Loving and Loathing a Family Vacation

For 63 days, a small white board was stuck to the front of our refrigerator, counting down the days until the kids would finally be experiencing their dream vacation at their very favorite place on Earth.  I'm not talking about taking them to see the Big Mouse, as we have yet to make that trip with four kids.  Who knows when we'll muster up the courage for that one.  Our children always want to travel to an indoor waterpark and hotel that provides loads of fun.

One afternoon, when we were all driving down the highway, Mark asked the kids, in an unusually high shrieking voice, "Hey, guys, wanna go to Your Favorite Place (YFP) this summer?!!!"  He must have been gunning for that "Favorite Parent" spot.   It was still early in Summer, and we parents had yet to discuss plans for what we might want to do for a family vacation, if anything. 

My choice would not be to return to YFP for the fifth time in just a few years.  This place has sort of run its course for me.  It's not that I hate it, but I do not enjoy being soaking wet all day, every day.  I also must worry about water injuries the entire time, which definitely is not relaxing.  Finally, because the kids are all different ages and swim levels, Mark and I have to split up to keep watchful eyes on everyone.

Are these the ingredients a mom needs to be in charge of building a fun, family vacation?  Wet, worried, and without her husband?  It's like we're doomed from the start.

On the positive sides, the children go crazy for this place.  Not only does it have the never-ending fun of water slides, pools, and buckets of water being dumped everywhere, but there's also a wizard game (on dry land) that the kids love.  Wielding magic wands, they race and compete, hoping to see their names appear on the leader boards broadcasted on every television throughout the hotel.

I had no choice but to be on board with this vacation...again, since Mark blurted it out before thinking.  He rarely does that, so I wasn't going to try to change any plans.  The kids were already planning their water park path and wizard domain mastery the second YFP left his lips. 

All summer, the kids, even little Marshall, would tell us how many days were left until YFP.  They could not wait until the big day arrived.  Mark used it as sort of a behavior bribery tool.  He'd say, "Kids who don't behave will have to stay behind when everyone else goes to YFP."  You know, like we do at Christmas when we threaten that Santa won't come if kids don't straighten up, but he always does anyway.  It was just like that, because obviously there was a lot of misbehavior this summer, yet, somehow, four kids still went on the trip to YFP. 

We did make this trip a little longer than our normal ones, and we even visited a YFP that was several hours away.  We broke up the driving a bit by spending one night in another city and exploring a fun place there as well. 

This vacation was all about the kids. 

We planned everything to make them happy and create fond childhood memories...just what we learned in parenting school would make us superstar parents.

Did they have a wonderful time swimming and splashing and zipping down slides?  Absolutely!

Did they appreciate all the time and money we spent to make it happen for them?  I think so, and they even said thank you!

Did they end up crying and whining and fighting and screaming and just losing it?  We all did!

I bet that families have been going through the same types of craziness on vacations since the concept was invented.   Kids fought over who would sit in which seats,  everywhere we went.  We ate out so many times that our bodies were craving fresh food, but the last place we chose had so many flies buzzing around that we were afraid to take anything from the salad bar.  I had to settle on buying 8 packs of apples from the Drive-thru at McDonald's.  We were in each others' personal space for so many straight days that just the mere sound or smell of another person was enough to make us nuts. 

Something that really made me feel better was a conversation I overheard another family having as they left a restaurant together. 

A restaurant with a train theme. 

A restaurant where the food is delivered to the tables by moving toy trains...is that not a child's dream restaurant or what? 

The mother was saying to her complaining son, who was probably about eight or nine, "We have just spent several days making sure you are having a good time. We played all day at the arcade for you. You have been at the waterpark for days.  You have been playing games all the time. You have been eating all kinds of food you like.  We have spent a lot of money to make this trip what you want it to be, but you are still crying.  Why?"  I didn't hear the kid's response, but I didn't need to hear it.  It was a little glimpse into our family from the outside.

Mark usually becomes annoyed by my eavesdropping when we're in public. I can't help it, I'm just extra observant.  It's a gift slash curse.  I picked up this whole convo in a matter of seconds as our two families passed by each other on the sidewalk.  I whispered it to Mark, just to validate to him that we were not the only ones feeling the way we were feeling at that point in our vacation.  Whew!

 

Of course, we all had a ton of fun on our trip, too.  We stayed in beautiful hotels with everything we needed.  We took the kids to places that we had visited as children ourselves, so we were able to recreate memories with them that we had with our own parents.  We howled and laughed and screamed with excitement (and a little fear) on the thrilling waterslides that made us feel like kids again.  We joyfully watched all four of our children laugh and play in the water together, inside during the rainy day and outside under the warm sun.  We forgot about work and school and commitments and were together as our special family of six...the family that only we have and only we know.

By the time we made it to a pit stop at Mark's parents' house on the way home, all his mom could tell us was, "you guys look so tired."  She wanted us to stay the night at their house to rest.  It was a lovely offer, but we just wanted to go home.  The kids just wanted to be home.  We all just wanted to be in our own beds, in our own space.  Yes, we love each other, and although we wanted this vacation to come so badly, we also really wanted it to end.  Ironically, now that it is all over, and there is no more anticipation, it feels strange.

We told Mark's mom that we were so tired because we were just going and going the entire time.  She said, "When kids are this age, vacations will always be about them. You will need a vacation from your vacation."  I know she's right, and I wonder how our own parents and grandparents managed their family vacations:  some with even more kids and less money. 

I'm thankful for my first class problem of having a vacation with my family that was so jam-packed with awesomeness, that our kids' only troubles were being overloaded with sensations and overcome with emotions they didn't know how to handle themselves.  Now that we have been home for over 24 hours, and the children have had time to decompress and wash off the hotel grime and waterpark slime, are we ready to tackle what is next?  Are we ready for school?  It starts in a three days! 

Hmm, I wonder why the kids didn't make a white board countdown for the first day of school.

 

 

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The Kids' Dream Vacation, Yet We All Ended up in Tears

So, it's Thursday night, and the ruler-follower that I am will not let this night pass by without my post.  Even though we seriously just walked in the door, scarfed down some KFC at 8:42 p.m., and put four extremely crabby kids to bed.

We just survived, endured, managed, suffered through, experienced, and had a blast on a family vacation.  A vacation that has been the focal point of this entire summer.  One that we could not wait to go on, but about six hours ago, we could not wait to end!

I'm sure this will be the shortest blog post you'll ever see on Mama Loves You and Chocolate, Too.  It's so short because I am dying to crack open one of those bottles of wine which Mark and I took on the trip, yet sadly brought back home with the screw top still intact.  I wanted to let you know that my fingers missed my keyboard, as I just can't seem to master typing on an I-pad.   I wish I had time now to tell you all about what made this trip so memorable, but I've really got to go! 

We are almost done with Season 2 of The Killing, and I just really need to find out what happens.  Don't tell me!

Spoiler alert for our vacation, with details to come on Saturday morning when I can relax with coffee in hand and kids happily playing outside:  everyone had some of the best times of their lives, yet we all shed tears at least once. 

Please check back in on Saturday to hear what vacation with four kids of extremely different ages is like, why we as parents torture ourselves year after year, and to laugh when you realize it doesn't just happen to you. 

No, we did not head to a tropical island with four children.  This photo was taken during our first big vacation with kids.   It was actually very relaxing.  We weren't outnumbered yet, and they were still toddlers.  We headed to Guam, USA during our stay as expats in Japan. 

"Why Is It That Every Time I Am Quiet, You Think Something Is Wrong?"

On a beautiful June day this summer, I was driving while Reese sat unusually quietly in the backseat. Normally, he loves to tell stories, is full of trivia, and poses interesting questions to all of us. He is eleven now, but he has been that way for as long as we can remember. We consider him our little encyclopedia, and many of his teachers have said the same about him. He comes from two parents who also really like to chatter. We can be pretty loud and even talk over each other at times. Reese has three younger siblings he must compete with for talking time and attention. They all have their own ways of making themselves heard. 

So, on this one random day in the car, when I noticed that Reese wasn't talking at all, I asked him what was wrong. His response took me by surprise.

"Why is it that every time I am being quiet, you think something is wrong?" 

Obviously, I must say it to him a lot for him to express his observation. I didn’t even realize I had been doing it. I am so used to Reese's voice making sounds around me, that when it isn't, I think there must be a problem. 

The loud mom in me figures that a quiet kid must be a sad kid, a lonely kid, a bullied kid, an anxious kid, a tired kid, or an angry kid. We can fill in the blank with all sorts of negative emotions I was equating with his silence. It had not occurred to me that nothing was the matter with him at all. He just wanted to have some peace. 

Seriously, who can blame him? Our home and car are always filled with so much noise: dishes banging, kids crying, toilets flushing, parents bossing, music playing, phones ringing, and on and on. Reese was just doing what I also do when it is quiet for a few brief moments in our life. He was relishing in it. He was taking deep breaths. For once, he was able to hear his own thoughts as he watched the beautiful Midwestern landscape pass by his car window.

The two greatest sounds I hear as a mother are my children's laughter and nothing at all. I'll take either one any second of the day, as long as it means that my children are at peace. If they are being quiet, it means they are not arguing with each other. They are not crying. They are not whining. They are just enjoying the tranquility that doesn't happen often in a family with four children. Since that car ride, I have learned not to worry as much when my usually talkative child is quiet. Being quiet is not wrong. Being able to experience silence is a blessing that my son has learned at a young age, and now he has shared it with me.

Thank you, Reese, for your wisdom. You taught your mom something, and I am so happy that you did. 

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I am Not a Supermom

How does one attain the label, "Supermom?"  Somehow, it's been instilled upon me since my early days of parenting, when I began impressing others by flying alone over international waters with my two babies.   I don't really know how I managed those flights, I just did it because I had to do it.  We have all done some supermom-ish feats during our years as parents.   I don't feel that special, so when people refer to me as supermom, I kind of want to cringe.  I really don't want that title, especially because it's hard to live up to being Super all the time.  When I was brainstorming names for my blog, I even considered "not-a-supermom," but it was already taken.  Apparently, I am not the first person to want to buck against this praise.

Last night, I failed at my Supermom mission in one of the biggest ways imaginable.  I completely and totally and utterly forgot about my preschooler's Meet the Teacher Night.  It's not like someone broke a bone falling down the stairs (totally plausible around here), so we couldn't make it.  It wasn't because he freaked out at the last minute, and we decided to bail to save his sanity.  I just forgot to ever write it down on the calendar.  Do you remember that I told you I forget everything that isn't written in my two paper calendars?  It wasn't written in either one of them, even though we learned about it several weeks ago.  

How could this happen?  Is it because he's the fourth child, and we've managed to neglect this rite of passage for him?  Sadly, maybe so.  Am I a terrible mom because of it?  I'm gonna say, no.

Do you know what I was doing last night?  I was being "Super PTA Mom" to 50 other kids. I had been so focused on planning an event at our elementary school, that I had totally missed my youngest son's chance to meet his new preschool teacher, Mrs. R.  My poor boy! 

He's the child who has been telling me all summer that he doesn't want to go back to school. He is the one who has been saying he does not want to have a new teacher this year.  His preschool is in a small building; same room; same playground; same everything.  However, this year he will go to school three days every week instead of two and have a new teacher.   He is my anxious child who I just wrote about on Tuesday morning having these fears.  On Tuesday night, Mark and I went to the preschool for the parent night.  How did I not remember that the student night was going to be in two days, on Thursday?  Uh, because I never wrote it on my calendar!

You won't believe what kind of event I was hosting at the elementary school at the same exact time that I should have been holding Marshall's hand at his preschool.  It was a special welcome event for kindergarteners and students new to our school.  Our PTA was ready with popsicles and smiles,  welcoming those scared new moms and dads who were full of questions and not quite ready to let their babies go.   I was there as the seasoned mom, the veteran mom, the pro!  I assured those new parents that we had all been in their shoes at one point and knew how it felt to be new to the school and anxious about everything. 

Kids were crying?  It's normal!  You're nervous about them riding the bus?  Normal! 

Unable to attend our school's meet the teacher night next week?  Totally fine!

Forgetting to write an important date on your calendar and blowing off your scared little baby boy to help other people's kids you don't even know?  What, are you crazy?

How is it possible that an entire 24 hours passed after this PTA event before I even realized that I missed Marshall's preschool night?  I really have no idea, but I won't take all the blame.  Mark forgot, too.  He was at the parent night and heard the reminder from Mrs. R. 

Although I am sorry that Marshall missed his chance to talk with his new teacher for a few minutes and see his school again before the first day, I refuse to beat myself up about it.  The day has passed.  I will ease him in to school on his first day as best I can.  I will tell him wonderful stories about his teacher and show him pictures of his brother and sister loving school.  Mrs. R is even his friend's Nana, so that's worth something!

The irony on where I was instead of at Marshall's preschool is not lost on me. I wasn't getting a pedicure or guzzling wine while binge watching Orange is the New Black.  I was doing a very important job for dozens of other families in my community.  I know how much they needed it and appreciated it, and I'm glad that if I did have to screw up at home, I was there for them.

As moms, we often feel like if something doesn't go as planned for our children, we have let them down in a way from which they will never recover.  Believe me, they will, and so will we.  Marshall doesn't even know that he missed anything.  Had this been my first child's preschool back to school night, you can bet I would have been calling the teacher to try to arrange a private meeting before school started.  Gosh, how annoying!  As my years as a parent have progressed, I'm thankful that I have learned to let life happen.  Meanwhile, my kids are turning out to be pretty freaking super themselves!     

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"Mom, You Never Work," Said My Four-Year-Old

Driving to the doctor the other day, Marshall started fretting about having to start preschool next month. (He tells me at least once a day that he is not going back to school). Then, he started voicing his worries about having to go to kindergarten in another year. All of a sudden, he was declaring that he did not want to be a grown-up, because that's when there won't be any room for him in my car. 

What a sad thought for my little boy.

I told him there will always be room for him in my car, no matter how big he is.

Next, that squirt said what really inspired this post.  He told me that when he grows up, he doesn't want to go to work. 

My instant reaction was to say, "Marshall, everyone has to go to work."

Guess what he told me then?

"You don't have to go to work.  You never work."

Laughing to myself, I asked him what he thinks I do instead of work.

He said, "You just go places."

"Places, like where?" I asked.

"Just places, like stores...and places to buy stuff...like food...and toys." 

Reese tried to come to my defense and tell him that I used to work.

I didn't need the sympathetic "used to work" explanation from my eleven-year-old. This was not going to be a "moms work just as much as anyone else" speech.

Actually, I was really loving this conversation. It was sweet and funny, and just cute. Asking a four-year-old what his mom does all day is very entertaining. At least he didn't say I do nothing. To be honest, I do spend a huge amount of my time going places. 

Not just to stores to buy food and toys like Marshall thinks, but to doctors and dentists and schools and sports and parks and friends' houses and movies and the library and the bouncy house gym and just places.

That is my life. My mom life. My life as our youngest son knows it. Does my car get really messy and loud toting four kids around all the time? Of course it does. Do I drive on auto-pilot to the preschool and baseball games and the soccer field and art lessons? Without a doubt. Am I stopping at the store at least four times a week to pick up more milk and socks and deodorant and goldfish crackers? I do not see an end to those days any time soon.

Honestly, I am happy that I'm the one who is driving them places. I love the chats we have while they're in the car with me. I love that I know what everyone needs from the store. The hugs and thanks they give me make it worth it. 

It's a very rare occurrence for me to be driving anywhere alone. Believe me, I absolutely love that, too! Any chance I do have to drive alone, I usually take Mark's car. It's so much cooler than mine because it's not a mom car full of car seats and books and rainbow looms. When I'm alone in Mark's cool, red car, I open the sun roof, blare the radio, and sing! I don't worry about anyone's sensitive ears or face being hit by the wind. It's just me. For once, it's just me. I often forget what it feels like to think about just myself. Those ten minutes it takes me to drive from home to the store are pure freedom. Well, that is until I pull into that familiar store, march down the cracker aisle, and pick up another package of goldfish. 

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Can We Please Forget the Lists of Rules and Just Use Common Sense?

Lately, every single time I'm online, I see a post that neatly breaks downs rules of conversation for how we should talk to just about every person we could ever meet.

They usually look something like this:  "20 Things Never to Say to Someone Who______." 

The blanks have been filled in with anything and everything from:

-is pregnant
-just had a baby
-doesn't have any children
-has lots of children
-is breastfeeding
-is a working mom
-is a stay-at-home-mom
-is adopting a baby
-has only boys
-has only girls

You know what I mean.  You've seen the lists.   

I usually read them and laugh, knowing that the comments and advice usually make a lot sense.  Of course we shouldn't tell a bottle-feeding adoptive father that breast is best.  Duh!  Then, I hope to myself that I have never said anything on the lists.  (I probably have). 

I also know that most humans make rude comments at some point in their lives.   Maybe they do it on purpose or maybe not.  They are going to ask stupid questions which are none of their business, like "How may stitches did you need after delivery?"  They're going to offer unsolicited or outdated advice, like, "We never used car seats, and our kids turned out just fine!"  That's life.  We could never train every person to always say or do the right thing.

I am also pretty sure that the people who ask those kind of questions or reach to rub a stranger's  pregnant belly are not reading the advice columns on mom blogs anyway.

So, even though I know the lists are kind of a waste of time, it all started me thinking about one of the worst comments I ever had directed at me.  It would be at the top of any DO NOT SAY THIS TO PREGNANT WOMEN LIST for sure.   I'll share it just for fun.  I don't have an entire list of dos and don'ts.  It's just this one that I'll never forget. 

I was expecting our second baby.  Our first child was still very much a baby, being only about ten months at the time.   We were standing around the kitchen table, and someone told me that I was so great at being pregnant.   

Just a few weeks from delivering baby #3

I remember thinking to myself for a split second, "Wow, what a beautiful compliment."  I was growing another tiny person inside my body for the second time in a year.  I was great at being pregnant.  I must really have had that glow.  My blissful feeling didn't last long, though, as it was the rest of her sentence which squashed my delight. 

She told me that I was so great at being pregnant because I had such big hips!!  Then, she patted me with her hands on those child-bearing hips, which, thankfully, my husband adored.  

What was she talking about anyway?  I was only 25 and had perfectly normal sized hips.  I'm sure my eyes bugged out of my head at her revelation of why I could successfully carry babies.  She thought nothing of it and laughed.  I had no idea what I should do.  How could I defend myself to such a remark?  Should I even bother?   I was mostly in shock that someone, a mother herself, would be so rude.  Didn't she remember that being pregnant makes a woman ultrasensitive about everything, especially her ever-changing body shape?

Honestly, I did nothing.  The moment passed me by, as have the past ten years, but I have never been able to forget the way she made me feel on that day...like a beastly, gestating cow.   These  womanly hips of mine have indeed held up the pregnancies of two more babies, so thank goodness for them! 

Reading lists of what not to say to every person we meet might come in handy, but the likelihood of us retaining any worthwhile information from them is actually pretty miniscule.  Why don't we all just try to use common sense, think about the cringe worthy remarks we have heard in the past, and try not to repeat them? 

For those of us on the receiving end of the comments and questions, let's learn to laugh them off and move on.  We will come away with a great story to tell one day.

I'd love to hear your accounts of some of the best and worst remarks you have ever heard.

   


   

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A Revitalizing Birthday Night Out

I just came home from spending many hours with one of the greatest women I know, after stuffing ourselves with the most scrumptious spaghetti and meatballs.  We went out to dinner...alone.  What a rare treat for us.  We were two adult women, dressed up in public without the seven children we have between us, yet we ordered spaghetti.  Then we had ice cream for dessert.  Spaghetti and ice cream...something so ordinary that we could have it at home any night of the week, yet on this night, it was extraordinary.

This night was extraordinary because we were out together to celebrate my birthday.  I really am not that into my own birthday, but when it means I can spend time with one of my best friends, I'm happy to make it a little bigger deal.  We are busy moms with hectic schedules, and so we made this date together almost a month ago.  Have you ever had a date with a friend that you looked forward to as much as you anticipate a night out with your lovie?  We were excited about this night that much!  We were texting and emailing each other about it in anticipation every week.

"Can't wait till our night out!  We have so much to talk about.  It's gonna be awesome!"   

Yesterday, she called me to find out what I was wearing.  She even jokingly suggested we should bring a typed agenda so we would remember everything we needed to share with each other.  It had been way too long since we had a nice, long visit.

You see, Elizabeth and I used to see each other almost every day, but schedules have changed, and it hasn't been that way for about a year.  Now we catch up quickly, email often, and then we plan these dates when we can.  Sometimes, she meets me for a long lunch, but we never really have the uninterrupted time we want to nourish this friendship that magically exists between us.

This night was extraordinary because we both have had a summer filled with unexpected hurdles and glories, travel, work, events, and, of course, kids.  We finally could talk about all of these together.  There are just certain feelings and emotions we are not able to express through our emails and texts.  We needed to be sitting across from each other, in person, so we could see the joy and pain we've been experiencing in this nutty life we lead as moms with many children. 

When I'm with my dear friend, Elizabeth, we laugh. I mean, we really laugh.  We are loud. We talk with our hands.  We are excitable!  It is just So Much Fun.  We were probably driving the people around us crazy with our laughter, but we didn't even care.  On this night, we also shared with each other more sensitive stories.  Have you ever had that feeling when you see someone you care about being tearful, and then in response you become tearful?  It happened to us.  Both of us.  We were free from our responsibilities of mother, wife, and caretaker.  Nobody needed us for those few hours last night, so when we were free to express our own feelings in that peaceful room, the emotions just came.

This night was extraordinary because we were sitting in a beautiful restaurant with incredible gourmet food that somebody else prepared and served for us!  Our server was like a snake charmer, luring us in with his description of the homemade Amaretto and locally grown cherry ice cream.  We couldn't decide between two desserts, so like an old married couple, we shared them both.  First we devoured the ice cream, piled high into a gigantic martini glass.  We were not about to let it melt.  It was every bit as luxurious and amazing as our server had promised.  The Tiramisu, usually our Achilles' heel,  sat in the center of the table until our tummies had time to settle and make room for our favorite delectable treat.  We didn't notice anything else that was happening around us.  People continued to stop by and ask if we needed anything, bringing us fresh ice water and clearing away our dirty dishes.  We'd glance up and thank them for the water, then delve right back into catching each other up on our lives.

You should have seen me when the hostess reached over to clear our almost empty plate of Tiramisu. 
 
"Are you ready for me to take that?" she sweetly asked. 

Didn't she see there were still three bites of creamy, chocolaty goodness left on it? Of course we weren't ready for her to take it!  We needed those last few morsels to carry us through the last hour of our night together.

Of course, like everything in life, our extraordinary night had to come to an end.  After dinner, she drove me home.  Elizabeth and I sat in my driveway, squeezing in "one more thing" ten times before I finally had to go inside.  I waved good-bye, kissed Mark hello, and she drove home to her husband and sleeping children. 

Today, it's back to reality of cooking dinners, wiping bottoms, and refereeing squabbles: being moms.  I woke up to a message from my wonderful friend telling me how revitalizing last night was for her, and how she forgot to tell me some other very important stuff.  I guess we really needed that agenda after all...and a few more hours.  Thank you, my extraordinary friend, for everything! 

Mark keeps asking me what I want for my birthday this week.  All I'd really like is some time away for a facial and dinner at Olive Garden with my family.   A facial, some breadsticks, and maybe my readers could take a sec to share one of their favorite posts of mine:  now that would be a great birthday! 

Here's the cake from my 30th Birthday.  I'd like to pretend that I'm turning 30 again!

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