Awkward Mom vs. The Exercise Bike

So, pre-Alien-Invasion (because it sounds cooler than Covid-19, that's why), I was a member of the Y. Three mornings a week, after I dropped the older children off at school, I would drive to the Y, leave Super Toddler with the lovely ladies in the Child-Watch, head to the locker room, chat with the Grandmas who were headed to the water aerobics class, change into my shorts and an ancient Obama for Senate T-shirt, and exercise for an hour on an exercise bike while scrolling through Instagram and wondering why everyone loves white kitchens with open shelving and reclaimed wood so much. I think they might have less children than I do. Occasionally, I would change into a swimsuit (one no where near as risque as the water aerobics Grandmas, but they are soaked in confidence, give me time to get there), and I would swim laps in the pool and delight in my own buoyancy and the fact that no one was asking me why-questions for a blissful 45 minutes. Ah, simpler times. 

Now, I use Awkward Dad's exercise bike in my basement while children shout down the stairs that someone ate the last Nutty-Buddy and he or she is now going to die. Thanks a lot, Aliens. 

You shouldn't feel too sorry for me. At least this is Awkward Dad's new exercise bike. His old one was a purchase from shortly after our wedding and the seat was stuck at his height and the cover was gone. Therefore, to use it, I would perch on a sweat-soaked foam lump, vaguely in the shape of a seat, well above the ground, my toes straining to reach the pedals, while things below me creaked, that definitely should not have been creaking. And not just my joints. 

Thankfully, this one adjusts to my height.

And doesn't even seem bothered by the random pool-noodle lightsaber some Sith left behind. 

It isn't the blissfully alone experience of the Y, but I am trying to be positive about it. In fact, there are 2 benefits to exercising at home in my basement:

1. I don't have to put on a shirt. 

2. I have a nice view. 

Obviously, one needs to overlook a few things on the way to the view, 

but details...

So, every morning, I put on a sports bra and some awful holey leggings, put on a Hard-Rock-Work-Out playlist in an effort to drown out kid-noise, look out at my beautiful backyard, and try not to die. I have been fairly successful so far, but after today, that might change. 

OK, so picture it, I am biking along, huffing and puffing along to Thunderstuck. The kids are all asleep, thanks to a midnight Animal Crossing session, that Should shows up to shame me about. I chase her away, along with Super Cat, who decides he wants to sit on the handlebars. Things are cool for a minute or two, until the music changes to that prophetic wonder Alice Cooper. And you totally know what song it is...10 minutes into this workout and Anxiety and Panic show up to question me about what my fall school plan is; home-school or sending them back? Their current school hasn't expressed a remote option, and suddenly Should is back with some thoughts about that. Super Cat jumps on my back about the same time a super child appears on the top of the steps, in tears and talking about vomit. I blink back some sweat or tears, I can't tell, and look up into my sunny backyard to settle myself, where I lock eyes with a man who is literally 2 feet from my basement door. (Turns out the neighbors' roofers had a box blow off the roof and land in our backyard.) He waves at me, and suddenly, the only benefits to working out in the basement become decidedly not. 

I avoid screaming and somehow wave back, before sprinting up the stairs (probably getting more exercise than the entire week of bike riding), scooping up the crying child, and exploding into the kitchen to find the rumored vomit. Thanks a lot, Aliens. 

Hey, you guys remember when the Spray Park was Awkward Mom's biggest nemesis? 

Ah, simpler times. 

Awkward Mom vs. Shoulds (Pandemic Version)

Hey, Erin, aren't you going to address the fact that you haven't written in over year because you have been dealing with Imposer Syndrome, Pre-Adolescents, and your doubt in the wisdom of being an essayist in a post-Twitter universe? 

Nah. They'll figure it out. 

So, here we are; Earth's in trouble and it's time to come together, alien-invasion-style! It's pretty Walking Dead out there; full of factions and showers totally optional. Not exactly what I pictured for our response to a global threat. I mean, I thought I would at least get a super suit. Maybe a trip to Stark Tower. A scrappy team of odd-balls with a variety of skills and hearts of gold. Oh, wait, I have that last one!

Best Alien-Invasion-Suits Target had in stock.

And my alien-invasion team has been doing their best; remote schooling, staying home, wearing masks, Zooming like pros, and generally being the adaptive wonders that children are. We're hunkered down and ready to save the day! So, how come I am still battling Should and his sister Shouldn't like it's a normal July Wednesday?!

I have documented my endless battles with the evil Should twins before, so I won't bore you. You know them; sometimes they like to show up with their buddies Regret, What-If, Expectations, Why-Haven't-You-Already, Societal-Pressure, Instagram-Envy, Everyone-Knows-What-They-Are-Doing-But-Me, Comparison, and Over-Thinking. But they are perfectly capable of ruining your day by themselves. Mind you, they aren't BIG EVENT villains, like Thanos, My-Baby-Is-Starting-College, Potty Training. No, these are low-level thugs that you battle back daily; Copperhead, Cobra Command, that guy that killed Uncle Ben, 12-year-olds who like to slam doors, Laundry. You know, everyday villains. I guess I just figured that these aren't everydays, so why am I dealing with everyday AND pandemic villains?

Pandemic Should and Shouldn't go something like this: Morning, Erin, it's kinda late, you really Should get up. And you probably Shouldn't have let the kids stay up late playing video games. You really Should keep an eye on screentimes; even though it is Pandemic Summer, the summer slide is probably gonna be extra worse this year. Maybe you Should develop a homeschooling system, you won't be any good at it, of course because you haven't done it before (oh, Good Morning, Regret, come on in!) but you Should do it anyway because all the good moms are doing it, according to Facebook. Oh, and you Should really get some Essential Oils. Good job brushing your teeth, Erin, but your flossing Should be better than that. Wake up the children, they Shouldn't sleep in, but maybe they Should because you let them stay up and they don't really have anything to look forward to because everything is cancelled and you aren't creative enough to create your own camps and magical summer activities. That would be true in a normal year, but it is extra damaging this year because of Pandemic and their mental health is bad and you haven't really been focusing on that, now have you? You Should make the bed, Erin. Shouldn't let standards slide, just because we are stuck in the house and we don't see anyone and your social skills have all but disappeared and you were so weird at the drive-up window at the bank yesterday that the poor clerk totally thought you were flirting with him and was probably totally disgusted at the thought because you are old and out of shape and hey, where are you going? Mindless scrolling through Instagram isn't gonna help matters, in fact, look at her house, why isn't your house that pretty? If she can make her house look that nice in the middle of Pandemic, while homeschooling 3 children and raising 14 chickens, certainly you can do the dishes, right? 

And on and on. Until bedtime, but not really because the children don't really go to bed anyway, rather just collapse, clutching Switch controllers and candy, and you Should clean them and move them to bed but they are sticky and if you have to touch one more sticky thing today you are going to scream and wake them up again, so you leave them where they fall and you go upstairs to lie in bed and stare at your phone, knowing you Shouldn't, but you don't want to think. Anything. Anything at all, just to not have to think.

And this is all pretty standard for normal July weekdays but these aren't normal standard July weekdays and if I have to make masks and decide about school plans and worry about my grandmother and sanitize everything and online-navigate systemic racism responses and Covid deniers and basically live with a permanent stress-ball lodged in my chest at all times, why the hell do I have to fight with Should and Shouldn't?! And they seem stronger than usual. Does Covid enhance them? Like the Goblin Serum?! Crap.

Here's the thing; the movies only show you part of the Alien Invasion; the rousing inspiring part where the President gives a speech and Randy Quaid flies into a spaceship (um...spoiler). They don't have time or plot reasons or any financial incentive to tell you everything, and I have plenty of questions, the least of which is why the heck would an advanced culture that can develop crazy cool technology and navigate space come to a planet that is 71% water if water is deadly to them....Also, who is gonna clean up this mess? How do we raise children during this? Do the aliens care if my dishes are clean? How long is this gonna take? If we aren't returning to normal after this anyway, can we just change the national currency to cheese? Who is in charge? Why does it feel like no one is in charge? Why are you all arguing? Am I going to mutate? And follow-up to that, can I request a cool mutation and not one of the Morlock-ones? Who do I see about that?

Now, replace aliens with pandemic. (And ignore my cheese and mutation fixations if you can.) This is not a place for Should or Shouldn't. No where is, but this is really not a place for them, especially supercharged mutated them. (Sorry, I really like the X-men...) They are gonna keep showing up, that's what they do, but maybe we don't have to invite them in. Shoulds are like Vampires, they can't come in unless you let them. So grab the garlic and your strongest affirmation because they are gonna try to get you to let them in.

Don't. Don't. Just don't. Not shouldn't or maybe or can't or any of those. This is a DON'T situation. This is an alien invasion and we need you to focus. You are so capable of this DON'T. Please stop listening to Should and his sister; you are surviving a PANDEMIC and that is all you have to do. No shoulds about it.

Oh! Can I have that mutation where I control plants? That one would be cool...

Awkward Mom vs. My Perfect Path

So, I have had 3 C-sections and 2 Vaginal births. Pop quiz: which is which?

No fair guessing if you were there, Awkward Dad....

Who had formula? Who slept through the night at 6 weeks? Who used the cloth diapers? Who did we send to preschool in a pull-up? Who read at 3 years old? Who still struggles to read? Who ate homemade baby food? Who had Gerber out of a jar? Who didn't have solids until 10 months old? Who didn't lose a tooth until Kindergarten? Who lost 4 teeth the first week of summer? Who gets scared at sleep-overs? Who's run away? Who had night terrors? Who often goes to bed at midnight? Who sneaks Pringles into the closet and eats them? Who had to drink Ensure to gain weight? Who still can't walk? (I thought I'd throw you a gimme there.)

You can't tell. It doesn't show. All you see is a pile of beautiful kids who would much rather be watching Story Bots and enjoying the last precious moments of summer than posing for their mother's rather unhealthy photography habit.

My point is this: I walked (OK, waddled) into Super Oldest birth with a birth plan that I thought was pretty reasonable: "Everything will be fine as long as we don't have a C-section." Well, we promptly had an emergency C-section that saved my baby's life. I banned princess toys until my son developed a love of storytelling. I refused to buy new shoes until my second child couldn't walk without specialized footwear. I forbid devices but then the school discovered that Super 3rd Grader was reading a lot easier with access to the games on the iPad. I made my own baby food until I decided I would rather spend that time playing with my kids. And watching Netflix. But mostly playing with my kids....while watching Netflix....

But you can't tell. I mean, you can tell because I told you. Because I have a big mouth and don't like secrets. But if you just saw the Supers, you wouldn't see anything but the magical people they are and are becoming. You wouldn't see any of the messy paths that led there or the messy, awkward mom that they dragged off her own path to get there. OK, you might see her. She doesn't hide well.

Perfectionism and I are old foes. I constantly struggle with my desire to make the process as lovely as the end result. This is not an easy way to parent. It isn't an easy way to live. And it's an impossible way to live if you are living with other people. People who have their own journeys and processes that weave with yours on a messy shared romp through the life-forest.

My children. Your children. Our children. That's what we call them. For ease, identification, sentence structure; all the delights that pronouns offer. But the reality is that they aren't anyone's. They are human beings, independent and autonomous with ways that we will never truly understand. They aren't really ours at all. We get to borrow them for awhile. A long while. The longests of all the mammals. 18 summers to run after them through the sand. 18 winters of cuddles and scarves. 18 springs to stomp in puddles and freeze at soccer games and watch the new dandelions pop up overnight like magic. 18 falls of Halloween costumes and new teachers and friendship fights and leaf-crunching laughter ringing in a wind alive with anticipation. 18 precious birthdays. 18 years of learning to treasure interests that aren't yours; dinosaurs and baseball and rocks and Pokemon and ballet and 3147 Disney princesses. 18 years of walking paths that are not yours.

And then they leave? I don't know. No one has left yet. But they will someday and then I can have my path back. My path through the life-forest might stop branching off into a thousand side journeys that I didn't plan on. Perfectionism and I can hold hands again as we march straight and steady through the perfect process that I planned. My Path. My Perfect Path that I don't have to share anymore.

But maybe not. Maybe I won't want that anymore. Maybe I will have learned something by sharing my life with other lives. Maybe I will learn that letting go of control isn't half as scary as I thought it would be. Maybe I will learn that I don't own all the great ideas, that they aren't all mine. Maybe I will learn that sometimes babies know where the best views are, just beyond these trees you think you can't climb. Maybe I will learn that I can. I can climb all the trees I want. I can go anywhere I want. All I have to do is step off the Perfection Path and try.

Her path looks more fun anyway. 

Awkward Mom vs. July poetry

It's the humidity that does it.

Popsicle sticks on the stairs, pants on the kitchen floor. They say that I will miss this someday. I'm sure I will, but will I get there to miss it? Because, right now, the forest is deep and dark and endless and I can't see my way out of it. I suppose I shouldn't try to get out of it; journeys twist and turn and sometimes you stop so you can build a house of popsicle sticks to wait out the storms. That's the way of journeys. 

I just didn't think I would be waiting out the storms in the actual storms. And sticky storms they are, storms of expectations and worries and fights over the window seat. Of spilled milk and lost friendships and fear monstrously huge, ones that won't be silenced with kisses and bandaids. Storms so wild, there is nothing to do but surf the tsunamis in boats of faith and adrenaline. And I do, I surf and sail and land in houses made of popsicle sticks and laughter and castoff socks and the detritus of weedy children, growing overnight to colonize my ordered garden of expectations and goals. 

The metaphors mix, while I sit on the stairs and try to remember why I wanted it so ordered when the chaos colors match the carpet so much better. A moment of clarity in a messy glen in the deep dark forest that will stir me to despair again. Today most likely, with Freeziepop sleeves in the bathroom and underwear under the couch. How like life to be so beautifully inconstant and marvelously messy. How very like her. 

Awkward Mom vs. Control

Here, in no particular order, are the things I cannot control.

1. The fact that pretty much all the moms at the kids' school are taller than me.
2. The lighting on Game of Thrones.
3. Rain.
4. Super Oldest's passion for dance and the resulting company of dance moms that I have to deal with on a weekly basis.
5. The inevitability of aging, death, and that the child visiting for a playdate will find the cat vomit first.
6. Girls' pants sizing.
7. Any comments section.
8. Ocean tides.
9. Other people's children.
10. The reality that there will be at least one moment a day, but more likely 56 of them, when I look around and think "I have absolutely no idea what I am doing. Do these other people know that I don't know what I am doing? Why haven't they figured it out yet; it's not like I am hiding my incompetence well or anything."
11. Dust.
12. Cats.
13. Super Daughter's passion for softball and the resulting company of sports moms that I have to deal with on a weekly basis.
14. How slow the hours go.
15. How fast the years go.
16. That teacher appreciation week is 4 weeks before the last day of school and I am way too Mayed out to be crafty so I buy a gift card and some chocolate and send it to school in a Ziploc bag and call it a win.
17. Mosquitos.
18. Most of the US government's foreign policy.
19. The transition from baby to toddler and that it will most likely happen during church or in front of the PTA president or in a store that has a lot of glass ornaments about 2 and a half feet off the floor.
20. Red lights.
21. My inner 13-year-old, who enjoys popping up multiple times a day to whisper defeatist nonsense in my ear about how pretty all the other moms are and how they all have it together and and what palaces their houses are and how clean everything they touch is and what they whisper about me when I am not there and how their children don't eat dirt during school pickup or climb onto the roof of their vans and pretend to be Dr. Frankenstein harnessing the coming storm for nefarious purposes.
22. The hormones of a preteen and how they force the eyes of said preteen to roll at the merest mention of helping with the dishes.
23. How easily I cry.
24. Gravity.
25. That the laundry is never actually finished unless you are doing it naked.
26. The unflattering light in changing rooms.
27. Time.
28. Space.
29. Who my children want to be friends with.
30. My husband's aversion to pants and his belief that socks belong under the coffee table.
31. Genes.
32. Tornadoes.
33. Other people's opinions.
34. That weird week in October when it gets really hot and doesn't behave like fall in the slightest.
35. Other drivers.
36. That it will rain the day of the zoo field trip or the temperature will resemble the surface of the sun.
37. Superbowl outcomes.
38. The ending of Life is Beautiful.
39. Four-year-olds who really don't want to put their shoes on.
40. How awkward I feel 98% of the day and how strong the temptation is to just hide in my house and avoid all social interaction because then there will be a 98% chance that the pretty and popular ones won't laugh at me or pity me or talk to me at all and I can read all the time and float around in my mind, where everything is magical and kind and whirling around on clouds made out of dreams and summer wind and I can sink into my best me, who is relaxed and gentle and funny and open and not concerned and therefore able to be strong and bright and fantastic and full of loud snort-laughs.


Here, in no particular order, are the things that I can control.

1. My Netflix queue.
2. My candy hiding spot that Awkward Dad and the children still haven't found.
3. My attitude.
4. My words.
5. My openness to the 2% of me that doesn't want to hide away in safety, but wants to stride purposely on the battlefield of human interaction and just connect. With you.

I forgot one.

Not that anyone in her right mind would want to control 

Babies in Bounce Houses. 

Awkward Mom vs. Star Wars Art

The Awkwards went to Star Wars Celebration 2 weekends ago, and that is a tale that I hope to tell you all one day, but I'm still floating around in joy and can't quite get it on paper. (Blog-paper? blaper?) No, this is a far less ambitious story. But maybe not.

All Super Daughter wanted to do at Star Wars Celebration was to see the artists. Those daring souls who attempt to capture Dewbacks in oils and Blurrgs in pastels, the rebels who imagine the wedding invites to the Solo wedding, the dreamers who sculpt TIE fighters and Yavin sunsets. While all Awkwards love Star Wars (we don't speak about Super Preschooler's anti-Lucas phase of ages 2-4), Super Daughter is the one who has embraced the visual delights of the world. She is the one who wants to know how to make Twi'lek dresses, Ewok armor, Rey hair styles. She's the one who doodles storm troopers next to her unicorns and mermaids and paints forest scenes saturated with swirling Tatooine yellows and deep Endor blues. She'll sit in the middle of a clone war, with light sabers inches from her head, and just trace force ghosts in the dirt. She's moved by the story, she loves the characters, she thinks the script of Episode 3 is unfortunate; she's just like us. But unlike us, there is something special in her eyes when she watches the Millennium Falcon soar or the fires of Mustafar rage. We are content to watch. Maybe discuss. Even fight about why Lando did not betray Han at all but did what he had to do for his people. (Come on, fight me. You know you want to.) We may be loud, but we're happy in the audience. Not Super Daughter. Super Daughter is an artist and she's got a X-wing to catch.

Which is why, armed with a handful of colored pencils, a homemade sketch book that says STAR WARS across it in rainbow letters, and one very prized gel pen, all stuffed in a crochet bag with a yarn llama on it, Super Daughter strides into the artist section of the convention, stars in her eyes and purpose in her feet. She looks around for a moment, and then, as if pulled by a tractor beam, finds herself in front of Karen Hallion's booth. It is crowded there, but Super Daughter gently eases her way to the front of the table and patiently waits for her artist-sister to finish talking to someone. Eventually, Ms. Hallion notices this tiny girl in front of her and smiles at her. Super Daughter meets her eyes with her own ocean ones, takes a deep breath, and says, quietly but firmly, "where did you get all those marker pens?"

Ms. Hallion looks confused, so the man with her, nudges her softly and points to the huge selection of beautiful artist markers next to her, just behind a large pile of her art that fans are rummaging through. He winks at Super Daughter and says, "you must be an artist too, to notice all these." Super Daughter smiles her slow-building smile that starts in the left corner of her mouth and rises into a lopsided grin so lovely that it has been known shatter stones. Its affect is not lost on anyone present and you can feel the collective breath hold, as Super Daughter reaches up and touches the marker tops, while whispering, "I use pencils, but someday..." Time stops and the crowd behind her does something I have never ever seen at a convention; they step back. They seemingly recognize in her the children they once were, those small spirits so moved by alien bravery in a galaxy far far away that it would stay with them long after the credits rolled and the world told them to be sensible.

Ms. Hallion reaches over and taps Super Daughter on the hand; "pick one," she encourages. Super Daughter points to a winking silver, which is pronounced "a good choice," with a follow-up, "do you like BB-8?" Super Daughter nods, and Ms. Hallion eases into her own magic. Awed murmurs rise up around us, but Super Daughter is focused on what is before her, with a laser curiosity only a fellow artist can posses. Once finished, Ms. Hallion waves the card to dry it and then flourishes it into Super Daughter's hands. Their eyes meet again, hold, and crinkle into identical and knowing smiles; they will meet again. Someday, in a galaxy maybe not so far far away.

Someday...

Awkward Mom vs. No

You wanna know the really sad part of this constant battle of mine? No isn't even bad. She's not a villain at all. No is that gruff character in the beginning of the movie who you are totally scared of, until you catch him surreptitiously feed stray cats. No is your basic Bruiser with a Soft Center. No isn't trying to hurt me; in fact, she just really wants me to stop shoving her away so she can hug me. Hold me. Make it all better and calmer. No is always trying to get close to me, but I fight her. I yell at her, argue with her, ignore her, and misunderstand her, usually on purpose. But No keeps trying, she's that into me.

The main reason I keep rejecting No is that I have it bad for Yes. Sweet sweet Yes. Yes is just more alluring, more charming, more inclusive, more in keeping with my spirit of can-do. Yes is full of energy and passion. Yes is loud and exciting and full of compliments. She's always there for me, usually with a huge pile of paperwork and a sheepish grin. "Erin, you are just so talented, could you help me with this? And that? And this other thing? Oh, you are amazing, we simply must have brunch soon." Then, she gives me air-kisses and sails out of the room on a cloud of mystery and purpose.

Yes is kinda like Professor X. (I like to picture the Patrick Stewart version but you do whatever works for you.) Yes is positive and passionate and personable. Yes is totally convinced the mutants and humans can work together. Or the stay-at-home moms and the working moms. Or the yogas and the crossfits. Or the cosleepers and the cry-it-outers. Or the Star-Treks and Star-Wars. Whoever, wherever, whatever; we are all gonna get along and hold hands and sing and I guess drink Coke? I don't know where this analogy is going, but it is starting to sound like a product placement, which is weird because I prefer Pepsi. Anywho, Yes makes you feel like you can take on the world and that you should.

Hey, wait a minute, why would Yes be keeping company with Awkward Mom arch-nemesis Should? That's very suspicious and should be setting off some alarm bells.

Oh, lovely Reader, you are so much more on the uptake that I have been for 40-odd years. It's totally suspicious. You see, Yes wants stuff to happen and sometimes to make stuff happen you have to consort with questionable allies. The ends justify the means or some such; those means being Should and Guilt and Pressure and Comparison and Empty-Flattery and Getting-Identity-From-Outside-Sources and Peer-Pressure and Fear-Of-Failure and Self-Recrimination and Caffeine. Lots and lots of Caffeine. Caffeine is like the foot soldier in the Yes army. Wait. Why would Yes have an army....

Because, basically, Yes is a Villain with Good Publicity. Big Reveal! Plot Twist! Holy Cats, Never Saw That Coming! Zoinks! I'm Questioning Everything Right Now! Is Captain America Even Good? He's In Hydra, WHAT?!?!

OK, not really. (They totally fixed Cap, no worries.) It's really much more complicated than that, but TVtropes is a really fun website if you want to poke around over there. I'll wait.

You done? It's fun, isn't it?! God bless those internet wizards. So, where were we? Oh, yes, Yes. Yes the sorta villain who you think is a hero. Hold the phone now! Does that make No the sorta hero who you think is a villain? Does that make No Magneto?  Does that mean Magneto was right all along and that the mutants should take over? Which Magneto? Because if we are going with Michael Fassbender Magneto, then I am totally on team No.

No. It doesn't mean that. But Yes, it kinda does mean that. It's complicated. Geez, complicated internal struggles regarding human consciousness and societal existence; that ol' trope. Couldn't it just be simple for once? Like mutants/human relations? I'll untangle that knot if you just don't make me face my own soul.

No and Yes are neither good nor bad, they aren't villains or heroes. They are responses of my psyche designed to work together so that the very best Erin can shine and grow. They are both there to keep me safe. They are both there to keep me engaged. No is no more a violent retreat from the world, than Yes is a creative cheerful savior we have all been waiting for. Neither is No the passionate protector of sanity, while Yes is the sneaky killer of dreams and sleep. To reduce No and Yes to such black or white caricatures limits the power of both, and that is foolish, for they are incredibly powerful when used in tandem.

Our natural personalities probably do lean more in more direction, depending on a myriad of reasons from childhood on up. Everyone most likely aligns better with the X-Men or the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants, although those of you in the latter camp might want to consider a rebrand, just saying. I prefer Yes because moments of pre-adolescent isolation have made me very sensitive to inclusion and my natural rebelliousness makes me fiercely independent. It has taken years of therapy, self-reflection, and truly terrible poetry for me to realize this about myself, and it will take years for me to embrace No the way she deserves to be embraced. Maybe you cling to No because you have been hurt and rejected. Maybe you court Yes because you need validation you didn't get as a child. Maybe you say No to everything because you are saying Yes to Game of Thrones. I'm not here to judge; it's all human and it's all getting you through your life. It's just that when you say Yes to a new experience or person, you might open and let more of your shine out into the world, and if you say No once in awhile, you might find that the recharge you get refreshes you to let more of your shine out into the world. And when you finish Game of Thrones, we'll all be here to hear your secret Targaryen and mermen theories. (That link has spoilers. Well, sorta.)

Point is, Yes and No are much more powerful and powerfully good for you when you embrace both of them. Can you imagine what Professor X and Magneto could have accomplished if they worked together? I mean, together not in a Bryan Singer bloated cinematic mess that I could have fixed if anyone in Hollywood had bothered to ask me...NO, I'm not sorry I said it. See, I'm growing already!

Super Baby says NO to pictures,

and YES to upside-down reading! 

She's advanced.

Awkward Mom vs. Spring Break Flu

If August causes Summer Fever, then mid-March causes Spring Break Flu. August Expectations bring March Fevers, something like that...

Much like the Spanish Flu, Spring Break Flu is an epidemic of catastrophic proportions. It develops very quickly, is extremely powerful, spreads like a wildfire (mostly via Instagram), and is violently dangerous toward any and all expectations. Spring Break Flu craves your expectations with the hunger of 1000 teenagers after a swim meet, and it will obliterate them like a swarm of locusts. It isn't quite at Birthday Botulism or Wedding Plague levels, but, still, I wouldn't go leaving any expectations just laying around if Spring Break Flu is visiting your house.

I'm sure I've addressed Expectations before, but, just to remind everyone, Expectations is major villain in the Awkward Universe. He is a Big Baddie; Dr. Doom, Kingpin, Apocalypse (comicverse, not movieverse, obviously), Green Goblin, General Zod. You get the picture; this is Boss Level stuff. (P.S. All those links are fantastic, but Kingpin in those purple pants has got it going on like Donkey Kong.) Expectations is NOT a villain to trifle with, and yet, it is unbelievable how many of us just toy with him, expecting that everything will work out fine. (Ugh, is she gonna keep doing that? Yeah, I expect so.)

Here's how my Spring Break Flu is going this week. Expect to be horrified.

Monday. 

The only really planned event of the week was set for today. From previous battles with Expectations, I have learned over time, so I only planned one travel-based event this Spring Break. I have clearly not learned enough.

Some backstory: Super Oldest has a birthday at the end of February and all he wanted this year was to go to the Field Museum. So, we carefully planned and were all set to go to Chicago the day after his birthday, which was the day I got diagnosed with strep throat.

That plan scrapped, we carefully planned and were all set to go to Chicago the first day of Spring Break, which was the day Super Daughter got diagnosed with the stomach flu.

And by diagnosed, I mean, threw up on me at 2am. But I wasn't gonna let that deter me; I carefully dressed her, cajoled her, begged her, bribed her, and fed her sips of water from 6am-8am in an effort to show that she just ate something weird and was not, in fact, battling Stomach Flu. At 8:05am, she threw up on me again, and I was forced to admit that she would not be able to make the trip to Chicago. This left us with many options, none of them good. (1) Reschedule again, (2) scrap the whole idea, or (3) one of us take some of the children. We opted for option 3 and I was chosen to go, mostly since Awkward Dad has more medical experience and I have more experience driving in Chicago, plus marginally more self-control in gift shops. So, I gathered up all 3 Super Boys, our packed lunch, the pass to our local museum (which has a reciprocity program with the Field and you should check your local museum out for this too, Frugal Fans!), and what remained of my confidence, which wasn't a lot.

Going into the Field Museum, I had no remaining reserves against Expectations. I thought that, without Awkward Dad's boundless and often foolish enthusiasm, we would last 2 hours at the most, and I braced for a lot of fighting about which exhibits to see, a lot of whining about being tired, and a lot of demands for museum food and gift shop toys.

 Gotta love a good foreshadowing shadow.

None of that happened. Much like a Tyrannosaurs-Rex, Expectations can smell fear and foolish pride. I had none left, so Expectations left me alone to go bother a rather sweet looking family from Ohio. Their toddler broke a shoe, their 8-year-old had a melt-down over Legos, and they didn't make it past 3pm, poor loves. The Supers and I, on the other hand, rambled where the wind took us and had a happy afternoon, mostly lost in the Hall of Animals, watching art students sketch. It was utterly magical, especially the part where I told Awkward Dad not to expect anything from the gift shop and then totally bought him a book.

Tuesday.

Tired from yesterday, all I expected to do was to clean the play room, which has sorely needed it for 4 weeks. Months. Can't be 4 years, we've only been in this house 3 and a half. OK, maybe 3 and a half.... But I was confident that I could clean one room in one day. Totally doable.

Totally not doable.

Super Daughter, while not actively throwing up, was still weak and in need of snacks, Gatorade, and attention. As was Super Baby, who has learned to open the pantry to get her own snacks and Gatorade, but still sorely requires attention, as she isn't quite as skilled at getting said snacks and Gatorade into her mouth. Therefore, this required about 7 kitchen floor cleans by the end of the day. And then Awkward Dad came home early, slipped on the clean (and wet) kitchen floor, and therefore did not make it all the way to the bathroom before throwing up. I never should have told the children that I expected them to share...

I gave up expecting to clean the play room and sat on a pile of toys in there and cried, in-between floor cleanings and fetching buckets.

Wednesday.

Have you ever had stir-crazy children and a man-sick spouse in your house at the same time? I didn't expect to survive Wednesday at all.

I did survive. So, that's nice. I guess. 

Thursday.

Awkward Dad, not quite well but no longer actively vomiting on the kitchen floor, headed back to work. The children all seemed healthy enough, so I allowed a playdate with some neighbor kids, expecting this to have a calming effect on the children. Yeah, about that...

So, during a particularly important moment during Wii Bowling, Super 2nd-Grader bowled a solid strike, which would have been awesome, if the Wii control hadn't flown off his wrist and also landed a solid strike, right in the middle of the TV.

Strike! 

It's certainly not a spare...

The next 3 hours are a bit of a blur, I think Expectations got in a few head-shots and I expect I have a head injury. Super 2nd-Grader, expecting that Awkward Dad was going to kill him, locked himself in a closet. The neighbor kids vanished (nice super powers there, guys!), and the Supers were suddenly incredibly focused on cleaning the aforementioned play room. I do remember contacting Awkward Dad at work so that he could talk Super 2nd-Grader out of the closet, but after that, I sorta collapsed on the my bed and that's where Awkward Dad found me, cuddling a sleeping Super Baby and mumbling about bowling expectations.

He took Super Baby, tucked me in, took the kids out for take-out (which I had expected us to give up for Lent), and told me that he fully expected me to do nothing on Friday, except attend my therapy session. He even offered to change his spring break expectation to visit a friend over the weekend, in light of current illnesses and a suspicious coughing from Super 2nd-Grader.

Friday. 

Super 2nd Grader has been vomiting since this morning, so I blew off every expectation I had for today to write to you all. Now, I expect....No, not expect. I don't expect anything.

I AM going to read and eat Thin Mints until my therapy session this afternoon.

I like to pre-therapy for therapy.

Expectations has not left the house. I have mom-hearing and I can hear him cackling in the corners right now. He's a major villain and here for the long haul. I lose a lot of battles with him, but I will win the war. I AM going to win the war. I have support, awareness, and enough Girl Scout cookies to defend my heart until the end of time. I will beat him someday. Spring Break Flu is not a major villain and will leave soon. However, I do not expect that until probably midnight on Sunday night.

At which point, I fully expect to catch a Book Fair Cold...

Awkward Mom vs. Reboots

If my obsessive comic book reading has taught me one thing, it has taught me this: never ever plan a vacation to the Savage Land.

OK, I suppose, comic books have taught me many things, but here's the most important one: you can always reboot. You can always begin again and you can always start over. Adapt, alter, relaunch, blame it on Skrulls. Change it all; your story arc, your powers, your computer, pretty much anything goes in the comics. Captain Marvel is now a woman. How many Spidermans are there? The X-men change teams pretty much every issue. And don't even get me started on movieverse vs canon vs that weird mutant ninja turtle fan fiction some guy your cousin knows is writing. Everything is a playground of fresh starts and new eyes, just gotta get something down on the page.

So, what's my point? Am I gearing up for some massive change to this blog? Am I going to vlog makeup tutorials like a millennial? Am I prepping you for the unveiling of my gothic steampunk My Little Pony fan fiction? (You know you want to see that.) No, no, nothing so ambitious. I am merely returning to the beginning of the story. Well, not really. Rather the story as it stands now. We're just gonna start right here and now because no one has time to go back to the beginning.

Anyway, right now has doughnuts. 

I'm rebooting this blog because it's time. It's time because sometimes superheroes stop telling their stories for a little bit. They don't stop living their stories, but maybe it's time for a quick time-out in the action. You know, a pause to study with a shaman in Tibet or backpack across the US or a quick trip to another dimension or maybe a move to a new place and another baby and so you kinda lose yourself in the daily minutiae of raising 5 kids and not drowning in laundry and making new mom friends and way over-committing at the school and then getting super sick all the time because of total lack of self-care and then you turn 40 and wonder who you are as a person not just as a mother  and have a massive existential crisis and get depressed and then get back into therapy and decide to start writing again because well you aren't sure but maybe it will bring the joy back. I mean, you know, hypothetically.

So, let's get started, no need for origin stories, right? You know how superherohood/parenthood works; flailing about a lot in lots of green slime with some screaming. Caught up? Cool.

Today is Thursday. It's a normal March Thursday, meaning we are sick to death of winter and also sick to death in general. I am home today but I shouldn't be. (Should and Shouldn't still reign as Awkward Mom's biggest nemeses.) I just finished helping with the school play and am launching into the Book Fair. I am also Cookie Mom for Super Daughter's Girl Scout Troop because Saying No and I have been fighting a lot lately. She's winning.

Super Oldest also has trouble saying no. 

Super Oldest is currently at school; taking advanced math, excelling in every subject, playing clarinet, singing in the choir, acting in the school play, practicing his ballet, tap, and jazz moves, reading about Greek mythology, and winning a war on the school's recycle policy by getting them to add plastics and metal. 

He did all of that today. 

Super 2nd Grader is winning his war on no shirts. 

Super 2nd grader is currently on the couch; he threw up 6 times last night and is the reason we are home today instead of setting up the Book Fair. He is surrounded by 3 imaginary friends and they are having an animated conversation about a future trip to Mars. He has refused all offers of Gatorade and toast, saying that Invisible Grandpa gave him "a brew of herbs from the past." 

Sounds magically delicious. 

Super Daughter has zero trouble saying no. 

Super Daughter is at school and she may be principal by now, things seemed to be heading that way last night when she breezed through her homework, her brother's homework, and some of Awkward Dad's medical notes that were on the kitchen table. I'll pick her up around 3, take her to her scout meeting, softball practice, and perhaps the UN to broker peace in the Middle East. We'll see where the evening take us.

The evening usually take us wherever Super Daughter wants to go. 

Super Preschooler doesn't fight with No or Yes, he just abstains.

Courteously. 

Super Preschooler brought down a collection of trucks and cars to entertain Super 2nd Grader. That Super 2nd Grader would throw them across the room because they were "bothering Borgee," isn't something that could have been predicted. I guess Imaginary Spiders aren't into vehicles. 

Super Preschooler wasn't bothered. Not much bothers Super Preschooler. 

He just moved his vehicles to a different room and is now developing a colony of diggers that he calls "the Land of Excavators." 

We won't see him for the rest of the day. 

Super Baby doesn't say much, but she can say no. 

Super Baby is in nap prison after I caught her playing in the downstairs toilet. She was extremely distressed to be removed from her game of splashing her hands, and a nearby (entire!) roll of toilet paper, into this fun bowl of water she found, exactly at the right height, now that she can pull up. I cleaned her but haven't attempted the bathroom. That can wait until later, along with the mess of strawberries she used to color on the kitchen walls, the cereal that she threw all over the den, and the puddle of mysterious origins that has sprung up in the dining room. It can all wait. 

Everything can wait while I admire those apple cheeks. 

That's what's going on here. I mean, along with the laundry and dishes and wishes and garbage and disappointments and dreams and sheets that need to be washed and too many toys and cat vomit and fights with friends and concerns that life is passing too quickly but why won't bedtime come faster and maybe we could afford a trip to the Savage Land you know if we stopped eating out all the time and really buckled down and I guess I better make lunch because I don't think Invisible Grandpa brought past-brews for everyone. 

Nice to see you again, Readers!

Tune in next week;

It's Spring Break and, since we aren't going to the Savage Land, 

I'm sure there will be loads of home adventures for me to awkward up! 

Awkward Mom vs. Table-Standing Daughters

We’re 5 years later now and she keeps finding taller tables. Higher and higher; ever fearless, her body is slowly catching up to her soul but it’s hungry. She’s never done, never over or finished. For her spirit is an entire universe. She dances like the music comes from her very heart. She reads like written language was created just for her; delighted eyes dancing over the pages, journal nearby when inspiration strikes. She eats like a farm hand, she learns like a sponge. She gives herself away constantly; there’s simply so much of her, her fountain of gifts never runs dry. I can’t contain her. Why would I want to? I feel for Cleopatra’s mother; power this strong does not develop slowly, it explodes and you try desperately to keep it out of the road. You can not steer rockets, you can merely point them in the right direction and pray. She is my prayer. My prayer for the world and all in it.

Awkward Mom vs. Back to School

We here in the land of Awkward start school in 2 days. My friends in Michigan have to wait 2 more weeks. My friends in Indiana started 2 weeks ago. My homeschooler friends never stopped. The empty nester friends are going back themselves. Lotta different ways to school, but, however, whenever, and wherever you school, this is for you. 

Hey, Mom with the prefect first day of school Instagram pictures complete with chalkboard and autumnal filter; fabulous, keep being you!

Hey, Mom whose child got a tardy the first day, head high, you’ve got this!

Hey, Dads who pack Bento Boxes with the sandwich cut into a lion, beautiful work!

Hey, Parents whose lunch account is filled up and ready to go, Outstanding!

Loving that retro brown bag, Mom who found last year’s banana still in that Batman lunch box.

And to those of us who were in the negative during the first week; the lunch staff is kind, kids still ate, and it’s number 14 on the to-do-list and will get done sometime this September, yeah us!

Hey, Mom who irons the uniform jumpers, Rock on!

Hey, Mom who isn’t quite sure what the green stain is, No Worries! (P.S. It’s Pizza Day, circa 2015, and no shame, Friend. That shirt’s got some years left.)

I see you, Home-School Mom; that planner is stunning!

Hi, Mom who had to drive the kids today because they missed the bus and whose boss was a jerk about it; Remember, my Beautiful Iron Iris, that you are a multitasking genius who should be running NASA and he wears ugly ties from the 80s, so take a long lunch today, alright?

Nice Creedence, Drop Off Dad, kids gotta wake up somehow.

Take your time, First Time Preschool Mom; we’re here for hugs all day.

Enjoy that pedicure, They’re Finally all in School Mom!

Thank you for basically being a wizard, Mom who is also a Teacher.

I think the research is still out regarding implanted homing beacons, Oldest Just Left for College Dad, but you go ahead and text him for the 14th time, no one is judging.

Rock your bad self, Volunteered for Lunch Duty the very first day of Kindergarten Mom!

My dear, tired, hopeful, amazing Brothers and Sisters, it’s time for school and we’ve got this. We’ve got this all week long. I see you over there, being all awesome.

What? Of course, you are awesome. Your children are awesome, aren't they? And they love you, don't they? So, if people that awesome love you, it means that you are awesome. That's just math. That I learned in school. Because I am awesome.

You. Are. Awesome. 

Awkward Mom vs. Dr. Strangemom

Or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love My Obscure References. 

There are a LOT of ways to parent, so, naturally, there are a lot of parenting books. Important parenting books written by important people; some of them are even doctors. Dr. Sears. Dr. Dobson. Dr. Spock. Dr. Seuss. (My entire parenting playbook came from that last one.) It seems every time I visit the library, which is quite often as you know, there are like 15 new parenting books. And 15 new ways I should be parenting.

Ah. There he is. That pesky Should. I knew he was hiding in here somewhere. Should is probably the villain I tangle with more than any other villain, and that includes Potty Training and What's That Smell. Should is powerful and he goes after everyone, you don't have to be a parent to be attacked by Should, you just have to be breathing. Or not. I am sure ghosts are bothered by Should too, or his twin sister, Shouldn't. I shouldn't have walked so close to that cliff edge, etc. 

I got a rock. 

Should and Shouldn't are relentless. They'll climb into your head and just knock stuff over. They're like the jerk cats of the villains gallery. "Oops, there goes Self-esteem, unfortunately it's rather delicate and completely shattered." "Oh, did you want that full glass of Self-control? Too bad, I seem to have spilled it on top of something called Random Outburst." "Well, why would you leave Confidence sitting so close to the edge of the table?" Jerks....

Anywho, back to parenting. There are LOTS of different ways to parent, interestingly, about just as many as there are parents roaming around out there. To quote one of those important doctors who wrote one of those important books: "What good mothers and fathers instinctively feel like doing for their babies is usually best after all." -Dr. Benjamin Spock (Awkward Mom impressively avoids a Star Trek reference here.) He's right and the reason I have yet to create a chore chart but Super 1st Grader has founded his first book club.

Yes, it's Harry Potter themed. 

Yes, it's glorious. 

It's also the reason Super Kindergarten knows all the words to Fat Bottomed Girls. And why Super Oldest owns more books than the local library. And why we have three movie nights a week, but no regular bedtime. And why Super Preschooler is obsessed with Nova. And why Awkward Dad calls Super Baby his little Kingpin and no one really worries about that. And it's why my decorating style leans toward nouveau-Munsters and this:

Space-themed string art is the velvet Elvis of the string art world. 

Now, I would be lying if I didn't tell you that there are still several moments every single day that I think I don't have the slightest idea what is best for my children. I should read more parenting books and Pinterest stuff and paint everything beige and maybe check those birth certificates again because who in their right minds would trust me with human lives?!?!

Should? Should, is that you in there? Stop touching that! That Self-Contentment is new, get your hands off it! Get out!

Let's regroup with another Dr. Spock quote: "All the time a person is a child, he is both a child and learning to be a parent. After he becomes a parent, he becomes predominantly a parent reliving childhood." You know what this mean, right? This means that all that time I spent chasing fireflies and daydreaming about pirates and making mistakes and eating blueberries and painting on the walls and trying to make friends and writing letters and loving stuffed animals and reading my way through my parents' library I was actually preparing to be the me that is here today, in charge of the initial development of 5 human phenoms.

Yeah, but I am sure they mean people who didn't waste their childhoods. They mean people who were serious and highly talented and truly artistic and actually paying attention, like you should've been.

Should?! Should, I see you over there! You can hide yourself with contractions all you want, but I would know your whining anywhere. Get out of there and get your hands off my memories, those are valuable!

OK, let's try this again. I'm bringing out the big guns: "Trust yourself. You know more than you think you do." -Dr. Benjamin Spock

I know how to make cute kids, 

I trust myself to do that.

I know a lot of stuff. Some of it is traditional parenting stuff, but most of it is not. Most of it has to do with movies and comic books and the Muppets and Star Wars and 1970s folk music. Is this stuff that a self-respecting modern mother should know? You know what? Yes. Yes, Should. Yes, it is. I am not the best mother in the world, but I am the best mother for my children.

Should and Shouldn't are pesky jerks, but they aren't going anywhere. I think it's part of being human to deal with them, part of being a person with conscious thought and emotional awareness. I wouldn't trade those away, so I guess I'm stuck with Should and Shouldn't. Maybe the trick is spotting them, seeing them for who and what they are and for who and what they are not. They are noise and fury, they are not truth and light. They are a pause in the music, they are not the music. They are regrets and worries, they are not hopes and dreams. They are part of me, but they are not all of me.

And I should remember that all of me 

is strange and beautiful and unique 

and capable of shaping extraordinary new life.

Awkward Mom vs. Summer Fever

Hi, Parents! It's nearly August and time to take your summer temperature. Your risk of fever, of course, depends on many factors, not the least of which is your summer-parent affiliation. Someone nudge the pool parents; they aren't listening. Looks like they are plugged into their audio-books and might be napping under those Jackie O. sunglasses, I can't quite tell. The super organized parents have had new planners since July 5th, are crafting a brand new French Bulletin Board for their Kitchen Command Center, and, naturally, can NOT wait for school to start. The working parents are sick of paying for camp, thank you very much. The homeschoolers took a 2 week break in late June to visit the National Parks, refreshed the schoolroom the first week of Target's back to school sale, got right into the new curriculum, and would like us to keep it down, please. The no-screen parents are running out of ideas. The all-screen parents haven't actually seen their 12-year-old leave the basement in 6 days and are wondering when and if he is going to the bathroom. They have also taken to humming the Fortnite music around the office and coworkers are concerned. Someone pass the Disney parents some granola bars, they look exhausted and this is gonna take awhile.

Summer Fever happens every August; we all start to panic or rejoice that the summer is coming to an end. In August. The most summer of the summer months. Even the word August sounds like the sigh of a Southern gentleman as he sits under a weeping willow, slowly fanning himself and sipping a sweating glass of lemonade. And yet, we hear it and start freaking out about school shoes and fall leaves and pumpkins and backpacks and plaid skirted nostalgia. Old Man Calendar shakes his fist and yells at us that we have tons of time, summer doesn't actually end until September 22, why aren't we listening to him and why won't we get off his lawn?! We could blame the change of farming culture, a more robust education budget (compared to the 1800s, mind you), more fall/spring breaks, and Target. I love you, Target, but that back to school sale started the second you put those fourth of July flags away, and, holy cats, is that Halloween stuff I spy over there?! Target, take a nap already!

Summer Fevers are fevers; they make you sweaty, tired, dizzy, and pretty crazy. They will convince you that you are totally failing your children by not having enjoyed the stuffing out of every precious day of summer so far and by not infusing every remaining day of summer with memory-making, bucket list experiences, and circus-level excitement. And you will feel this way whether you yourself like summer or not; the fall-lovers will just feel more guilt about the proceedings. And this will go on until the first day of school, when you will trade your Summer Fever for Back-to-School Flu, where everyone obsessively compares first day photos until someone throws up. Which, in turn, gives way to Football Fatigue, Homework Shock, Halloween Haze, and Christmas Paralysis. On and on and on until you set up a chair next to Old Man Calendar and yell at your grandchildren to slow down and get off the lawn for Pete's sake!

Or you could join the resistance...

This is the Resistance.

Of course, we have dinosaurs. 

First of all, resist the urge to compare your summer to anyone else's summer. No one else knows the inner workings of your life, bank account, patience, or sand tolerance. Facebook thinks it does, but that's just your political preference and Amazon search history. I know it's tempting, but don't confuse those things with your soul. Your summer is not going to look like the summer of the woman with the gorgeous hair that you went to middle school with. And here's a secret I have to tell you; her summer doesn't really look like her summer either, I don't care what Instagram told you. Comparison and selective framing is a way of life in our social media existence, but that doesn't make it healthy or sane. Please stop comparing your summers and thinking anyone's opinion matters. The only summer opinions that matter are yours. And your children's. And speaking of that....

Second of all, resist the urge to create magical summer experiences for your children. They are going to hate them anyway and tell you the best moment of the summer was when those two neighbor dogs got into a fight on the lawn and you had to break it up by turning on the hose. Children are children; they have the attention span of gnats. They will have the worst day of their lives because you gave them 4 chicken nuggets instead of 5. 10 minutes later, they will be elated because the Disney channel is showing the Little Mermaid. 5 minutes after that they will upend the table you set that Pinterest craft on, that took you 3 hours to prep, and declare they are building a fort, which they will abandon 14 minutes later to stare out the window for awhile. This is why we take 800 pictures when we do anything with our children that cost us energy and money because we know our children are not going to remember it. But that time your dropped a watermelon in the Whole Foods produce section and also dropped the F bomb? Yeah, they are never gonna forget that. Look for that one to come up at Thanksgiving 2037.

Third of all, resist the urge the think that children experience time the same way adults do. They don't. Time doesn't move quickly until you can actually tell time. This is way toddlers hate naps; 10 minutes or 10 years, it's all the same to them. Some seriously heady existential Rip-Van-Winkle stuff going on up in here. Think about your own memories, your own childhood. Which lasted longer; ages 10-20 or ages 20-30? I bet you lived about 18 lifetimes between 10-20, and 20-30 passed one weekend during a particularly intense Burning Man. Childhood feels endless, and that is why stuffing it with every possible activity, outing, and freezie-pop is just ridiculous. (Testing is not complete regarding freezie-pop possibilities; check back with us around September 22.) Children don't feel summer slipping away or escaping; they are busy on 14 different adventures you will never know about until they need some tape. Now, you. Well, you feel like summer is rushing by because it is. It really is.

My dear Friend, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but you are an adult. We're adults, everything is rushing. We can tell time now, and, unfortunately, time takes this familiarity as an excuse to speed up. Time's like a professor that knows you understand the material and decides to push through at double speed. This sucks, no real way around that. However, being an adult does have its perks. I vividly remember the summer I was 12; it just would not end and life would just not start and being an adult and able to drive and escape and control my destiny would just be the best thing ever. Guess what? You are an adult; you get to decide what the best thing ever is. In case you are napping by the pool or finishing up that French Bulletin Board, I've taken the liberty of making a summer best thing ever list for you.

Best things about summer because you are now an adult

You can love summer, every second of it, all the way to September 22, and sit poolside until you need a sweater over your bikini. If you want to sun some more and skip back-to-school night, I'll pick up your packet for you, just let me know.

You can hate summer and long dreamily for pumpkin spice lattes and flannel tights with plaid skirts and hipster scarves and the apple-scented chill in the air. Put an autumn candle directly in front of your air conditioner and close your eyes. We'll wake you up for dinner.

You can give your children screens. That 11 hour Minecraft session is gonna let you finish 2 books. Personal experience.

Don't give your children any screens. Sneak in some screen time yourself and print out some fabulous summer ideas. Your chalk art and train track building skills are gonna be expert level by mid-July.

Limit screen time; for them, for you, for the dog, whatever works. Your phone has a timer feature, use it.

Say you limit screen time and then totally forget the TV is a screen. Yes, Netflix, I am still watching. Gee, judge much?

Take an expensive vacation. You only live once.

Don't take an expensive vacation. College isn't going to pay for itself.

Decide a trip to the community pool is an expensive vacation because, let's be honest, why are they charging more than a $1 for chips?!

Homeschool fractions.

Embrace the summer slide.

Decide Octonauts is educational, throw a bag of cherries on the couch, and call it a day.

Make experimental art with your sunglasses and found items.

Sky's the limit. 

There are more, but these cherries aren't gonna eat themselves. It's almost August, and I've got summering to do. Remember, the best cure for Summer Fever is something delicious, a deep breath, your best calm-down voice, and the knowledge that you are doing the very best you can for your children when you are true to yourself and your unique skills. Fall will come, Summer will last, Time is what you make of it. It's going too fast and you have lots of time; it's weird but welcome to the miracle that it parenthood.

Be you. You are doing just fine, I promise.

Now, Summer Brain Freeze has no known cure.

Maybe the homeschoolers have figured it out, 

those guys are tireless!