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After concluding my business at the bank, I gave the kids 2 months worth of back allowance. They looked and felt flush. The chorus started almost immediately. “Where are we going next? I’m hungry! Let’s go to Dunkin’ Donuts!” Evil mother that I am, I refused to take them out to lunch unless they each paid their own way.
And so they did.
The cashier at the Bagel Mart was less than pleased when I informed her that our group would be paying separately. Her disgruntled attitude was tempered as each child proudly handed over what Medium and the boys believed to be hard-earned cash.
After we sat down together at a grimy little table, Small announced that he was thirsty. The kids looked at each other. No one had remembered to buy a beverage. I busied myself with my turkey and cheddar on pumpernickel and held my tongue.
“I’ll buy us drinks,” said Large, rising from his seat.
While he was gone, I prompted his siblings to express their appreciation. Accepting their tuneless thanks, he responded, “Yeah. Don’t expect me to be so generous next time.”
He had purchased one bottle of chocolate milk to share.
Most of the time, living in the Green Mountain State is a joy and a privilege. Not so much when we are in the midst of a heat wave. We Vermonters are prepared for snow and ice, not hellfire and humidity.
It’s too hot to write today. It’s too hot to do much of anything except complain about being hot. I am not a fan of temperatures above 75 degrees Fahrenheit—one reason I choose to live in Vermont is because it’s usually cold.
But for three days, the temperature has reached an oppressive 95 degrees or above. The heat has addled my brains and made me desperate enough to bring Small and Medium to a place I detest: The Pool.
Being in a public pool when it reaches capacity is like taking a lukewarm bath together with your kids and 472 strangers. Again, I am not a fan.
There’s a certain etiquette at the pool that is unlike bath time at home. When funky smells drift by you’re supposed to ignore them. When you see a toddler relieve himself at the edge of the pool, you may wrinkle your nose but afterwards, you simply avoid that area. When a teenager does a cannonball and gets your towel soaking wet, you are not allowed to grab him by the ear and read him the riot act. In fact, while at the pool, you are expected to keep your sunglasses on and your head down…that is unless your four-year-old is launching himself at you ninja-style and you are obliged to catch him lest you misjudge the angle of his jump and get knocked into the diluted urine alongside him.
Delightful.
From the kids’ perspective, though, The Pool is what summer is all about: bad food, good friends, and a Mommy on autopilot.
Maybe they have the right attitude.
If only it wasn’t 95 degrees out, I could chill (then again, maybe not).
What are you doing to keep cool?
Over the kids’ spring break, we took a day trip to Montreal, Canada. We took in the Biodome, the Insectarium (shudder) and part of the Botanical Gardens. We topped the day with a delicious sit-down dinner at a favorite restaurant – big props to the kids who were willing to expand their (rather narrow) palates, if only for the evening.
But really, I wouldn’t be sharing enough if I didn’t share this little gem. On one of many trips to the bathroom with a child in tow, I noticed something unusual about the standard wall-mounted dispenser in the ladies’ room. Translation unnecessary. I think the U.S. should upgrade our dispensers. Much more fun. Now that’d be a party in your pants.
Once upon a time, there was a boy. The boy owned a red dog with a curly tail. The dog was one of a kind—a mixed-breed stray found riding the “T” in Boston. This boy loved this dog more than anything in the world. Until the day the boy met the girl.
At first, the dog resented the girl for usurping his place in the car (among other places) but after many months, he grew to tolerate her. The trio moved to the suburbs. The dog was unhappy. He was no suburbanite; he was a city dweller. The boy and the girl tried to cheer him up. They got a puppy to keep him company. The dog thought this was a tremendously stupid idea but learned to tolerate the puppy at least as well as he did the girl. Life was good.
Time passed. Before they knew it, the boy and the girl grew up.
Babies were born, mortgages obtained, promotions earned. Bills were paid, child enrichment programs found, someone started preschool. And the red dog became sick and died. Diapers were changed, family vacations planned, the chimney was replaced. The twelve-year-old puppy passed away in her sleep. Home improvement projects were started, business trips taken, play dates scheduled. Season after season whirled by. Someone started fourth grade.
The girl was surprised when she turned the page of her hometown newspaper and found a dog with a curly tail staring out at her. He was advertised as the “pet of the week,” right next to the police blotter and an article about a car colliding with a moose. So surprised was she that she didn’t pause to consider the consequences before sharing the dog’s picture with the boy.
The boy and the girl debated the pros and cons of dog ownership for weeks. While they argued, the shelter accidentally burned to the ground. The boy called all the shelters in the surrounding area in hopes of locating the dog. He found him. He had heartworm and lyme disease, but he was alive.
The boy and the girl and their three children drove to the middle of nowhere to meet the dog. The girl griped about muddy paw prints, expensive diseases and additional responsibilities for most of the two hour drive.
When the shelter’s manager went to retrieve the dog from his kennel, the boy held his breath. The girl steeled herself to dislike him. The kids chased each other around the room like puppies. The dog trotted into the melee with his head held high and his cinnamon bun tail waving from side to side.
He was red. An unbelievably familiar red.
The girl felt the tears gathering, didn’t trust herself to speak. She looked at the boy and knew it was a done deal. He was in love with a red dog. Again.
Meet Paco.
This post is in memory of Rocko. (The irony? Paco came to us pre-named.)
I took the kids with me to the grocery store today, not by choice but by necessity. 
If I had attempted to serve them what was left in the cupboard—namely artichoke hearts and black olives—they might have tried to bury me in the backyard. Winter break is interminable.
Before we went, I tried to prepare myself and them. I carefully wrote out a shopping list (by aisle, no less), made sure their little stomachs were full (we went directly after lunch), and spoke with each of them about the difference between “helpful” and “unhelpful” behavior (Putting items Mommy hands you into the cart = Helpful. Attempting to lie down on the bottom rack of the cart = Unhelpful.).
Not that any of this ultimately mattered.
Kid Dialogue:
“I’m hungry!”
“EEEK!”
“But he scared me!”
“I want this!”
“But I WANT THIS!”
“OW! Mom! Liam just ran over my leg!”
“Can we have gummies?”
“But everybody else has these in their lunch!”
“How come YOU always get to pick out what WE eat?”
“Ewww!”
“NO!”
“Stop it!”
“He’s doing it again!”
“I wanna see the lobsters.”
“But I’m still looking at the lobsters!”
**Sob**
“Ooops!”
“Mom! Look what he did!”
**Sob**
“THEN can I have a muffin?”
“How come HE always gets what he wants?”
“I hafta go to the bathroom.”
“We need gum!”
“More gum!”
“Oh, no! I dropped my quarter!”
“Mommy, you gotta go back!”
Mom Dialogue:
“But you just ate!”
“Please, put that back.”
“Stop sniffing the rotisserie chicken. Remember last time?”
“No.”
“Where did Henry go?”
“Say ‘excuse me’.”
“I’m sorry. Excuse us.”
“Try harder not to run into people.”
“Get back in the cart.”
“Don’t hang on the side of the cart.”
“Be careful of the eggs!”
“No.”
“Get back in the cart.”
“Just put it back.”
“No.”
“No!”
“NO!”
“Get out of the cart.”
“Please, guys, we’re almost done. Keep it together.”
I am sure I had more than a glint of crazy in my eyes by the time we reached the cashier.
And that was before I noticed there was no bagger.
Would I like wine with my whine? Why thank you, I would.
P.S. This is one of the funniest commercials out there, thanks to my friend, K, for sharing it:
OINKtales 
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