Looking After Number One.

When you go to the dentist as an adult anticipating a procedure involving anesthesia and drills your preparation probably goes something like this:

Get up and brush your teeth. Eat a light breakfast of easy to chew foods without seeds. Clean your teeth again. Floss. Rinse with mouthwash. Shower and apply clean underwear (in case you end up in hospital after some unforeseeable dental emergency.) Clean your teeth one final time, rinse again with mouthwash. Look up your nose to see if there are any boogers that need to be removed before your dentist spends a lot of time staring closely at your face in the reclined position. Drive to dentist.

When you go to the dentist as a full time mom:

Get up and make the kids breakfast. Check your email for one last time to see if anyone has stepped forward at the last minute to help with childcare while you are at your appointment. See that no-one has. Sigh.

Pack a snack pack and backpack full of toys, crayons, books etc to keep kids occupied. Ask them to go and get dressed. Make yourself a cup of tea. Take tea with you upstairs in the full and certain knowledge that kids will be playing in their pajamas in their room. Help them select clothes and ask them to put them on. Stay nearby so you can remind them to apply each item to their bodies. Grit your already sore teeth. Set up toothbrushes with toothpaste so the kids can clean their teeth. Realize you might want to do that too. Head to the bathroom - get interrupted by four year old who needs her buttons buttoned and her zippers zipped. Get yourself dressed with less care than you intended. Referee an argument about who needs the step stool at the sink to clean their teeth. Remind the nine year old of her height and abilities. Ask the kids to brush their hair. Return to bathroom to clean teeth. Get interrupted by four year old needing help with changing her doll's dress. Remind her that dolly is not going to the dentist so doesn't need a new outfit. Deal with ten minute meltdown because dolly is not going to the dentist. Put dolly, in new outfit, in backpack.

Realize you need to leave NOW for the dentist. Run into the bathroom and swirl mouthwash around your mouth and grab a toothbrush to go. Ask the kids to put their shoes on. Run a comb through your hair in an attempt to look 'polished.' Go downstairs to find kids playing in the living room. Shout at the kids to get their shoes on THIS MINUTE and get in the car. Spend several minutes apologizing and comforting the four year old who "doesn't like it when you shout mummy."

Get in the car, now late, and drive to the dentist. 'Clean' your teeth with a dry toothbrush while driving. Deposit already squabbling kids in waiting room with strict instructions to be good. Feel frazzled and weighed down by kids when you just need to take care of yourself for this one hour. Listen as at least three people in the waiting room and four dental office staff tell you what sweet, well behaved angels you have.

Go in and get your mouth assaulted by needles and metal instruments in the name of good dental care. Listen to the hygienist lecture you about cleaning and flossing with more 'integrity.' Feel like a five year old child with limited motor skills. Listen to your children in the background of the open plan office whilst noting your blood splattering out of your mouth onto various surfaces. Hope your children can't see you. Start to fret that if your children can see and hear what is happening to you they will never go to the dentist willingly again.

Finally finish and slap your brave, happy face on before greeting your children and their long list of needs and requests - you were unavailable to them for 60 minutes after all. Sigh. Carry on with the rest of your childcare day regardless of any swelling, pain or bleeding, unless of course it is happening to one of your children - in which case apply enormous amounts of care and concern.

Sigh.

Spray Tan

When should you worry about the IQ of your children? I am writing this post in the sure and certain knowledge that I will need to delete it before the nine year old gets the chance to read it. I am worried. Not seriously worried, concerned might be a better choice of word. Let's face it - I am neither worried or concerned, I am simply astounded at the lack of IQ my child sometimes displays.

It's not universal. There are times when she stuns me with her knowledge but there are many times when her actions can only be described as glaikit. Did you Google it? Is it not the most perfect word? Scottish slang can only be described as delicious in it's ability to summarize several feelings into one word, ironic given our national propensity for verbosity.

What can the nine year old have possibly done to cause me to question her intelligence in this way? It involves swim lessons. She had them each day last week to refine her strokes and diving. This being California - the sun is blazing with it's full summer might - so we need sunblock. In an attempt to foster the much desired independence of the nine year old, I asked her to sunblock herself each morning. I supervised her face application with lotion but left her to do her arms and legs with a spray. On return from the lesson I notice that her legs and arms have a distinctly pink hue. Entering into our home I notice right away a goopy puddle on the floor under the cabinet in the hall.

On investigation within the cabinet, I discover the can of spray with the plastic safety seal still in place. Having been 'sprayed' for several seconds over each nine year old limb you can imagine the scene. The spray had run out from under the seal making a lovely, sticky mess inside and out.

How do you spray yourself with sunblock and not notice it didn't spray out? How do you rub in the spray not noticing that your legs are still dry? How do you not see the build up of white cream all around the top of the can? HOW?

On questioning (yes I am aware that there is a slightly Spanish Inquisition type tone to that phrasing) the nine year old gave me her standard response, accompanied by an irresistible grin and a shoulder shrug - "oopsies."

If my reaction is any gauge - she will do just fine in life. There are few who could resist that face and an oopsies. Assuming of course she doesn't grow up to be a brain surgeon.

Aiming Low.

The buzz word in parentville this week is 'underparenting' the antidote to helicoptering (is too a word.) It is the art of letting your child make their own mistakes, play a little out of sight, spend large parts of their days unstructured.

I am very comfortable with this concept. I think that I may even bump up against the limits of the (Californian) law on this one. I believe in letting my children be independent in some things. I don't consider tree climbing reckless endangerment. I think my nine year old should be able to walk to our local shops for a loaf of bread if we need one. I despair for the child who's parent fills each day with crafts, games and activities and never allows them to be bored or without purpose.

That said, this past week found me with a large knot in my stomach. We signed the nine year old up for one week of camp. Truth be told I would never have chosen this camp but several of her friends were doing it and the husband nudged me into letting her join in.

It's interesting how danger can be perceived differently. I am happy for my kid to wander in bear country with what could only be described as a perfect bear picnic on her back. I will blithely encourage her twenty feet up a tree but water - water scares me. I think because she has no fear of it.

The camp in question was a kayaking camp. Five days out on the San Francisco bay on kayaks, paddle boards or sit on tops. Five days of tides, waves and sea creatures. She had a life jacket all but velcro'd to her body and she can swim so I felt some confidence in that. The trouble came with the overnight. She kayaked an hour to an island and camped the night. I feel a bit nauseous just typing that and she's already home safe.

Usually I know exactly where she is. I can picture her in my head at a friends house, in their car, on the school bus, right outside my front door. This was unchartered territory. I kissed her goodbye at 9am and would not see her until 4pm the next day. For thirty one hours I wouldn't know her exact location. I wouldn't know when she was on land or on water. I wouldn't know where she was sleeping except for vague things like "in a tent, on an island." I wouldn't see if she ate her meal, brushed her teeth, applied sunblock or drank enough water.

It was a terrible, horrible feeling, full of conflict and teetering towards panic.
I remember going to sleep away camp. It was the most exciting, thrilling, liberating time of my young life. I LOVED it. I want my girls to have that. Extended but limited moments of freedom. I know it's important but I don't know how I'll make it.

That's the problem with buzz words - they roll of the tongue with no hint of the implications of actual implementation. I support underparenting but are there enough hugs in the world to get me through it?

Horn Blower.

My Nana always said pride comes before a fall but I'm going to take my chances. Let's hope my next post is not from the ER...
I was named a Best Bay Area Blog by ChatterBlock! Me and my ego are pretty pleased about that. Maybe it's because my other two jobs are among the least recognized, honored and paid (healthcare and childcare) that this little recognition is delightful. Maybe I'm just an ego maniac - either way the pay has not improved. Nevertheless celebrate with me and check out ChatterBlock.

I'm in an Illinois State of Mind.

Well that didn't take long - the winner of the quest for a conference is (drum roll) Chicago - BlogHer13!

I was rooting for Chicago - I've always wanted to go. Only eleven months to shoe shop and write a winning VOTY entry....

I just entered to win a pass with #BlogHerAtHome HERE. Write a promo post like this one and join me.....

Forever in PJ's.

You know how I know that my standards have changed since I had kids? There is only one picture of me on this blog. In it I am wearing turquoise pajamas. I like to think that no-one has noticed that because they are feasting their eyes on the gorgeousness that is my new born baby and her adoring big sister.

When I say "changed" I really mean deteriorated. It's inevitable - all the baby magazines warned me - my hair would live in a pony tail, I would consider sweat pants to be appropriate for everything except weddings. I think at some point I was supposed to return to my previous standards. My baby is four now - is it time?

I only ask because my friends are doing things like Brazilian blow outs, Botox and well, Brazilians. I am doing showers and make up for special events. Does it really matter? In my heart I know the answer and the answer for me is no. What matters is how I feel. How healthy I am. How my self esteem and confidence are. That's what I tell my girls - why would I not apply it to me too? Of course if looking polished is a part of that - that's fine too.

You know why this whole topic came up? BlogHer12. I am not at BlogHer12. Go pour yourself a nice drink while I take a break to go wipe my tears. Back? Good, me too. WHY AM I NOT AT BlogHer12????

This is where my standards have dropped in a way that IS unacceptable. I learned after teetering on the precipice of depression that can come with parenting that I need something else in my life to balance the mountainous challenge of parenting full time. For me that something else is writing and blogging. To be inspired and motivated I need to connect with my community in real life. That's what these conferences provide to me. Mentoring, fun, friendship, independence. Oh independence I miss you the most.

I sold my BlogHer pass because few of my besties were going. It wasn't an entirely bad decision except for one small detail - I could now be kid free in New York City for four days. So you can continue to look at my turquoise pj's but I am off to look for another conference or trip that will nourish my soul and maybe force me out of that pony tail and sweats...