Single Super Mom - Bond Style
In the blog world, there seems to be an overabundance of blogging supermoms. You know the ones (you may even be one of them). They have gardens. They homeschool their kids - and enjoy it. They have wonderful parenting tips on how NOT to lose your temper even when you have ten children in your house. They cook fabulous, nutritious homemade meals every night of the week and only spend $.39 on all the ingredients. They spend their spare time planning fun outings and crafts the pass time with their children. And just so you know, I'm not making fun of anybody. I'm just completely jealous of these women and usually leave those blogs feeling like my children will be lucky not to end up in an institution for people who have been irreparably screwed up by their parents. But, I have just had a 24+ hour streak of parenting that I feel pretty good about; compared to, well...me.
Please do not let the fact that Chris took the child sometimes known as the "high maintenance Bond" camping for most of that time detract from the very impressive parenting I displayed while they were gone. But feel free to give me extra points for accomplishing all this a mere 24 hours after I incurred (self-diagnosed) second degree burns on the palms of both my hands (ignoring the fact that it happened while I was cooking frozen pizzas for three children who were causing such a ruckus that I was distracted and grabbed a metal pizza stone rack fresh out of the oven with no potholders).
Now that we have the back story: Last week was Maddie's birthday, and I, being the kind parent I am, allowed her to invite four giggly girls to spend the night. Now, she really wanted to invite MANY more, but I'm not that great of a mom. Please. Half of them were disqualified from the sleepover the night before for reasons involving puking, which is never good. So, rather than leave them in the dust, we did a repeat sleepover this week. That's right. Two sleepovers in eight days. (Nevermind that it's also only two sleepovers in the last 365 days.) Since Chris had taken Jack camping, I was doing it solo with a very active 2-year-old in tow. Naturally, since I had just experienced a great deal of pain and injury cooking the gourmet meal the night before, we went out to eat. Of course, with Luke, going out to eat actually poses a much greater danger than just eating at home. I did have back-up from Nana, but we all know I did most of the work. (Insert sarcasm.) They all ate like champs and we were not escorted out of the restaurant at any point - or even given any dirty looks that I'm aware of - so we count that as a success.
Nana did ditch us after that, so I bravely decided to take the four of them (but Luke counts as two) to the park and then to watch fireworks on the town mall. They all played for nearly an hour with no serious injuries, which, if you know one of these kids (who happens to be red-headed), is a serious achievement. When it was almost time for the fireworks to begin, we all walked calmly through several intersections and streets, using all of our safety skills we learned form our moms, and arrived at the perfect spot to see the fireworks. There was a game of tag, some dog-petting, hide-and-seek, and some dancing while we waited patiently for the display to begin. The fireworks were great, and the walk back to the car was perfect.
Once we got back to the house, bath time ensued. I got the wiggly one bathed, and the big girls completed their baths in a total of 2 1/2 minutes between all three of them. I decided to pretend like they actually used soap and got clean. At least I know they left plenty of dirt in the bathroom, so there couldn't have been that much left on them. Being the anal-retentive clean freak that I am, I then commenced to clean the entire bathroom while cookies were baking in the oven. (For your information, Break n' Bakes count as homemade cookies at our house.) After a yummy dessert, the kids crashed in the living room and watched Star Wars while I completed my part-time job as an anthroamphibian consultant for Ribbits Galore. Once they had fallen asleep, I tried to catch up on my reading through the Bible in one year, which I have decided would really be better done in two years (why rush things?).
Obviously, my sense of humor was at its peak when I went to bed, because I decided to set my alarm for 7:20. As if I would ever need an alarm at 7:20. I actually woke up in a pretty grumpy mood since it wasn't one of the four kids in my house that woke me up at 6:15. It was Woody. You know Woody. He's a woodpecker. That's right. For the first time in the five years I've lived in my vinyl and brick house, a very noisy woodpecker decided to make his inaugural visit to me on the one day of the week that I don't have to get up at 6am. I was more than a little perturbed. And it wasn't long until another early riser helped to wake the other three kids up and I had a bedroom full of them.
Resigning myself to my early morning fate, I turned off my alarm clock (so that it wouldn't wake me up 45 minutes later), and we headed to the kitchen for a breakfast of biscuits and cinnamon rolls. Of course, these were completely homemade as well. And since I was still feeling supermomish, we decided to do a little painting project while breakfast was in the oven. You have to understand that my children love to paint as much as any others, but I only let them do it about twice a year - and never when the 2-year-old is anywhere near the scene. So, for me, this was huge. The girls did a great job painting, and Luke even created a little masterpiece of his own before making his way to cartoonland. Needless to say, the only one who ended up with paint on themselves was the one who said, at least 27 times, "Be careful. Don't get paint on your pajamas."
At this point, I expected everything to turn disastrous at any second. Things had just gone too well. It almost happened when Maddie came into the kitchen at 8:37 and said, "You didn't wash my soccer uniform, did you?" Many moms would just let the kid pull the dirty, sweaty uniform from the bottom of the stinky laundry basket and put it on right then and there, but not "freakishly clean mom". I quickly assessed the situation and decided we had just enough time to wash and dry it before we had to leave at 9:30. After that, the morning went fairly seemlessly, including cleaning the entire kitchen, making myself presentable, and getting to the soccer fields on time with four children, two backpacks and sleeping bags, one diaper bag, and three water bottles in tow.
Just for good measure, after the sleepover was officially completed, I welcomed home our stinky, STINKY boys, gave Jack a bath, headed to Dog Daze for the last few minutes of the festival (where the children were delighted by the swing ride and their icy treats), made it to Starbucks for two frappucinos just before Happy Hour ended, and picked up some fertilizer for the flowers in our decently landscaped lawn. And who could call herself a supermom without ending the day with a delicious and nutritious homemade (okay, this one really was) meal of grilled porkchops, grilled, freshly shucked corn on the cob, maple roasted sweet potatoes, and spinach and fruit salad? I can honestly say that no part of our meal came out of a box or the freezer.
Just so you know, I do not document these past two days to toot my own horn. I only document it so that, in twenty years, my children can look back and say, "Wow. Remember that one weekend where mom really got it right?" Now all of you real supermoms out there can patronize me and pretend like I did something really special, even though most of you do it everyday. And I can look at the next several days when I really will be a single mom (with Jack, a.k.a. High Maintenance Bond around) with the hope that I can not only survive, but do it with an ounce of success. We'll just see how that goes...
Please do not let the fact that Chris took the child sometimes known as the "high maintenance Bond" camping for most of that time detract from the very impressive parenting I displayed while they were gone. But feel free to give me extra points for accomplishing all this a mere 24 hours after I incurred (self-diagnosed) second degree burns on the palms of both my hands (ignoring the fact that it happened while I was cooking frozen pizzas for three children who were causing such a ruckus that I was distracted and grabbed a metal pizza stone rack fresh out of the oven with no potholders).
Now that we have the back story: Last week was Maddie's birthday, and I, being the kind parent I am, allowed her to invite four giggly girls to spend the night. Now, she really wanted to invite MANY more, but I'm not that great of a mom. Please. Half of them were disqualified from the sleepover the night before for reasons involving puking, which is never good. So, rather than leave them in the dust, we did a repeat sleepover this week. That's right. Two sleepovers in eight days. (Nevermind that it's also only two sleepovers in the last 365 days.) Since Chris had taken Jack camping, I was doing it solo with a very active 2-year-old in tow. Naturally, since I had just experienced a great deal of pain and injury cooking the gourmet meal the night before, we went out to eat. Of course, with Luke, going out to eat actually poses a much greater danger than just eating at home. I did have back-up from Nana, but we all know I did most of the work. (Insert sarcasm.) They all ate like champs and we were not escorted out of the restaurant at any point - or even given any dirty looks that I'm aware of - so we count that as a success.
Nana did ditch us after that, so I bravely decided to take the four of them (but Luke counts as two) to the park and then to watch fireworks on the town mall. They all played for nearly an hour with no serious injuries, which, if you know one of these kids (who happens to be red-headed), is a serious achievement. When it was almost time for the fireworks to begin, we all walked calmly through several intersections and streets, using all of our safety skills we learned form our moms, and arrived at the perfect spot to see the fireworks. There was a game of tag, some dog-petting, hide-and-seek, and some dancing while we waited patiently for the display to begin. The fireworks were great, and the walk back to the car was perfect.
Once we got back to the house, bath time ensued. I got the wiggly one bathed, and the big girls completed their baths in a total of 2 1/2 minutes between all three of them. I decided to pretend like they actually used soap and got clean. At least I know they left plenty of dirt in the bathroom, so there couldn't have been that much left on them. Being the anal-retentive clean freak that I am, I then commenced to clean the entire bathroom while cookies were baking in the oven. (For your information, Break n' Bakes count as homemade cookies at our house.) After a yummy dessert, the kids crashed in the living room and watched Star Wars while I completed my part-time job as an anthroamphibian consultant for Ribbits Galore. Once they had fallen asleep, I tried to catch up on my reading through the Bible in one year, which I have decided would really be better done in two years (why rush things?).
Obviously, my sense of humor was at its peak when I went to bed, because I decided to set my alarm for 7:20. As if I would ever need an alarm at 7:20. I actually woke up in a pretty grumpy mood since it wasn't one of the four kids in my house that woke me up at 6:15. It was Woody. You know Woody. He's a woodpecker. That's right. For the first time in the five years I've lived in my vinyl and brick house, a very noisy woodpecker decided to make his inaugural visit to me on the one day of the week that I don't have to get up at 6am. I was more than a little perturbed. And it wasn't long until another early riser helped to wake the other three kids up and I had a bedroom full of them.
Resigning myself to my early morning fate, I turned off my alarm clock (so that it wouldn't wake me up 45 minutes later), and we headed to the kitchen for a breakfast of biscuits and cinnamon rolls. Of course, these were completely homemade as well. And since I was still feeling supermomish, we decided to do a little painting project while breakfast was in the oven. You have to understand that my children love to paint as much as any others, but I only let them do it about twice a year - and never when the 2-year-old is anywhere near the scene. So, for me, this was huge. The girls did a great job painting, and Luke even created a little masterpiece of his own before making his way to cartoonland. Needless to say, the only one who ended up with paint on themselves was the one who said, at least 27 times, "Be careful. Don't get paint on your pajamas."
At this point, I expected everything to turn disastrous at any second. Things had just gone too well. It almost happened when Maddie came into the kitchen at 8:37 and said, "You didn't wash my soccer uniform, did you?" Many moms would just let the kid pull the dirty, sweaty uniform from the bottom of the stinky laundry basket and put it on right then and there, but not "freakishly clean mom". I quickly assessed the situation and decided we had just enough time to wash and dry it before we had to leave at 9:30. After that, the morning went fairly seemlessly, including cleaning the entire kitchen, making myself presentable, and getting to the soccer fields on time with four children, two backpacks and sleeping bags, one diaper bag, and three water bottles in tow.
Just for good measure, after the sleepover was officially completed, I welcomed home our stinky, STINKY boys, gave Jack a bath, headed to Dog Daze for the last few minutes of the festival (where the children were delighted by the swing ride and their icy treats), made it to Starbucks for two frappucinos just before Happy Hour ended, and picked up some fertilizer for the flowers in our decently landscaped lawn. And who could call herself a supermom without ending the day with a delicious and nutritious homemade (okay, this one really was) meal of grilled porkchops, grilled, freshly shucked corn on the cob, maple roasted sweet potatoes, and spinach and fruit salad? I can honestly say that no part of our meal came out of a box or the freezer.
Just so you know, I do not document these past two days to toot my own horn. I only document it so that, in twenty years, my children can look back and say, "Wow. Remember that one weekend where mom really got it right?" Now all of you real supermoms out there can patronize me and pretend like I did something really special, even though most of you do it everyday. And I can look at the next several days when I really will be a single mom (with Jack, a.k.a. High Maintenance Bond around) with the hope that I can not only survive, but do it with an ounce of success. We'll just see how that goes...
You need to write a book! You are hilarious! I think I need to print this one out just b/c my girls are involved (and I am very glad no one was injured). Thanks for being such a great supermom and doing a spend the night do-over just for us!
ReplyDeleteYou are hilarious, Amy!!! I am glad you had such a great night with all of these kiddos! And I am sure you will handle your "single-mom" time well too! :)
ReplyDeleteNot only are you super mom, but you are also super funny. I love reading your blog. :)
ReplyDeleteAmy this was a great read. You make me laugh. Love ya!
ReplyDelete