Its scary to be a kid

For the last 10 years, I have been stuck in a vacuum of diapers and bottles and preschool programs, first steps and first teeth and big girl beds, etc. These all-consuming tasks that seem to take up every waking minute I have (and often those I don't have) render me guilty of sometimes overlooking those grade school troubles that often fly under the radar. Often, especially when a child is so self-sufficient at an early age, its easy for them to be pushed to the back of the pack when there's a stream of little siblings vying for your attention. After all, she can take her own shower, brush her teeth and fold her laundry. He can tie his shoes, get dressed and make his own breakfast. They assert their independence in many little (and sometimes big) ways. "MOOOOOOM! You're embarrassing me!!" Tim and I were in for a real treat when we realized that we became "lame" before they were even 10.... Seriously??

I never feel at any point like I "have it all together." On the contrary, I usually feel like our daily life is a teeter-totter. Its never prefectly balanced. If I've taken the kids to the park, hosted their friends for lunch and swimming or met up with friends or family for the afternoon - you can tell. The laundry's 5 loads (or 15) deep, the dishwasher needs to be emptied and you could easily wipe "DUST ME" on my console table. I like to think (or desperately hope) that its akin to a balanced diet as in

Its what you eat in a week versus a day that really counts. Just as there are those moments that stop you on a dime, slapping you in the face and telling you "Wake Up!! Pay attention to what's important here!!" there are also those moments that tell you , "Settle down, you're doing a good job. They get it." Finley had an especially rough night a couple nights ago - apparently she decided her bangs were in immediate need of an emergency trim right at the moment Tim was trying to get the baby in bed and I was ironing her patches on her new Daisy smock. (Let me just say I have NEVER had a child cut their own hair before. Never.) Thank the Lord she went with a smallish patch and not too hideously short. There was hope. I fixed them and she looked in the mirror. . . Only to promptly burst into tears (and when I say tears, I mean a high pitched shrieking reminiscent of Darryl Hannah in Splash.) at which point she began gasping, crying harder and screeching over and over "I look so weird! I look so weird!" Now at this point I did what any good mother would do - I called in reinforcements. After a stern talk telling the other kids verbatim what I expected them to say and reminding them not to smile or laugh, I brought in her brothers and sister. They gushed and told her how beautiful she looked and all seemed to be okay.
I continued to put the Daisy patches on the vest and a few minutes later Carter came in to see Finley again. My almost 7 year old presented his little sister with a container of playdough, his favorite pencil and his $2 from the tooth fairy to make her feel better. His most prized possessions.... and a card . . .


which reads: "You have 100 friends. You are the best out of all of them and you are the best in the whole world."




Apparently the front was softening the blow for the back of the card, which reads: "Your fish died. I'm really sorry."

And there you have it. They get it. It was funny, but so sweet and innocent in a 7 year old boy way. He used what he had to show his sister he cared and tried to make her feel better. Of course, it caused a whole new wave of tears (aka shrieking) and a "burial at sea" for Red Billy (I feel ashamed I never knew his name until his passing...)

My Funny Valentine

The other day I was brushing Finley's hair and she started the normal whimpering (before the comb actually even touched her hair.) She is in the process of growing her hair soooooo long (just like Caroline, who happens to be the 4-year-old president of the "BFF Club" at preschool. Seriously ????) But to avoid any confusion - she is only growing her back hair, not her front hair, which others may call bangs. We haven't quite reached her her shoulders yet. So anyhow, I started to tell her how you get more tangles when your hair is long, and I remember not liking when Nana combed my hair as a kid. She said, "Oh, Nana combed your hair because she was your mom?" Yes, I tell her. Then she said Papa must have given me lots of gum because he was my dad. I told her not so, he didn't give out a lot of gum when I was a kid. Then I leaned in and told her that he must give her lots of gum because he really loves her. "Oh Mom, don't worry, he really loves you too," she said. (Melt my heart!!!)
Back to the hair brushing, at which point she asks the regular daily question,
Finley: "Isn't I'm getting such wong (long) hair??"
Mom: "Yes Finley, you are."
Mom: "Did you know that when I was little, my hair was all the way down to here?" (I point to mid-back.)
Finley: "You mean down your back?"
Mom: "Yep"
Finley: "Ooooh, (pause) well, mine's still longer."

System Overload

For the last several days, the kids and I, along with Aunt Paula, Nana and cousin Brody have been enjoying the peace and fresh air of the Northwoods. No obligations or appointments, playdates or pressures. Life is good. This is the Johnsons unplugged . . . or is it? Finley has been walking around with a bright purple Prevacid promotional calculator to her ear, even interrupting Nana during a lego-building session telling her, "Hold on, Nana, I'm on the phone." She is constantly "checking her voicemail," and taking calls from her friends Cassie and Dylan from school. (As I mentioned in a recent post, she does NOT go to school, nor do we know any kids named Cassie or Dylan.) She mimics the actions of the adults, sliding her finger across the surface of the calculator, like one would do to scroll through photos when checking Facebook on an iPhone. Dear God, what have I done to my child???

My mom reads a blog about "Pioneer Woman," whose life on a ranch with her kids and her Marlboro Man has become regular reading for thousands over the last couple of years. I think that the reason why is that we all deep down, long for simpler times. But we deny ourselves that, even when the opportunity arises. I am so guilty of that, practically quivering at the opportunity to check my email or Facebook notifications. God forbid I miss one comment on a photo or don't know right away that my old friend from high school is sitting in traffic at this exact moment. And I'm sure I'd be totally out of the loop without the TMZ app on my iPhone. After all, it was crucial that I knew of the deaths of Farrah, MJ and Billy Mays as soon as the news was reported.

I sit here at the laptop, breathing a sigh of relief, now that Tim, Rory and Dad have arrived. Mostly because I have really missed my husband, and realized how much I lean on him without realizing it. But also because my techno-geek (in the most loving sense of the word) brother has hacked his iPhone to function as a modem. Which means I can access the internet from my laptop without having to trek to the local townie bar to take advantage of their free WiFi. Again I say, life is good. Obviously, I say this half-joking. I am as guilty as anyone of wasting an inordinate amount of time on meaningless crap online, convincing myself that it is worthy of my time. Its when it cuts into our face-to-face personal interaction that it becomes a problem. So that means when Finley actually refuses to play legos for fear she might miss a phone call on her calculator, we have a big problem. But for now, she will still go fishing, ride her bike and play with Nana's dogs. She does have voicemail, after all.

The pecking order

I think one of the most difficult things about having a big family, or should I say being part of a big family, is finding your place. The oldest gets the most privileges and can do the most for themselves. The youngest gets the most of mom and dad's attention because they need the most care. The toddlers get the most praise because they are constantly achieving new things. But what about that age where nothing new is really happening? What happens then? This is when the "pecking order" becomes very obvious. The other day Finley started sobbing in the car. I hadn't heard what Carter said to her, but by the intensity of her wailing, you'd think it was the most horrible, unimaginable thing ever. When she finally calmed down enough to get the words out, here's what she said . . . "Am I'm the boss of Scout? Carter said I'm not the boss of Scout!" This was what had shook her little almost 3-year-old self to the core. The fear that she was not in fact in charge of someone. To think she might be the lowest of the low men on the totem pole. Horror of horrors!! So I of course explained, as any mother of many children would do that Daddy and I were the big bosses, Piper was the boss of Trace, Trace was the boss of Carter and so on. So yes, she was the boss of Scout. Obviously I say this tongue in cheek, because I want each child to respect to his/her siblings and them all to exist in harmony as equally important and contributing members of this family. (I'm still waiting for the harmony part!) But I do think that there's nothing wrong with a pecking order - that is life. My mom tells the kids all the time that they have to listen because mom is the boss, and that will never change. They of course get a real kick out of it when Nana tells them that she is still the boss of me. And her mom is still the boss of her, etc. Let's face it, there's always someone we answer to, whether its God, our parents, our employer, our children or the authorities. I don't think its a bad thing, it makes us more conscientious of how we behave and often motivates us to be better at what we do. I tell Piper all the time, if you wouldn't be proud to have me hear about something you say or do, that's probably an indication that you shouldn't be doing or saying it. Hey, I'm 32 years old and I still appreciate my Mom's approval. No, I don't need it, but I still like to know that my mom is proud of me. I don't think that will ever change. I know my kids seek that same approval from Tim and I. We have witnessed a good deal of looking for attention from the other kids since Scout's arrival, and we try to reiterate that negative attention is not better than no attention at all. However, I try to be sympathetic to the fact that sometimes being part of a big family means it's easier to get lost in the shuffle when life gets hectic. I know when Finley starts telling me stories about her teacher and the kids in her class that she might need a little extra attention from me, considering she doesn't actually have a teacher or even go to school yet. So I play along, and aske her if she had a good day at school. And for now I'll let her be the boss of Scout . . .