Over the weekend I saw some friends, one of whom has children just a bit younger than mine. I was telling them, with no small amount of enthusiasm (fatal mistake!), how nice it is that I can now stay in bed a little while after the kids get up. I believe my exact words were, “Well, O. helps himself to as much candy as he wants. But what do I care, I’m sleeping in!”

Guess where O. went yesterday? The dentist. Guess what he has? TWO HUGE CAVITIES. Matching, one on either side of his mouth on two bottom molars.

Then, when we were scheduling the two (!) appointments for the fillings, the woman at the dentist’s office said that we could choose silver, for free, or tooth-colored, for $25 each. I was thrilled. Just $50 to cover up my huge parenting #fail? Sold!

But no. When you’re six years old, and you get the chance to have shiny silver teeth? You’re totally going for it. And your mom will be stuck looking at them for three or four or five years until the tooth fairy comes for them.

Spring Break Day 1: Feeling OK. Taking care of an extra child for the day because her mom’s other arrangements fell through (due to a brain tumor, not even kidding). Get up at a reasonable hour, shower, dress, give kids breakfast before the friend arrives. Manage bits and pieces of work from time to time. Feed all three kids lunch, walk them to the library for a nature talk/reptile show. Kids are disappointed at small number of reptiles (3). Walk them to the ice cream shop and then home. Pack snacks and activities for skating practice. Take friend home, travel to ice rink, occupy younger child through practice/parent meeting. Take both kids for dinner. Drive home and unload one kid directly into bed. Work(ish) for two hours before going to bed.

Spring Break Day 2: Spend morning endlessly repeating list of things to do that do not involve staring at a screen (which, naturally, is what I do need to do so I can get some work done), and also basting the two turkeys roasting in the oven and washing the bedding after making the kids strip the beds. Serve lunch. March kids to museum for art “camp.” Come home: 90minuteskidsfreetimegetbusybeproductiveRIGHTNOW. Pick up kids. Remove turkeys. Stir-fry green beans. Pack up one turkey and set of sides (Jeff did all the work, all I did was baste and stir-fry) to take to friends with a new baby. Come home, eat turkey. Work late while listening to thundersnow.

Spring Break Day 3: Otherwise known as “the low point.” Morning: Interrupted every five seconds by children who really should be old enough to entertain themselves. Summoned from shower by Jo shrieking that Opie was cutting his own hair. Yes, he gave himself 1/2-inch long bangs right in the middle of his forehead. Productivity limited to creating one Barbie dress. Afternoon: art camp cancelled due to $*(&# blizzard. No such luck with orthodontist. Pack whiny children into car, say prayer while switching on four-wheel drive. On the highway driving 30 mph, pass five cars in the ditch plus one overturned truck in the median. At orthodontist, lectured about lax brushing. Leave for home, miraculously arrive in one piece. Bundle children into snow gear. They play outside for 7 minutes. Eat leftover turkey for dinner. Fight with child over music practice culminates in early bedtime. Publish one entire page on fitness site while watching and cursing at Top Chef.

Spring Break Day 4: Double session of art camp today! Homemade turkey soup wins raves! Husband takes kids to free movie at library! I might survive after all.

Spring Break Day 5: Trapped inside, unshowered, all morning waiting for windshield repair guy. Give up trying to limit screen time. Kids in pajamas until almost 3 p.m. Depart for errands-karate(1)-dinner-karate(2)-ice cream for all of us because we survived the week. Actually looking forward to spending nine-plus hours in an ice rink tomorrow (for the change of scenery).

Today: TGIM.

I haaaaaate cooking dinner. I also hate feeding my children too much take-out (or consuming it myself, or for that matter, paying for it). So I have found ways to cheat. Herewith, my favorite ways to slap together a meal that’s reasonably healthy. If you are a real cook (Maggie) you might want to look away. These all happen to be vegetarian, too.

1. Pasta with jarred sauce and frozen vegetables. To boost the health quotient I get the pasta that has protein and omega-3s in it, or the kind with some vegetables cooked in. I buy sauce that doesn’t contain corn syrup. I throw frozen vegetables into the pasta water. Fifty percent of my children pick them out, but I continue to try. I give each child an individual portion of parmesan cheese (not from the green can) to control intake.

 

2. Amy‘s frozen spinach pizza. If I make pizza myself (which is another one of my fake dinners–with storebought shells) my vegetable-averse child will not eat it. But Amy’s, with spinach no less, she will gobble right down.

 

3. Breakfast for dinner. Scrambled eggs, whole wheat toast, fruit smoothies–with lots of diner participation on that last item. For my own portion of eggs I chop in some broccoli if I have it around.

 

4. Tofu and noodles. Cubed tofu, whatever leftover vegetables are available, and Thai Kitchen noodles with sauce. I used to have to set aside a sauce-free bowl of noodles for you-know-who, but we’ve managed to move beyond that now.

 

5. Egg rolls (frozen) and edamame. Little miss “no thank you” loves edamame. She would eat an entire bag if I let her. She also can’t really tell the difference between vegetable egg rolls and chicken ones.

So, two food posts in a row. A little exercise in compare-n-contrast. What do you eat when you can’t be bothered to cook for real?

Also, on that glass of water: Remove pitcher of cold, filtered water from refrigerator. Pour into clean, ice-free pint glass. Enjoy.

If there is one thing you can do to really, really make me mad, that is interfere with my sleep. That includes you, offspring over the age of two (she says, generously). What I would like is some kind of complete sensory deprivation chamber to hide in between 11 p.m. and 7 a.m. nightly. It would be temperature controlled, soundproof, and dark, and would of course contain my beloved Tempur-pedic pillow. I suppose it would have to have some kind of override switch for emergencies, but woe betide the person who misused it.

After having my slumber disrupted for the past eight years by pregnancy, nursing, babies, kids, dogs, and spouses, I have a huge chip of entitlement on my shoulder. I feel that I am owed a good night’s sleep every single evening for the rest of my life. I don’t think that is unreasonable. Unfortunately, those who share my home and my bed don’t seem to understand this. Doors are left wide open; dog collar tags jingle mercilessly; clothes are retrieved, forgotten, retrieved again; children stop by to mention that they went for a walk and saw a “golden yellow” snake; floorboards squeak and creak. And I lay in bed seething (not very conducive to sleep either).

My birthday is next week. You know what to get me.

Sometimes I feel like the only mother in the world who really dislikes bedtime–the process, not the result (that part I like). Yes, I like snuggling and reading books (well, some books) and shampoo-scented hair. I even almost like ear-fondling. But I don’t like “put on your pajamas” nagging, “brush your teeth” nagging, “put your clothes in the hamper” nagging, “stop jumping on the bed” nagging, “did you use the potty?” nagging.

It is absolutely prime time for me losing my patience in a big bad way, even more so than the 5:00 arsenic hour. I don’t know if that’s because bedtime comes at the end of a long day and I need a break, or because I am jumping ahead to the sweet, sweet free time that’s almost in reach. But you will never catch me writing rhapsodic posts about cuddling with my darlings at bedtime.

Maybe when they’re teenagers and put themselves to bed and sleep until noon. That’ll be rhapsodic, right? And then I’ll blubber about how I miss those bedtime moments. For now, I’ll continue wishing for my instant-sleep superpower. I promise only to use it in good faith.

Tuesday’s Act III (everything after 5 p.m.) was a tragedy. Or a misery, or whatever theatrical term means “sucky.” We discovered I’d made a frustrating, and probably costly, mistake regarding some home repairs. Opie moped and whined; he’d had a minor, but uncomfortable medical procedure done earlier in the day and the pain was breaking through. Neither Jeff or I have the slightest interest in making dinner lately, so we’d done the usual stare into the fridge, sigh, feed kids “how about some canned soup.” Even absent all of this, my general frame of mind these days is snappish and cranky; I knew June would be hard and it is, very.

Wednesday, the sun came out after days of cold and rain. Our peonies bloomed. I spent the whole day alone with the kids and didn’t lose my temper. We caught some caterpillars. We ate frozen pizza (with spinach). I set my expectations low.

It still wasn’t exactly a comedy of a day (there was no wedding at the end, for starters), but I’ll take it.

For the record, the following do not motivate my son to use the toilet:

• Effusive praise
• Moderate praise
• Barely perceptible praise
• Threats of violence (no, of course not)
• Candy
• Stickers
• Toys
• Money
• A kid-sized potty
• A kid-sized potty seat insert
• Just a regular potty like we all use
• Choosing and buying his own underwear
• Being allowed to wear underwear
• Not being allowed to wear underwear
• Wearing soaking wet underwear
• Being one of the only kids in his class not in underwear

I started off very laidback. But the kid is going to be FOUR in six weeks. What the hell?

What with all the appendecto-mania this summer I never recorded another big milestone: We are now a Nuk-free household. After all my hand-wringing, all it took was accidentally (we really didn’t do it on purpose, except maybe in the Freudian sense) leaving the Nuks behind on our Fourth of July weekend trip to Grammy’s house. That was four nights of “we left the Nuk in our car at the airport, remember?” and somehow Opie fell asleep each night without it. I don’t even remember it being that difficult.

When we came home, we stashed the car Nuk before it could be seen and never brought it out again. Done and done. Color me shocked, especially since we couldn’t have picked a worse time to break that habit–almost as soon as we returned from that particular trip, I left for a business trip on my own and then right after that we went to San Francisco, kicking off three weeks of hospitalization, disruption, and aggravation. And he was seriously fine the whole time. Once in a great while he’ll say “I miss my Nukkies” and we’ll agree and reminisce about the good times we all had. And then move on.

Now, the thumb is another story, especially now that Jo has lost her two top front teeth. Anticipating yet another stern lecture from the dentist, we ordered these thumb guards, which we’ve been using for about a week now with a fair amount of success (by which I mean she is able to fall asleep with them on; but the minute she wakes up she extricates herself and we find her on the couch slurping away).

So Monday we go to the dentist (aside: genius over here scheduled her kids’ dentists appointments for three days after Halloween) and I am already on the defensive. Instead, we get the best hygienist ever. She told me that yes, Jo has a cross-bite, but it’s not necessarily related to her thumb habit. And she said that she should go to the orthodontist after all 8 of her front teeth (4 top, 4 bottom) fall out and grow back in, which “may not be until she’s past 8 years old.” I wanted to kiss her on the spot for buying us two more years!

Forget Fridays–I love Mondays. Weekends are fun, they’re busy, they’re sometimes even productive, but they are in no way relaxing. This Saturday and Sunday I cooked, cleaned, laundered, and folded. I played Legos and assisted with a first-grade scrapbooking effort. I went to the ice rink (twice), church/Sunday school, the grocery store, and our local, poor man’s Target, all with at least one child in tow. (This is what’s exhausting about more than one kid, when they outgrow strollers: The shepherding. I say “Stay by me” until I am blue in the face, and yet one is always mysteriously missing.)

But Monday! Ahhh, Monday. On Monday morning everyone leaves. I finally get a little peace and quiet. Of course I have the laundry to finish and dishes to wash and work to do, lots and lots of it; but I can do it without being interrupted hundreds of times in a row. That right there is a luxury, one for which I am grateful every single week.

Edited to add: I am amused to note that Julie from a little pregnant posted similarly (although much more funnily) today.