Driving home from swimming lessons yesterday, we stop at a local fast food joint to pick up some hamburgers because, quite frankly, yesterday called for hamburgers.  Also? Cocktails.

Benjamin is wet and sitting on a towel in his booster carseat enjoying a French fry and regaling the car with his feats of swimming including the flinging of himself down the ever popular Pink Froggy Slide of Speed.  All of a sudden he pauses and announces, “Mommy!  I have to go potty!  Now.”

Are we anywhere near our house yet?  Nope.

Of course we’re  not.

We’re also not near anywhere I can drag a soaking wet toddler into to use the potty.

“Buddy, I need you to hold it. We’ll be home in 8 minutes.  Can you do that?”

“Yeth.”  [Also takes order literally and grabs his penis]

I ask Leah to stop talking so he (and I) can concentrate on the job at hand.  I’m fairly certain I drove about 254 mph to try to get home in time.  I was notified by a very stressed little boy in the back seat that, “I can’t hold it, Mommy…” no less than four times, but, by G-d, he did the best he could.

We turned on to our street and his whining kicked up 2 decibels so I decided it made no sense to deal with opening the garage door, unbuckling him, fumbling for keys, unlocking a door, running to a bathroom and pulling his pants down in the HOPES he’d make it.

I did what any logical mother would do in this situation.  Parked in the driveway, unbuckled him, picked him up and stuck him in the grass next to our house, pulled down that wet bathing suit and said, “GO!”

He looked a little confused.  “Mommy? I’ve never pishied in the grass befoa…”

“It’s okay, Buddy.  Go ahead.”

“Otay…”

That’s about when he became a four year old human sprinkler head – much to his delight and to Leah’s.

Now seriously, a four year old girl in this situation just doesn’t have this option.

Winner: Boys Team.

Yesterday Husband and I woke up at the ass-crack of dawn to drive across Texas to pick up Leah. And for those of you not sure of what ass-crack of dawn is, it’s 5am – roughly five hours earlier than my vital signs show up.

We drove three hours in the wee morning on some very small and boring roads to head to Bruceville, TX. It is a long drive and I am here to tell you that Husband and I have very different music tastes which sometimes (cough) makes the three hours seem like 9 hours, but it was very, very worth it because when we got there, parked and walked down to the cabins we got to see this running towards us.

And that right there made it all worth it. Okay that and these.

Leah had a great time these past 25 days. She grew physically and personally and is already talking about going back next year. She loved learning guitar for the first time and discovered that archery makes your arms hurt, but strong, and that 9 girls can have a giggly, silly time together and miss each other when they leave.

She also learned that when you are somewhere for 25 days it becomes your home – and sometimes coming back to your “real” home is hard. You are stuck between what you knew, what you learned to know and what you want to combine between the two.

Last night, for the first time in close to a month, we were all together to say prayers before bedtime. In the weeks that Leah was gone Benjamin had asked if HIS name could go first in prayers and we agreed thinking we’d probably just end up switching off back and forth as to whose name went first. Leah giggled at this idea at first and wanted to hear how it sounded with Benjamin’s name first.

“G-d bless Benjamin and Leah…”

And in a fit of exhaustion and emotional re-entry turmoil she burst into tears and said she wanted it to go back to how it was. “I just want everything back to normal again.”

Bless her little heart.

The other best part of yesterday was the reunion of Leah and Benjamin. We surprised him at swimming lessons and I swear it is a moment I will never forget. The smile on their faces and the sheer glee of him yelling, “Leah! I MISSED YOU!” was beyond priceless. He kept hugging and kissing her and they both erupted in fits of giggles.

There are days where these two kids can drive me completely batshit insane. Honestly, I don’t know how parents of more than two kids do it. THEY’RE outnumbered. But then there are days like yesterday – where I get to see how siblings really do mean something. Man I hope it’s always like that.

Welcome home, Swimmy. We’ve all been waiting for you.

It was awfully touch and go thanks to Hurricane Alex, but the clouds parted, the sun shined and oh my FUCK was it hot outside for the fourth of July around these parts. I was personally showing my celebratory patriotism with good ol’ American boobsweat – as our forefathers intended. Also, not a good hair day if you have ANY capacity for the JewFro. Hoo boy.

Benjamin could not have been more excited to put out flags and see the parade. What’s even more exciting is that he is finally (FINALLYYYYYY!) riding his tricycle at the age of almost 4. I have no idea why he was so opposed to pedaling, but he was. So, from a pure kid-development perspective, I was thrilled to see him go after it. Here are some of my favorite shots from the weekend.

As we got ready for the parade, Husband noticed he had a stowaway on him. This little guy hung around for close to 10 minutes and wouldn’t go away. Isn’t it good luck when a butterfly lands on you?

Okay! Time to get our parade face on! Woo Hoo!

And now – a peek into our neighborhood parade. Here are snapshots of all sorts of folk gettin’ their Amurica on — my favorite is the hunting vehicle. As it should be.

There are a lot of folks in Washington who have forgotten what America is about. It’s nice to get a peek at the folks who still get it. G-d bless the men and women who have fought for our freedoms, died for them, and for their families who so bravely stand behind them so that we can dress up in stupid costumes to celebrate the land they choose to defend.

Hope wherever you are you had a great weekend full of fun, freedom, family, food and friends. G-d Bless, America.

Benjamin: Mommy! Look at the clouds!
Me: Yes… what do they look like?
Him: [Softly] Shadows.
Me: Is it wonderful?
Him: [Whispering] Yes….

Yesterday was one of those days where it was just busy.  In the morning Leah had her 3^rd grade Sunday School service that she got to participate in leading.  (In case you’re wondering?  Totally adorable and tear-inducing.)  So we did this:

Then it was off to a quick lunch and back home for nap time.  Ah, nap time.  Then up and awake to go visit my mom and then come home and get ready to have dinner with my MILtastic and Jacktastic.

At the end of the night, as I was lying in bed, it occurred to me I didn’t really get to hang out with the kids very much – and that made me a little sad.  It’s no one’s fault, just the consequence of a busy schedule not entirely under our control.

But, then I realized that every day is Mother’s Day around here.  I have some ridiculously cute and energetic and silly and challenging and sweet and loving kiddos.  I am lucky that my current job affords me the luxury of working out of my home office (otherwise known as my bed).  We have a great dress code here – Jeans on Fridays, but Jammies all the other days.  You should try it.

Every day they let me know that I am part of the center of their little silly world.  Most weeks I get little handwritten notes addressed to me with almost intelligible messages in them all ending in “I love you, Mommy!”  I get hugs every day.  I get kisses and giggles and the occasion “crash” from Benjamin.  I get love.

Yesterday I got a special poem from Leah that she did at school:

Thank You

Thank you for helping me when I need help with my homework,

For always giving me comfort when I am afraid,

And for letting me go to my best friend forever’s house.

Thank you for reminding me to wake up when I didn’t set my alarm,

For taking care of me when I am sick,

And for picking me up at school.

Thank you for always making me laugh,

For driving me to a really fun birthday party,

And for a new backpack when my old one killed my shoulders.

I know I don’t say it enough, thank you, Mom, for just being YOU!

Leah #9

Oh, silly girl – It is I who should thank you.

It’s spring around these parts. Well, mostly. It’s spring enough to wear sandals and THAT requires a pedicure – something I haven’t done in six months thanks to The Asthma (it’s hard enough to sit in a nail salon with those fumes with NORMAL lung capacity).

But, it’s spring. SANDALS. So I did this.

Leah took this picture

And then Leah and Benjamin and I went outside to do this.

And Benjamin’s little friend had to come along, too.

He plays with my fingers.  He always does it.  We’re a lot alike in that sense – always having to be touching.  He doesn’t just lay next to you, he lays with you.  In one space – making “my” space a little larger – making it an “our” space.

Sometimes it’s a be-socked foot.  Sometimes it’s the cock of his head lazily resting those curls on my shoulder.  Sometimes it’s just his fingers that want to play with the tips of mine while lazily and almost unconsciously attending to The Wonder Pets

He isn’t still often, but when he is he does it very, very well.  When he is I catch a sideways glimpse of his profile.  I get to see the round peachy cheeks in their full glory and I can’t help but reach out and stroke one just a little – and he smiles quietly because he likes that. 

When he is still I get to feel his little breath on my neck as he rests his head.  His breath smells of fruit from a snack.  The rest of him smells of “boy”.  Long gone are the days of baby smells.  He left those in the dirt that he now takes pleasure in exploring.

When he is still he whispers.  Our conversations are quiet and secret but I’m not sure why.  He questions and giggles and tells stories and even sings all as if we are in a tiny bubble that might burst from noise.

He wants to honk my nose and look me intently in the eye and talk in sentences with no end.  He wants to crawl under the sheets, show me his belly button and his heart – and I’m happy to be a part of it all for as long as he’ll let me.

There are times when I revel in all the noise and motion and laughs and riotous energy that is him.  But it is spending time still that I like the most.

Allow me this rant, will you?

For the past several summers, Leah has gone to a great sleepaway camp. The rest of the weeks she attends a day camp here in town and has done all sorts of programs from sporty stuff to performing arts. It’s a large camp program and she has a few friends that she sees there every year.

It’s February – so that means that it’s time, yet again, to figure out her summer schedule.

It is also time for me to freak out on how much it costs.

OMGGGGGG how much it costs!

For roughly six weeks of camp (combined) I will shell out close to $4,500. And that should be more but because she is going to the “full” session at her sleepaway camp for the first time (as opposed to the introductory little kids’ session) we get a $1,000 discount.

Oh, goodie!

It is EXTRAORDINARY to me how much this costs. And, truth be told, the sleepaway camp costs are high, but that’s sleepaway camp. All in. I can swallow that (mostly). It is a terrific camp that she really enjoys and fosters some great things in her and for her. She is making memories there that will last a lifetime – and I love that.

It’s the DAY camp costs that piss me off beyond all belief. I hate it. And really? I’m just not a huge fan of the program in general, but it’s the best option in the city.

But wait. There’s more.

That’s only six weeks of the summer. There is another 3 weeks not accounted for there. Sure, there are play dates and mommy days and daddy days…. But…. THREE WEEKS. So, we’ll look at a trip to take (more cost) and don’t forget the cost of getting ready for sleepaway camp. G-d forbid she stay the same size.

Oh, look . I’m bitching about my child growing healthily. See what summer does?

It’s enough to vote for year-round school schedules.

Am I alone in this? Or is camp outrageous wherever you live?

Dinner around Casa Pammer consists of two shifts: the Pammer and Kids phase and the Husband phase. Husband doesn’t usually get home until after the time the kids need to eat dinner to keep me sane and them on track to get to bed at a reasonable time and so… shifts it is. Not my preference, but it is my reality.

Dinner every night with the kids is always a challenge. Some days the inspiration for dinner comes easily and the kids don’t bicker (too much) and I can continue to multi-task and still deal with clients on the west coast. Some days I have no idea what to cook, am completely at a loss, I’ve thrown both of them into their respective rooms for incessant bickering and have reached for the merlot around 4pm.

Last night was version 2 of the aforementioned options and it came down to making it easy: soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. I can live with that. I happened to have made some noodles that were incredibly long and while they were slightly pouting at the table about whatever random consequence I bestowed upon them upstairs I slurped one up in between puckered lips. To wild giggles and applause.

And the silly noodle slurping contest began.

Leah discovered that the harder she sucked the faster the noodles went in. Then she discovered that slurping too hard and too fast resulted in a wet noodle leaping out of the bowl and smacking her in the face. I wish I had video of that moment.

Benjamin, and his enormous pickiness, actually enjoyed several noodles and was so distracted he ate an entire grilled cheese sandwich. That’s a win in my book.

I’m fairly certain the next time we all encounter long wiggly noodles I’ll be turning nine shades of red after they start slurping them at the table in front of guests, right?

Dear Benjamin,

When we last left off around here, little one, you were a very cute but pain in the ass two year old. And as of this post, you are now almost three and a half. I’m sorry for the enormous gap. If you think this is bad, wait until you see your baby book.

In the time that has passed your hair has gotten darker, your eyes have gotten bluer (if that is even possible), your dimples more pronounced as your face slimmed out and you have shot up like a weed. Your sister is awfully concerned that you are going to be taller than her – how can that be possible? She is the OLDEST, you know. Your legs are bowed (thank you grandfather for that one) and your speed is amazing. I don’t really understand how someone who runs so “hard” can also be so fast – but man, you are.

You eat nothing. Anything protein gets a wrinkled nose and a tongue stuck out. You will eat ONE bite of chicken on occasion, though I have snookered you into eating THREE sweet and sour chicken pieces as long as we call them “puffs” and don’t put the sauce on them. Who cares. You ATE CHICKEN. Yogurt is a staple of your diet as is any fruit. Your sister and I tricked you into eating edamame two nights ago because we called them “Treasure Beans” you had to “search” for in their pods. Watching them go flying across the table from a too-strong squeeze brought tons of giggles and I am thankful the game overcame the usual objections and yet another source of protein has entered your diet. That Girl may be useful in the coming weeks.

I will go ahead and admit something to you now. I have put you in ice skating lessons because I very much want to see you play hockey. When you were about two-and-a-half you got on Leah’s Razor scooter and RODE it. With BALANCE. Around that same time I was watching you run one day and I realized you looked like you were on skates when you ran. Not upright, but leaning forward and “digging in”. The bow legs clenched it. I figured all of that made for a chance you would make a helluva skater.

At first I thought I was wrong. You struggled trying to get your legs under you. About four weeks into it you were frustrated and I thought I had done something horrible and you would never like skating ever again. Then a nice woman at the rink who is the parent liason for the skating classes, and a mother of a past Olympic figure skating medalist, told me to exhale. “It takes five weeks, ” she said. On week five you would miraculous stand up and skate like there was a magnet under the ice. I thought she was high. But OMG she was RIGHT. You stood up and took off and turned around and holy shit we had a skater. You got it and came waddling off the ice in your skates yelling, “I wanna skate FATHST, MOMMY!” I know you do, buddy. And I can’t wait to see you do it.

Around Hanukkah time your older sisters made an observation that I’m pretty sure is gonna end up being a premonition. They said with your looks and personality you were going to end up getting much ass and be the laid-back Jewish Matthew McConaughey. Complete with herb. I don’t think they’re far off. I’m hoping that 6am hockey practice will curb the party-side of that premonition, but they’ve pegged the rest of that pretty well. I was told once when you have a boy you worry about one penis. When you have a girl you worry about ALL penises. I think I’m more worried about yours than any other right about now.

Buddy, you are a party in shoes. You are the most charming thing I’ve ever met. My favorite moment since I’ve written about you last is the moment I realized that you taught me something very new – which doesn’t happen all that often any more, sadly. There was a moment we were snuggling in your bed one morning and maybe it was the way you looked up at me with those baby blues but it occurred to me I now understood a man’s heart. It hit me that to truly know a man’s heart you must first know a boy’s.

I get it now. And I thank you for that.

Love,

Mommy