it was certainly entertaining to watch.

And, Maya can't be left out of anything so she boogie boarded sans board.

By far, their favorite thing to do was jumping over the surf.

Coming in at a close second, for Maya, was having Mama jump her over the waves.

We also climbed the 257 winding steps to the top of the Cape Hatteras Lighthouse.  In 93 degrees with 80% humidity (according to the park rangers).  But, all three of them did it without a single complaint!

It was a beautiful view from the top.

I also "forced" them to climb the sand dunes.  In a million degrees.  I would have to say that this was their least favorite half an hour of the whole trip.

Just like last year, they were really good sisters while their feet were planted in the sand.

Laughing and squealing almost the whole time.

Still my favorite, was the nightly walks on the deserted beach.

Though snuggling with my worn out baby was very close to heaven.

Three beautiful, happy girls = successful trip.

Three beautiful, tired girls = time to head home.

I'm not sure I would do the two day drive again, but I would gladly move to North Carolina in a heartbeat.  I am so thankful that I was given the opportunity by my aunt and uncle to take the girls again this year.  I couldn't have done it without their generosity, and I am forever grateful for the memories we'll all carry with us.

1,256

Lessons learned from driving halfway across the country with three children:

1. No matter how many times you tell them that we won't arrive at our destination until after dinner time, they will begin asking "Are we close" as soon as breakfast is finished.
2. When you come up with more than three "car games" to entertain them with, they will have cheated their way through them in the first hour to get the prize you were hoping to save until the end of the day.
3. You will remind them a million times to tell you as soon as they know they will have to go potty.  They will still wait until right before it comes out to announce it.  You will be miles away from an exit.  They will do this at least three times each day.
4. You have always held tight to the belief that kids don't need to watch tv in a car.  You will abandon this by lunch time.  And kick yourself for not just letting them zone out on dvds all day.
5. They will always have their noses buried in their games/dvds/fights on the prettiest part of the scenery.  (West Virginia, Virginia, North Carolina) But will inevitably be staring out the window at the vast nothingness that is Missouri, Illinois, and Indiana.
6. Each time the youngest finally falls asleep, someone will have to go to the bathroom.  She will never fall back to sleep, but is now really cranky that she was woken up.
7. Although you have supplied them all with a trash bag, paper towels, and wet wipes - they will still throw everything on the floor and wipe their hands on the seats.
8. The only part of the journey they will enjoy is the one minute you are in the tunnel that goes under the water.  This is either at the very end or very beginning of the ride.  The little one will always manage to fall asleep two miles before we get there.
9. Someone is always kicking a seat.  Someone can never reach what they want.  Someone will lose their shoes every time they take them off.
10. You will strongly contemplate leaving them at every third rest stop, but you won't be able to because there's always some sweet old lady who smiles at them and tells them how precious they are.  Of course, that sweet old lady won't pack them into her car, now will she?
11. People will look at you funny when your children are eating a packed lunch in the parking lot of a McDonald's.  They won't care that you tried to stop for an hour, but every single rest area was closed for renovations.  Your youngest won't get the joke when you tell her "This is the closest you will ever get to eating at McDonald's so enjoy it!".

One thousand two hundred fifty six miles.  More than twenty two hours.  Seven states.  Two days.  Millions of dollars in gas money.  Several aspirin.  One bag of jelly beans.  Memories you hope to forget in about eleven months before you start planning to do it all over again. 

*sigh*

The things we do to escape the monotony that is our daily lives.