Reasons Like Seasons

A passing conversation in the hall at school went something like the dialouge as follows. School Professional: I was over in the preschool today and I got to spy on [Boy One] a little. Me: I hope you didn't see anything wrong with him that I don't already know about. SP: No, no. It was really interesting. He seems to be the only one who really "gets" [a little girl from his class]. Me: Yes, he really likes her. He talks about her all the time. Is there something different about her? Why did you notice that he "gets" her? SP: No, no, not like that. She is just completely no-nonsense, time to get down to business. [Boy One] seems to really get that. Me: You have met his mother, right?

- macaroni and cheese from a box - snack bars - hot lunch from camp - pepperoni pizza and bread sticks from Taco Bell - more snack bars - several juice boxes - hot lunch from camp - cheese sticks - a happy meal - tortilla chips - ice cream

"Can we go swimming?" asks Boy One. My heart rate soars and breathing enters hyper-drive. Few things bring greater terror than the one activity (other than riding in my car) in which my children are most likely to die. "It's too cold to go swimming." "It's not too cold for me!" "Can we just go to the park?" "Plllleeeeeaaaaaasssssseeeeee can we go swimming?" "Okay, fine. But you are not allowed to drown. There will be absolutely no drowning! Otherwise, I am going to have to resort to cutting off your Netflix privileges." "I promise I'm not going to drown, Mom." I must be overreacting. Things can't possibly be that bad. I should check an authority that can soothe my inflated sense of dread and foreboding. I am clearly being irrational. According to the CDC (Center for Disease Control), "Every day, about ten people die from unintentional drowning. Of these, two...

Me: When are you old enough to drive? Boy One: When you are older than one-hundred. Me: Then why am I allowed to drive if I am not one-hundred yet? Boy One: Are you ever going to be one-hundred? Me: I hope so, but it will be a long time before that happens. Do you think you will make it to one hundred? B1: Um-hum. Me: What makes you think so? B1: Because! Me: What do you think you will do when you are one hundred years old? B1: I think I'll have a wheel-chair. Me: Where do you think you'll go in a wheel chair? B1: I want to go on an airplane. Me: Where do you want to go on the airplane? B1: To visit you, but not if you're dead. Me: If were dead, where would you want to go? B1: To visit my kids, if I had any. Me: How many kids do you think you want to have? B1: A googol! Me: That's not going to work. B1: Fine. Like three. Me: That sounds more manageable. Where do you want to live with your kids? B1: In South America. I want to li...

My children fed and myself fully-caffinated, we venture forth into the Ikea abyss. With surprisingly little resistance, we round the first floor smoothly, with minimal impulse spending (see giant stuffed broccoli) and only a small indulgence on my niece's upcoming birthday gifts (see adorable stuffed toys). I even manage to contain (most of) my living-spaces envy as we "experience" three unique "apartments," each of which is significantly smaller and yet still meticulously better organized than mine. I try desperately to remember that an entire team of dedicated professionals constructed each of these displays with the help of an unlimited budget and without the noticible distraction of another job, but it is a difficult battle. Upon reflection, I really would seriously consider moving into one of those apartments if I could let the boys jump on the couches without getting shamed (again) by a lovely, helpful member of the Ikea staff. But, again, I digress. ...

"Sure, baby. I'd love to watch Frozen again," I lie. A harmless lie, perhaps, but a break with truth to say the least. "If only it were for the first time," I think to myself, "for the first time in forever...." If someone had told me when I was pregnant how many lies I would tell my children, I would have probably laughed in his or her face. I would have  prognosticated on my relationship with the unborn with the authority of Nostradamus. "I will be completely truthful in all things with my children as there is no better way to communicate with others than with total and complete honesty. Children deserve our best self in all things, so lying to my child will be completely out of the question." Please, add that to the list of things I had no idea about. The stories I have concocted are numerous, nuanced, and occasionally nefarious, especially when it comes to the thoughts and actions of imaginary beings: "I'm going to ...

Kallax Shelving Unit "This is the worst day of my life!" screams Boy 1 as he teeters precariously near my open laptop on the top of a questionably stable Ikea Kallax shelving unit. "Why, baby? What's wrong? How can I help?" "I want to order Kai. Order this one for me right now! "How much does it cost?" "I don't know." "What does the number on the screen say?" "17." "How much money do you have?" Tears streaming from his face, he shoves a pile of crumpled bills in my direction. "You count them," he replies. Slowly, I flatten the bills with the edge of my hand, one-by-one, until I have four green rectangles lined up flat on the carpet. "Five plus one is six, six plus one is seven; seven plus one is eight. Eight. You have eight dollars." "Whaaaaaaaaa!" he screams with the power of a hurricane. "Order it for me NOW!" Ninjago Lego Set 7...

The text from Boy One's teacher read, "Hi...hope you are feeling better...just wanted to let you know that [boy one] smacked [another little boy in his class] in the stomach as [he] was leaving the table at pick up for no reason that I could tell and neither [Boy One] nor [the other kid] could tell me why...." Clearly, I have completely failed as a parent. My son will never learn how to read, and he'll be arrested for assault before he hits third grade. Life has officially ended. In response, I set forth to remind Boy One that never, under any circumstances, do we use our bodies to express our anger. Everyone gets mad sometimes, but no one gets to punch people in the stomach, even if they really, REALLY, want to. Ray: Why did you hit him? B1: Because he said, "Ha, ha. You're the worst person on the planet." Ray: Why do you think he said that? B1: I don't know. Ray: Did you do something mean to him first? B1: No. Ray: Are you sure? B1: Yes, ...