To All Parents Everywhere Who Hate Summer Vacation

           My kid has ADHD.  My kid has RAD.  My kid has ANY mental health disorder.  My kid has a sibling and those siblings won’t stop bickering EVER.  My kid has an indoor voice of a megaphone.  My kid has the attention span of a gnat.  My kid is impulsive and needs to be watched 24/7 to ensure the safety of ALL THINGS.  My kid wakes up at 7:30am for school and 5:00am for EVERY FREAKING DAY of summer vacation.  My kid expects me to make each meal and snack with fairy dust and unicorn tears.  My kid is “BORED”.

            If any of these statements ring true to you, then just let yourself say these words: “I hate summer vacation with a passion, and that DOESN’T make me a bad parent.”

            Ok?  Feel better?  Of course not, because it’s still summer vacation.  But here’s the thing… you’re allowed to love your children and still wish for them to be out of your presence for 8 straight waking hours.  I don’t know when this Mom-Shaming thing became such a societal duty, but I was a fairly typical, well-behaved, non-psychotic child, and my parents STILL locked me out of the house with a bottle of water and 3 hours worth of sunscreen greased over my face and neck.

            How, exactly, does needing to clean the house, do your work, and keep your sanity equate to being a bad parent?  I refuse to apologize that the thought of taking all 3 of my insane children to my gynecologist appointment scares the living crap out of me.  Nor will I say sorry for hating grocery day during the summer.  All the complaints over vegetables, all the pleading for junk food, all the chasing one another down random isles…. Seriously, what’s not to love, right?

            For all of you who enjoy your children all day, every day, I commend you and your patience.  You are beautiful people on the inside.  But I don’t think it makes anyone an ugly person if they don’t enjoy those moments with the same level of enthusiasm (AKA disgust).  So why point fingers?  Why feel guilty over needing to accomplish your own tasks in life without 2,358 interruptions?  Why engage in jealousy over your neighbors’ apparently perfect lives?  (PS, your neighbors’ scream, too… they just have better insulation in their home than you do.)

Photo by www.dailymail.co.uk

            Yesterday was the kids’ last day of school.  It was a half-day.  That sucks already, right?  Because before my daughter’s shoes were even off her feet, she was petitioning someone to entertain her.  I told her that there were 4 walls just begging to keep her company if she was that desperate, and we call those walls Her Room.  Naturally, she was less than impressed with my humor.

            So, in order to keep the children occupied, my husband gave them yard work.  And before you Parent-Shamers gasp that we didn’t take our children to the park and for ice cream on their last day of school, know that I simply don’t care.  There.  I said it. 

But anyways, when I had finished my indoor cleaning (which consisted of picking up EVERY THING that had ever been in my children’s rooms or book bags that was now on my living room floor), I took the toddler outside for some sunshine.  And just as I looked over, there was my 10-year-old RAD son, having my 8-year-old RAD daughter hold a stake while he attempted to drive it into the ground.  WITH AN AXE.

            Tell him not to use the axe?  Sure.  Hide the axe in the locked garage?  Yeah.  Already done that.  A LOT.  But here’s the things about some children (especially those with RAD):  They don’t listen.  It’s shocking, I know, because it’s so much easier to blame the parents.  But as my son was coming down towards my daughter’s head with the sharp blade, I screamed as loudly as I could (over the weed-whacker, over the tractor, over the barking dogs) and my son simply said, “Oh, sorry.”

            We were 6 hours into summer vacation and I was already DONE.

            One hour later, I was being yelled at by two very ballsy children because one’s headband was destroyed and the other’s arrow was busted… items that were left in the yard or on the floor where the dogs and toddler play.  It was then, after hearing them argue for hours and the attempted manslaughter incident, that I calmly screamed at the top of my lungs that THEY were the ones responsible for their broken items – not the person who had spent the afternoon following them around cleaning up after them because we had company coming over!

            Not that they would be deterred.  This morning they have been equally as angelic.  My 8-year-old has turned into a diva, apparently.  No longer does she yell “STOP!” to my son, when he does all he can to tick her off.  No.  Now she does this lovely little number: “STOP-AAA!!!” (complete with eye-rolling and her hip jutted out).  Like we live in the Valley and she’s 14.  Like I’m going to listen to that all summer long without cutting out her tongue.

            And my son, who touches EVERYTHING that is not his on a minute-by-minute basis, creating contraptions with Dad’s tools, unsafe climbing apparatuses, and breaking apart the toddler’s toys to make “new ones”, he thinks that I’m going to allow this to go on for 3 straight months.  Like he’s Bob Villa or something.

            So, once again, I will say it loud and clear:

            I hate summer vacation with a passion, and that DOESN’T make me a bad parent!

No More Hanky Panky EVER

            “Mom,” said my 10-year-old son from the backseat of our mini-van, “I heard really weird noises last night while I was trying to sleep.

            I was only half-listening if we’re being honest.  After all, I spend my days being informed of every bug bite, loose tooth, dream, and bodily function… it’s a miracle that I still listen at all, if you ask me.

            “Mmm hmmm…” I replied, absentmindedly.

            “It sounded like someone was having an asthma attack,” he continued.

            “Well… you’re the only one with asthma, so are you sure you weren’t just congested and hearing your own breathing?”

            “No, it wasn’t coming from my room.”

            “Maybe it was the baby monitor then.  It could’ve been echoing Wyatt’s sound machine or something.”  I was getting a little tired of guessing, but it didn’t seem we were going to stop with this game until we got to the bottom of things.

            “No… I don’t think it was that.  It was around 11 o’clock and I just couldn’t sleep.  It sounded like maybe it was coming from your room?”

            It was in the next moment that I had solved the mystery of the questionable asthma attack that occurred at 11pm the previous night.

            “Mom, it kinda sounded like this.”  With quick breaths, my son rehearsed the panting sounds he was referring to – they were the sounds of a husband and wife who had been ships passing in the night for too many weeks to count – the sound of allergy-congested people finding comfort in the arms of their significant other.

Photo by www.rawstory.com

            As my son continued to ignorantly pant in the backseat, I contemplated driving the van into the river, because there was really no way for either of us to un-hear the sounds that we’d heard.

            My 8-year-old began to laugh.  “That’s weird, Cameron!  I wonder where the sound was coming from.”

            Flustered, I began to stumble over 1st grade words.  I mucked up the word “T.V.” as I tried to explain that perhaps the volume had been too loud.  I mispronounced “remote” as I suggested that their Dad had probably hit the increase volume button when he meant to hit the decrease volume button.  Overall, I felt dizzy and just a bit nauseous.

            But Cameron was not to be deterred.  “Well… I don’t think it was the T.V., Mom, because I heard that already before the sounds started.  It didn’t sound like T.V. noise.  It sounded like this…”  My 10-year-old proceeded to mimic the sounds for a second time.

            I quickly talked over him, saying that I had fallen asleep and who really knows what show came on once I was sleeping… it could’ve been a show where someone was crying, or perhaps someone who was afraid.  I reminded them that when people feel extreme fear, sometimes their breathing will come very quickly.  (Because obviously this was the best possible moment to review feelings and the effects they have on our bodies.  But chalk one up for Mom and finding a therapeutic moment, right?)

            For a minute, it seemed that my son was satisfied.  He looked out his window as the toddler continued to announce each car that passed with a resounding “Caaaar!”

            “But Mom, it started when Dad went upstairs, so wouldn’t he have turned off the T.V. if you were asleep?”

            Oh for crap’s sake!

            “Honey, I don’t know!  Maybe Dad changed the channel to something he wanted to watch, and there was someone crying or scared on that channel… how am I to answer all these absurd questions?  I’m supposed to be focusing on the road, here!”

            Cameron seemed deep in thought.  He quietly made the noises to himself once more in the backseat as he and his sister determined that it just couldn’t have been someone scared.  But sensing that he was on thin ice, he tried once more.  “Um, but Mom?  The noises ended when Dad went back downstairs…”

            And then I realized what I had to do.  I had no choice but to throw my husband under the bus.  “See, there you go.  The noises came from Dad.  Maybe you thought they were coming from our room, but Dad was probably just going to the bathroom.”  I felt like rejoicing, because obviously bearing down too hard doing one’s personal business can imitate deeds of an even more personal nature, can’t they?

            “Yeah… but I went to the bathroom to get a drink of water and Dad wasn’t in there.  It was definitely coming from your room,” my son replied thoughtfully.

            How exactly is my son in Special Education when his reasoning skills are this advanced?  Perhaps if he suspected his Math problems getting it on with one another, he’d pay closer attention in class!

            “Cameron. If Dad wasn’t in the bathroom, then he was obviously in our room.”

            “And he was probably crying, Cameron,” piped in the sister.  “He probably misses Isaac.”

            “Yes!  Dad was probably sad over Isaac.  So let it go, we don’t want to embarrass him for crying.”  It was the best I could do in that moment.  Taylor sat in the backseat looking heartbroken for her father, whereas Cameron still looked like he couldn’t quite swallow what I was feeding him.

            “I’ll ask Dad if he’s OK when he gets home then,” he said with resolve.

            I made two mental notes as we arrived at our destination that evening:

1)      Inform Husband to admit to being a big crybaby if asked

2)      Have Cameron’s sleeping medication increased ASAP.

           But before we finished exiting the van, Taylor asked me this endearing question.  “Mom?  Should I make Dad a card, telling him I hope he feels better?”

           “No, honey.  I think Daddy probably got it all out and he feels much better now.”

           Mental Note #3: No more hanky panky.  EVER.

Confessions of a Human Mom

I have a secret I must confess.

I am human.  *Gasp!*  I know, it’s a tough pill to swallow.  But I’ve been human for about 34 years now.  Because of the comments and emails I get from many MommyhoodSFS readers, I was beginning to think that I’d given you the impression that I had all the answers – that I had found a way to “cure” my kids somehow, simply because I send out messages of Hope and encouragement so often.  However, I need to remind you that I’m incredibly human with flaws bigger than my actual children!

The crazy thing is, my kids?  They’re human, too.  They’re human with an extra dose of crazy stuffed into their pockets.  And their humanity has been clashing with mine at colossal rates these past few weeks.  Yesterday, I was close to sending them out into the yard with shovels to dig holes (6 feet deep).  But instead, I chose to use words I would not normally say to them, scream until my throat hurt, and stomp my feet very angrily… because stomping angry feet is the tap dance of a Mama who has been pushed well beyond her limit!

(Bing Images - myparenthecial.com)

Did my kids break anything?  No, well, not intentionally.  Did they get suspended at school?  No, just the usual reports.  Were they aggressive?  Destructive?  Raging?  Again, nope.  So why have I unleashed my humanity so ferociously on these precious little people?

The only way that I know to describe it is this:

Imagine that every day, each time you saw your neighbor, he smiled at you and then walked over to shake your hand.  Except instead of shaking your hand, he flicked you in your forehead.  Every day.  Every interaction.  For 4 years.

Eventually, even the calmest person could find themself transformed into the Unabomber.  Not because being flicked on the forehead really hurts, but because it was constant.  Relentless.  And all the evidence points to the fact that it, quite possibly, may never stop.

I can tell you that I would give my neighbor a shovel and he would be out there digging a hole right alongside my kids.

But as for our house, I am constantly being flicked in the proverbial forehead with lying, back-talking, arguing, and the incessant attempts by these short ones to do all they can to tick the other one off.  This is followed by more arguing, more lies, yelling, stealing of toys, and doing things to get the other one in trouble.  For 4 years, this has been our daily constant.  And for almost a month, this has been our every waking moment.

I didn’t realize just how Unabomber I’d become until my kids missed their bus stop one day and were returned to the school at the end of the bus driver’s route.  Instead of them walking in the door at 3:48 that afternoon, I picked them up at 4:15 from the school.  And those 27 minutes were the most glorious of the day.  It was like being a kid and waking up, only to find there was a snow day.  I had 27 more minutes without arguing and fighting… 27 less minutes I had to hold back my humanity until bedtime.

You know you’re human when you wonder if you can leave them at the school even longer and go for a massage.  It was only out of love for our blessed principal that caused me to pick them up in a timely fashion… even if I did take the long way.

I’ve come to realize that I can love my children enough to feel immense anger at them when they act like hateful beasts.  I can love them enough to tap dance and scream when they refuse to follow simple instructions (ones that were given no less than 45 times in 10 minutes).  You see, I used to think it was hate… but I now know that if I hated them, I just simply wouldn’t care.  But I love them so much that I feel sick over the thought that they hate one another – that they may end up with no friends in life – that they may know what the inside of a jail cell looks like.  I love them so much that I am unable to hold back my anger when they act like anything less than human towards others or when they lie to my face for no apparent reason. 

I love them so much that I can have these strong feelings and know that I will survive them just the same.  So, to those of you that have flexed your humanity this week, that have given your kids shovels, or that have threatened the most ridiculous of consequences, you are not alone.  You are human.  And you do this because you love.  Know when to say you’re sorry, know when to own your mistakes.  But let us never question our big feelings, for they are what make us real.

If you, too, are human and need some extra parenting help, click HERE.

"My Favorite Person"

Recently, Cameron has been getting into writing. Naturally, I encourage this as much as possible. I love to see him get excited about something that he and I can do together. Don’t get me wrong, his love for all things John Deere, constructing things out of random scraps, and building intricate Lego creations are wonderful in their own way. I know that his level of creativity has grown exponentially because of each of these hobbies.

Even with Cameron being on the swim team this season was something new for me. I had never did much with swimming and couldn’t have told you the name of any stroke other than the Doggy Paddle… (PS, they don’t actually use that stroke in swimming. Apparently that’s just used for toddlers to keep themselves afloat… Well, toddlers and people like me.) So, I did rather enjoy watching him compete and cheering for him (loudly) as he raced to be his previous times in each heat.

Taylor has always been so good at gymnastics. And whereas I never excelled past a certain level in that area, it was familiar to me and I found that I could help her with many of the skills. Taylor also has a love for music. She’s no Celine Dion or anything, but she has really worked hard to improve her singing, and I can truly get behind that!

But writing…. That’s my passion. And even though Cameron cannot verbally tell a story to save his life, his words come out so much more clear and concise when he writes. I love watching how his grammar skills are developing and seeing him practice new vocabulary words in ways that are “unique” at times.

So, when Cameron came home from school a couple of weeks ago, he was pumped to show me his most recent writing project. After reading the first paragraph, I could see why he was so excited for me to read his work. He entitled it “My Favorite Person”, and he specifically asked me if I thought it was good enough to put on my blog.

You guys… the look on his face when I told him that I would most definitely “publish” his work, well, it was priceless! The look of pride and satisfaction that he had done something well, something that I would put online for all to see – I would happily post anything he wrote if it would increase his self-esteem like that again!

So, without further delay, I give you a Cameron Costa original, “My Favorite Person”.

The sweetness, am I right?!? I’m encouraging, I give advice, I have a “lovely personality” (someone’s gonna have to teach my kid that that’s code for “butt ugly”), I’m nice, and I’m generous because I allow him to eat and give him shelter. I mean, either his standards are ridiculously low, or this is the cutest writing from a 4th grade boy to his mother EVER.

  And can we just take a moment to love the last sentence?

“My mom is my role modle and personality Also, she is genaras.”

That one right there has ALL the loves written all over it! You know you’re doing something right when your kid puts it in print for the internet, right?

#GraceInParenting

The Big Jamaica Reveal

The moment has finally arrived and we are OFFICIALLY on vacation!! Well, the big kids are on vacation in Jamaica with their grandma, uncle, aunt, and cousins, while the Hubs and I are on vacation in our own home. And, after talking to the kids on the phone and doing FaceTime with them this morning, I think it’s still a toss-up on who is having more fun. I mean, sure, they have 86 degree weather, sandy beaches, and 5-star meals being prepared for them day and night…

But I have cleaned the entire lower level top to bottom for the first time in 2 years! I know... it was gross and scary, but I washed walls and baseboards, scrubbed appliances, and Old Englished basically everything. As a reward, I went shopping for myself, and I've not had to do a lick of 2nd and 4th grade homework in 24 hours! Additionally, cooking is optional for the next 5 days, no practices will need to be attended, and I watched a non-cartoon movie with my husband last night. The whole movie.

You guys. My staycation is soooo kicking their vacation in the butt!

Anyway, we have been planning the trip for months now. Since the summer, actually. We used credit cards to pay bills that would then transfer to travel points, giving us virtually free airfare and a 4-night/5-day vacation/staycation heaven! But, because my kids are fruitcakes, heavy on the nuts, we decided that we wouldn’t tell them until the day they were leaving.

If you have to ask why, then you either do not know my children, or you are sorely unaware of my impatience for repetitious questions. We did this to save their lives.

But yes, we did manage to keep it a surprise, despite their teachers, extended family members, and hearing-impaired-thus-loudly-whispering great-grandmother all knowing the big plans! It was, by and large, the most mischievous of things we’ve ever collectively done in our whole lives. When we went to get their passport pictures taken, we were able to convince them that they needed passports for any far-away travel. And in order to keep it fun for the adults, Pat and I had also been dropping little geography tips about Jamaica on and off. We’d gone as far as to show the kids pictures of the island, the major cities, and how far it is from Florida. However, this is the only part that stuck for some reason. So, naturally, they thought we were planning a trip to Disney World. (Naturally. Because Disney World is now in Jamaica, is it not?)

But back to the Big Reveal. In preparation for sharing the news, we had my cell phone all set to record…

But then the record button didn’t get pressed (which my sainted mother-in-law feels terrible about) and we were forced to stage a reenactment. A very, very unenthused, underwhelming reenactment! However, I wanted to share their secondary reaction with you all, and point out a few concerns my children had about the trip.

Uploaded by Shivonne Costa on 2016-01-14.

(For additional fun, feel free to match the child to the question/concern.)

Q)    Will there be snakes?

 A)    Everywhere. Absolutely.

Q) Will there be spiders in my bed?

A) I’ve specifically asked them to provide bed spiders, yes.

Q)    Will we have to sleep outside or will we have huts?

 A)    It’s a resort… like a hotel. So you will sleep inside. No huts.

 Q)    Do they have showers in J… J… …wait, where are we going again?

 A)    You’re going to Jamaica. And yes. There are showers. There are indoor toilets and electricity as well.

 Q)    I’m probably gonna barf from their food....

 A)    That’s the spirit!

 Q)    Are they gonna “speak accent” there? ‘Cause I bet I won’t even know what they’re talking about.

 A)    I have never been more proud of you and the education that you’re receiving as I am in this moment. PS, please treat the Jamaicans with less awkwardness than you do the Chinese at the buffet up the street.

Q) I’m going to be so bored if I don’t get to bring the Ipad or mp3 player!

A) If you’re bored on a tropical island filled with amazing things to do, then there’s not an Ipad in this world that could fix your attention span.

Q) Ugh, is it gonna be hot?

A) Yep, about 86 degress… and it’ll be 4 degrees here. Wake up and get excited, would you?

Q) Now we can’t play in the snow!

A) And….? I’m failing to see the problem here.

Q) We get to ride on a plane? Awesome! Wait, we’re going over the ocean? I’m not going.

A) You ARE going. This is my vacation, too, you know.

Q) Will there be sharks on the beach?

A) No, just in the pools.

Q) How will they know I can’t swim in the deep end?

A) Honey, the entire ocean is a deep end. Just wear a life jacket at all times… even in the shower.

Q) Do I have to share a bed??

A) Only if you’d like to avoid sleeping on the floor like a hobo.

Q) What if you didn’t pack everything I want and I need something when I’m there?

A) Then you’ll stop needing it and realize you’re in JAMAICA!!

And this is why we didn’t tell them sooner.

Oh, and while FaceTiming with the kids earlier today, Cameron made sure to tell me that he didn’t miss me at all! He loves Jamaica so much that he may never come back, he said. But my feelings were not too hurt. After all, I’m pretty sure that if he tried to stay, his jolly disposition and incessant questions would have the entire country working together to get him back to the U.S. where he belongs.

And until then, I plan on reading a book. For fun. A book for fun.

These words… they’re just so freeing to say!

Here’s to all the Mamas and Daddy’s that are needing a vaca-stay-cation. May the travel points be ever in your favor.