So, yesterday, I hauled the girls to Kohl’s because I had a gift certificate and wanted to find somethink pretty I might wear this summer before my body completely morphs beyond recognition.  I found a summer dress and all three of us crammed into a dressing room so that I could try it on.

I stripped down and had to take my bra off because this particular number had a “fitted bra” in it (aka “perky padding”). As I dropped my bra to the floor, Delaney looked at my bare chest, wrinkled her little face up a bit, pointed at my right breast and said:

“Why does that boob look so worn out?”

Journal Entry, June 22

Had 12 hour day at work (hounded by phone calls, assignments, complaints, political maneuvering, ‘status’ meetings, hundreds of e-mails, emergencies), headed home to pick the kids up from daycare, got stuck in traffic and got cut off at least 8 times, returned overdue movies to Blockbuster, picked up my dry cleaning that had been at the cleaners for almost a month, made it to daycare one minute before closing time and only heard ‘…stomach…Eva…weather?’ from teacher while both kids described their day at 20 decibels, picked up the mail (more bills), made dinner, applied two temporary tattoos and broke up two fights while dinner was heating up, cleaned the floor  (the dog threw up again), cleaned the bathroom mirror that a teenaged boy had pushed his nose against, listened to how horrible and yucky dinner is but can we have dessert?, tried to eat my dinner and got in three bites, emptied the dishwasher, loaded the dishwasher, stored leftovers in the fridge the no one will eat, broke up more  fights between the kids,  get screamed at “I HATE YOU!” by the 5-year-old, picked up the ‘dog-away’ spray bottle that the dogs chewed up, went on-line and speedily read emails including a ‘low balance’ notice from the bank, put kids in bath, broke up more fights over tub-space, set out pajamas and clothes for tomorrow, ran back to bathroom where one child has escaped from the tub and proceeded to slip on the wet floor, kids didn’t like the clothes that I picked out so swap outfits at least three times, brush kids’ teeth, clean up toothpaste all over counter, put kids into bed but they pop out like jack-in-the-boxes, brush teeth, put on pajamas,  took sleeping pill and pain reliever for throbbing headache, tried to read fiction novel in bed to relax, interrupted several times by jack-in-the-box kids, passed into coma well past 11PM, woken up by child with bad dreams at 3AM.

Journal Entry, June 23

Ditto.

A few weeks ago, we had this huge thunderstorm in the middle of the day. As the sky went black, the rain started to hammer against all the windows.  Lightening strikes seemed to be right on top of us, with thunder shaking the walls of the house. Both girls started to jump, the whites of their eyes showing like startled horses.  I took them down to the basement, hoping that the noise would be muffled down there, but we’ve got huge window wells and the riot was still tremendous. 

There is a small writing desk in the corner of the room downstairs, and without hesitation, both girls crawled underneath, seeking shelter from the storm.  I squirmed myself in between them, with Anna half on my lap and Silvia facing the wall in a fetal position, her head on my legs.  We spent the next half hour singing at the top of our lungs, all of us, every song we could think of from Twinkle Little Star to the soundtrack of Sound of Music, making our own thunder to beat the devil outside. 

I had a cramp in my neck that did not go away for the entire day and my legs both fell asleep and every time one of them moved I bashed my head against the top of the table. 

It was the most fun we had all week.

We usually talk about the trials of motherhood (for good reason), but with today being Father’s Day I want to honor an outstanding father, my husband.

When we started dating I was a single mom with a 7-year-old son, not the easiest, nor most appealing, situation.  My son, James, was rushing pell mell into pre-teen hormones, and I was struggling through college and a fresh divorce.  However, he stuck with us and took his step-son to countless more baseball practices, school plays, football games, and so on than his ‘birth’ father ever did.  He made every effort not to make my son feel excluded.  He made a video of my son playing baseball that I still laugh, and cry, when I watch it.  He would defend my first-born when I’d go ballistic with something my child had done or said.  (James doesn’t know how close I came at times!)

When our first daughter was born, he actually studied the baby books, and took the classes at the hospital to make sure he did everything right. He swaddled, bathed and burped his daughter like a champ.   We would take turns with the feedings and wrote notes to each other in the darkest hours of the night:

“Annika drank 4 oz, what a big girl!”

“3 oz, no burps”

“Annika had a blow-out, I cleaned her up and did a load of laundry, love you, gnite”. 

With our second daughter, my spouse moved into Dad-mode with practiced ease.  He’d take the older kids to the park or to that noisy pizza place with the obnoxious robotic mouse so Eva and I could get some much-needed sleep.  He’d feed Annika with one hand, hold Eva with another, and listen to James rattle on about his day. 

It’s not been an easy road, and we don’t always see eye-to-eye on all parenting matters, but he always tries his best.

Over the past year or so, my son has been making my husband personalized cards for birthdays and Father’s Day.  Today was no exception.  He purchased his step-dad (without prompting) a BBQ cook-book and the cover inscription said:

“Happy Father’s Day!…Thank you for all of your support over the last 11 years, Love, James”

Yes, thank you, honey, for being a wonderful dad, for all three of our sometimes-wonderful kids!

I never really felt ‘old’ until the day , 13 years ago, when my then 5 year old daughter asked me:

“Mommy, were there dinosaurs when you were little?” 

“Oh yes”, I replied with exaggeration… “We used to watch the T-Rex chase the triceratops around the field outside our cave!”

“You lived in a cave?” (When will I learn that sarcasm is wasted on children?)

“Of course, how else could we survive the ice age?”

“Was it cold?”

“Not after the volcano erupted and melted the ice”

“Nuh uh… you’re lying!”

“Oh yeah, and how do you know I’m lying?”

“Cos the ice age put the volcanoes out… so the volcanoes didn’t melt the ice age.  Is that why you have blubber, to keep warm?  Jack Crust-toe says that whales and walruses have blubber to keep them warm.  Are you an Eskimo caveman-lady?”

Between the blubber, Jack Crust-toe (Jacques Cousteau) and the caveman-lady I was having a heck of a hard time keeping a straight face and finally confessed that I was not around when the dinosaurs roamed the earth, but I packed a healthy layer of blubber just incase the ice age came back and I’d have to become a caveman-lady until the volcanoes could melt the ice again. 

Becca is going to be 18 in a few months.  She knows more about dinosaurs, volcanoes and the ice age than I ever will.  Sometimes I watch her and my other kids and wonder what kind of children they will have… and what kind of parents they will be for them.  I hope they are blessed with wonderful children like the ones I have.  I hope that even if I haven’t been the greatest role model as far as housekeeping and intellect goes that they take my laughter with them and share it with their own children. 

And I hope that one day Becca has a little girl who will ask her about dinosaurs, caveman-ladies and blubber!