New England Mamas

Summer Fun

School’s out and summer is almost here.  Trying to find the summer camp to fit your kids can be difficult.  Especially if two of the camps they want to attend run the same week!  My girls are doing some sporadic summer camp and other daily activities.  Next week starts our first planned activity of the summer.

Monday, all three girls will be attending Vacation Bible School (VBS).  Ironically, this was their choice, not mine.  A friend runs the program and invited the girls last year.  They attended and have been asking all year when they can go again.  You’d think with going to Catholic school, they’d be sick of religion.  But they love it.  It doesn’t matter what religion you are, you’re more then welcome to attend.  A bonus – there is barely any cost.  Many just ask for a donation.  Check your local churches for some fun activities this summer!

Monday also starts soccer camp.  While the girls will not be attending due to them wanting to go to VBS, I will be there.  One of my responsibilities as soccer VP was acting as a liaison between our soccer league and Challenger Sports.  If your kids are into sports, I highly recommend checking out their website to see if they offer any soccer camps near you.   Our soccer league has used this British soccer company for the past few seasons.  The trainers are highly enthusiastic about the sport and engage the children by introducing the sport in a variety of child friendly ways.   Seriously, check them out!

Monday, I’ll also be hitting the library to sign the girls up for the summer reading program and some craft days.  Einey went once a week for four weeks last year to the library for 1 ½ - 2 hours to make crafts.  She loved it!  This year, I’m signing the girls up for a few craft days, as well as Einey up for some craft days lead by the local girl scouts.  The best part, it’s free!   

Next weekend, Einey is going to one day of Girl Scout camp, or Camporee.  Her troop is not doing an overnight, which is fine by me.  I could send her to a weeklong program at any one of the Girl Scout camps, but there really are not any that are close by.  Plus I’m trying not to do week long programs.  Just enough to give them something to do to break up the monotony of being at home.

The following week, the girls will attend summer camp at their school.  They encourage you to leave their bikes and have a HUGE water slide set up.  Plus there are games and activities and they get to see their friends.   And they are putting in a new playground this week.  They’ve never had one before. Unlike many parents though, I didn’t sign them up for full week sessions, just a few days spread out through out the summer.  There are field trip days as well, but I didn’t send the girls to those.

If your school doesn’t offer summer camp, check your local Rec. department.  They usually offer full day summer programs as well as field trips.  The downside is, at least around here, they are fairly expensive!

Another thing I need to sign them up for is swimming lessons.  We’ve done swimming lessons through the Re. Dept. for the past two years.  The girls have fun and I like that they are learning a life skill.  For us, I feel it’s important that they learn how to swim!  We’ve got our beach passes already and cannot wait for the lake to open for many lazy summer afternoons of swimming.

One program we haven’t checked out, although I know the girls would love, are the week long summer sessions offered by Mad Science.  We’ve been to birthday parties at Mad Science and the girls LOVED them.  Maybe next year!

Another place to look would be your local community college.  The one near our house offers a kid’s academy.  Each week has a theme such as animals, science, cooking, etc.  I’ve heard from friends who have sent their kids that they had a lot of fun.

If being outside is more your style, check out your local Audubon Society.  They offer a variety of activities from guided hikes to summer camps.  Last year, Einey went to their afterschool program once a week.  She really enjoyed learning about nature and   taking hikes.  They looked for frogs, found mice in the bird houses they were cleaning out for the end of winter and looked for salamanders in a stream.

If you can’t find anything through your local Rec. Department, check out your local zoos, aquariums or science centers.  They usually offer a wide variety of summer programs as well, from one day programs to week long summer camps.

So let’s recap, for us, it’s VBS, swim lessons, craft days and school summer camp.  While it may seem like we’re doing a lot, most of these are either only an hour or two a day, once or twice a week or at the end of June and beginning of July.  For most of the summer, it will be widely unscheduled.  The girls want to invade the Cape again this summer and Husband wants to travel to New York – something about exploring caves.  Right now, I don’t know where we’ll end up, except of course, at the playground* and lake.

Now, if I could just convince the local coffee shop to install a playground, we’d be all set!

*The new playground in town is super cool.  Today, we met some school friends (planned and unplanned) for three hours of fun.  This is, apparently, the popular place to be.  This particular playground opened Memorial Day weekend.  It’s a Boundless Playground for kids with and without handicaps.  It’s been four years in the making and was well worth the wait!  We’ve been a few times and at first, it seemed overwhelming.  There are so many more people there than we are used to.  Add into the fact that the play structure tripled in size blocks the line of sight you once had.  But it’s new.  And fun.  And there’s shade to rest in.

The Kingdom of Frogs.

Here I am, writing yet again in a distracted funk, while the Impling pretends to float and fly and kick in the waters of imagination as a floppy purple frog named Alice.

Or, it might just be a real frog. The first frog.

Today, we went to Griggs Park.

And there, in the spring smelling air, surrounded by stray sand from the box, and toddler gymnasiums, the Impling had an experience.

"I want to go to Griggs park and catch my own frogs...with this dish!" she declares now, holding up her black cauldron (initially purchased for use as a Halloween candy repository) but now premoted to "Frog catcher". Appropriate, don't you think?

Yes, we are writing this together.

So there we were, eating, (and not eating) our lunch on a wooden bench beneath the pine cone shedding trees, when a boy approaches.

He is a little older than the Impling, but not by much. He has a broad wonderful grin, a wonderful laugh, and a cookie bin. A Trader Joe's cookie bin. Without the cookies, but with something infinateley better inside.

Two, hoppy, green and brown spotted...

"what were they?" the Impling looks up at me with sparkling eyes:

"FROGS!!!" she cries. Now melancholy is in her face.

"I miss the frogs. I want to see the frogs. Froooggggssss!"

Yes. Two frogs.

"I want to catch one of my own!" says the Impling as she looks over my arms and fingers as they type type type away, and then I get a kiss and a huge grin.

Have I mentioned I LOVE hanging out with my Impling. I can even write with her.

"I can even frog." adds the Impling.

Anyhow. There were frogs. In the cookie bin. And the Impling thought this was the BEST THING EVER.

Time stopped. The Impling and the boy looked at the frogs, watched them climb, and jump and crawl and try to get away. The boy lifted one little frog, gently gently, and placed it into the Impling's open hand.

"How did it feel, Impling?"

"It felt good. Impling hugged the frog!" The Impling blows out her cheeks like little vocal sacs and places her palms over them.

"Frog" she says. "I want to go to Griggs Park and find frogs! FROOOGS!" she declares.

"Let's wrap this up" says the Impling.

I have only one thing to add. Language. Overrated. The little boy and the Impling said not one word to one another. They shared, they watched ,they laughed and played. But even if they had wanted to communicate in something other than the innately wonderful language they already had, it would have been impossible.

Because the boy spoke only Russian.

The Impling, her own version of the English language.

And yet, they are friends.

Smile from the Impling.

"I want. To. Wrap that up."

"I want to hug."

"I want to see the Frogs."

My Ultimate: About a Girl

("My Ultimate" will run most Tuesdays (0k, it is almost Wednesday) and will feature any topic that hops into my head.  The views expressed here do not necessarily reflect those of the other New England Mamas. . . although they should).

Every time we go, we talk about a little girl who died.

"How old was she, Mommy?"

"Why did she die?"

"What was her name?"

"Was this all hers?"

I tell them what I can: 

She was 9. 

She had a lot of things go wrong with her body, but, in many ways, she lived a life a lot like your own. 

Her name was Julia. 

She used to visit this park with her parents.  After she died, they wanted to do something to celebrate her life that other children could enjoy too.

It is such a sad story.

And yet, Julia's Garden, found in WWI Memorial Park in North Attleboro, Massachusetts is anything but sad as the sound of children laughing and shrieking fills the air. 

It is a place that has parents gazing around in awe at the artistic benches, life-size unicorn (well,  what I imagine 'life-size' would be), and the hundreds of flowering bushes.

It has us choking back tears as we read about the little girl for whom this garden is named. 

But, it is also a place where kids excitedly climb a rope ladder to slide down the longest slide I've ever seen.

Where they get squirted in the face with water.

Where they can run up a wooded hill and find a large playground with more slides, swings, cars and picnic tables.

It is a place any child would love.  And, while I am glad I am able to make such happy memories with my children there, I will always think of that little girl.   May she be able to see all that she has left behind.

The Bicycle Queen

(with thanks to Cari Best...author of our favorite book of the year)

When the Impling was one year old, we didn't strap her on the back of our bikes. For one, we have no place to store bikes. For another, the idea of peddling around the outskirts of Boston on a bike with a toddler attached filled me with terror. So no bikes.

When the Impling turned two, she was big enough for the tough little trikes we saw tooling around the playground, but truth be told, the Impling was more interested, at that point, in climbing up the ratlines of the play fort, and pretending to be a dread pirate. Also, we still had the stroller hogging up space in our apartment. So the whole trike thing...never happened.

Then, the Impling turned three. We go to the library every Wednesday, and on one of our visits, the Impling picked out what became one of her favorite books ever. Sally Jean, the Bicycle Queen. This was the sign. The Impling was ready.

Do you remember your first bike? Mine was a wonderful royal blue, just my size. We had a huge sloping backyard perfect for coasting. After about an hour of wobbling around with the training wheels, my older brother helped me take them off. Away I went, down the gentle hill, with soft landings when I didn't quite make it. A far cry from my brother's falls on the coral path at my Grandparent's place in the Keys.

But parts of these experiences were lost. When we brought the Impling to International Bike to look around, it all came back. The excitement of the new...the strange; of being astride a beast, of sorts, with it's own ideas of how it would move; of climbing up, and down, poking prodding, touching turning the different parts; of spinning the pedals; of struggling with those pedals, trying to get them up over the top to push them down and forward; of the sudden jerking stops when I pushed backwards and discovered how to brake; of looking down at my feet going in circles, forgetting that I actually had to look where I was going. It was a microcosm of life.

But once you learn, you never forget. It may be years in between rides, but you'll always find your balance again, and go flying off down the road, off to adventure. With a sore backside come morning, but hey, the more you ride, the less it hurts.

Crossposted at Rock the Cradle

Tis the Season

As it gets lighter and I start to think about warm days, beaches, parks and cookouts, a darker thought enters my mind:  school will be out soon.  The school year is almost over and won't resume until the middle of September.  While honestly part of me is looking forward to having unstructured time and being able to spend the whole day with both of my kids, another part of me really enjoys that three days for three hours, that I only have one child to take with on errands and to entertain.  Thankfully there's a wonderful solution to all of this:  camp. 

After talking to a bunch of moms, I decided to enroll my 4.5 year old in camp.  Yes, last year he did go to camp, but that was basically a continuation of his two day preschool for part of the summer.  I'm not even sure he fully understood that the camp wasn't part of the school year, although he had different teachers in a different classroom.  This year, though at his request we decided to go with a separate camp.  It seemed like most of the camps for his age group schedule sessions by the week.  While I was originally annoyed that the sessions weren't arranged in two week blocks, further consultation with more experienced moms helped me to understand the benefit of one-week sessions:  you can stagger them.  My older son will now be attending morning camp for three weeks, but those weeks are spread throughout the summer.  We will see how it goes.

Too bad there isn't some sort of coffee club camp for parents to attend.  Maybe that will be my million dollar idea...

Titles. Tags. And labels. STAY AWAY!

I was at the playground yesterday with the boys. There were 4 other mothers standing around next to me watching their kids play.

None of us had ever met, but we all had kids that were about the same ages - 5 and under.

Out of the 5 of us there, 4 of us had 3 children.  So there were 14 kids playing together.  It was very cute.

But then one of the little boys started crying because his older sister “by mistake” threw sand at him.

This mother (obviously embarrassed) ran over to diffuse the sibling situation.

As she was doing her “thing,” one of the other mothers asked the group of mothers, “So which one is your cry baby?”

Cry baby!? Gee… great term for your child.

All of us were a little stunned by the bluntness.  After all, we just met.

But then… she goes on.

“My oldest is my cry-baby. All he does is whine. My middle daughter is an emotional roller coaster. Drama. Drama. Drama. She’s up, she’s down. And my youngest is my shining star. He’s the easiest child.”

So let me digest.

Older one = cry baby.

Middle one = drama.

Youngest = star.

Can’t see this not messing them up at all. And let me interject that her youngest is exactly Benjamin’s age. He just turned one last week. Let’s face it, anything could happen.

I just sat there listening to 2 of the other mothers “labeling” their kids too. Shy. Outgoing. Reserved. Little clown. Attention-getter. My athlete. My bookworm. Needy. My messy one.

AND LET ME REPEAT… the kids are all 5 and under!  Not one of them is in kindergarten yet! 

And the list went on.

I just kept remembering a family friend once telling my parents in front of Jane and me as kids… “Well, I can tell who the little shy one is out of these two.”

It was me. I must have been about 7 or 8 years old. And I have never forgotten that comment. I never had thought of myself as shy, my parents certainly never called me out on it. I just remember thinking, even at the young age, I will NEVER do that to my kids. I always respected my parents for never “labeling” or “tagging” or putting “titles” to any of us 4 kids.

So William, Alex and Ben… yes, you all have different personalities. It’s a beautiful thing to see. And yes, one of you is a little more comfortable in group situations. And yes, one of you likes to be holding my hand. And yes, one of you attracts a lot of attention from strangers with your funny little antics.

But you will never know which one it is. At least not from me. All of you are the funniest… cutest… most outgoing… and most LOVED little men in my life!

Walking with Really Large Robots

To further our efforts to create an unrealistic sense of the world, we took the kids to see the "Walking with Dinosaurs" show at the Verizon Wireless Arena in Manchester, NH on Saturday.  Last month's expedition included the Harlem Globetrotters.  Just as soon as we can find a play or show that involves truthful politicians or live-action accounting practices, we'll buy tickets to that, too.

With both the Dinosaurs and the Globetrotters, they put on a decent performance and the kids enjoyed it.  Well, with the Globetrotters they were mildly amused but not enthralled; with the Dinosaurs, their heart rates hovered above 120 beats per minute and they were able to sustain a constant state of slack-jawed amazement through the entire two-hour performance, with a slight break during the too-long pterodactyl flight simulation.  Both were decent shows, and fun family outings , so I can't regret the days out... but neither was quite the mind-blowing, family-bonding experience it could have been.

The Globetrotters tiptoed on a fine line between a story of good old-fashioned rivalry and showmanship, with a tendency to err on the side of theatrics.  I'm not sure my kids even realized that the Washington Generals were there, much less that they were representing an opposing team in an actual game of basketball.  There was just so much ball-spinning and shorts-yanking that the idea of the game was completely lost, which leads me to wonder why they even bother with the storyline.  We all would have been perfectly happy to watch a however-long display of long throws and goofy pranks, without needing to crowd the floor with twice as many players.  The whole thing was especially beyond the attention span of my three-year-old, who was more focused on the cotton candy in the hands of the kid three rows ahead than on the action on the floor.

There was also a sense of disjointed chronology amongst the whole thing.  On the one hand, you havd an old-time goofiness and harmless silly pranks, and on the other hand you have emcee's leading the crowd in "Soulja Boy" and making reference to Beyonce. 

Then you have dinosaurs.  Very detailed costumes and robots wandering around with minimal storyline and maximum roar, so that part was good.  Though they tried to throw in some science, which kind of missed everyone there: those of us old enough to appreciate the science were busily watching the remote-control operators and appreciating the sets, and those young enough to believe that these dinosaurs were as real as Big Bird were too young to understand the science.  I didn't feel like the narrative really enhanced the show, altogether, particularly because most of the audience has a hard time understanding the concept of "next week," much less "millions and millions of years."

But the dinosaurs blew my children's minds.  Even the just-turned-eight-year-old, who spent the week prior lecturing her three-year-old brother about how, "They aren't real, you know.  They're just fake.  Just people dressed up like dinosaurs, or statues, or something."  Even she bought into the show, which really was the whole point.

Who Is That Mom?

I have a slightly embarrassing confession to make.  No, nothing really big and juicy but one that makes me laugh ever time I think of it.  With this beautiful weather, I've thought about it quite a few times this past week. 

The summer my older son (OS) was about 20 months, we spent a lot of time at the park.  It was the first summer that he was walking and could really enjoy the equipment.  He particularly liked the little toddler slide at one park.  He would go on it over and over again.  Except for this one day when a bunch of older kids kept climbing back up the slide.  These teenagers 4 year olds didn't even seem aware that OS was trying to go down the slide.  I was really annoyed.  Where were the parents?  All I could see was a bunch of parents standing around talking. 

I was completely irked.  I even emailed my moms group list-serve to ask about the etiquette for this situation.  (This makes me laugh a slightly embarrassed laugh.) I mean surely this rude behavior was an anomaly.  Maybe not.  I witnessed it a bunch of times later on that summer.  Each time I a huffed about it. 

Fast foward to yesterday.  I was at the park with both of my boys who are 4.5 and 21 months.  I was talking to a friend while standing next to the slide that my boys had been using.  I turned around to see a woman standing on the other side looking perplexed as her granddaughter proved unable to go down the slide because my sons were climbing up the slide.  Great.   Nothing like being a hypocrite.  I mumbled an apology, as did the boys, and took them off to climb on a different structure. 

Snickering as a Form of Discipline

A week or so ago, my husband was finishing up our first-of-the-season meal on the grill.  It meant sweeping snow off the back step and finding the grill accessories wherever we'd thrown them in the fall, but we were just so desperate for a taste, literally, of summer.  And you're darn right it was worth it.

He had already called the kids in several times, and in true-to-self form, my son had hopped up and started scampering for the house, while my daughter announced, "Hold on," and proceeded to try to cram in three or four just-one-more-things before coming inside.  Husband decided, instead of bargaining with her or even engaging her in another round of negotiations, to just roll his eyes and come inside, himself.

Three-year-old Jacob then turned around and said, to his almost-eight-year-old sister, "Emily, just get in the damn house."  In precisely the same tone and inflection his father might have used.

It's just not even worth trying to responsibly suggest an alternative way of delivering the message when you're giggling.

I Have No Shame.

Ah, spring! This past week has finally started looking a little less like winter here in New England, and people from Maine to Connecticut are walking around with smiles on their face. The garden stores are opening up, eager buds are popping out on the plants and trees, and one afternoon - go ahead and laugh, you non-New England readers - I even drove around with my windows open!

All sorts of living creatures are making their spring appearances and while some are welcome, others are decidedly NOT. I've spent the week dealing with a visit from one of the unwelcome varieties of small critter. Not the woodpeckers, although they are back. Nope, not any 4-legged animals, like mice or raccoons. Unfortunately, our little visitors are of the 6- legged variety, and as I've been wading through all the treatments and advice and home remedies, I've learned a lot about how to deal with Our Friend: The Louse.

One thing I have noticed now that I am a member of this special club is how many people still feel a sense of shame and panic when their kids get lice.  When the first case appeared among our acquaintances a few weeks ago, I spent hours on the phone with a friend listening to her freak out after her child was sent home from school with an itchy head.  I felt a ton of sympathy for her, and I hope I was helpful in talking her down from the ledge a little bit, but while I could identify with the panic part of what she was feeling, I didn't understand the shame she obviously felt.   

Now that we have it in our house, I still don't get it.  Panic?  Sure - you want to be done with this never-ending combing and laundry NOW, and when it still isn't eradicated you feel frustrated that you have to start all over.   I wasn't sure why it didn't bother me at all if people knew, though, until I called my mom and told her about my awful week.  She replied, "Remember when your sister got it? "

Suddenly, it was clear to me.  I didn't remember it that much, because it was no big deal to my family.  Maybe it was a reverse class thing, because my dad was a doctor and we caught it from my cousin via a ritzy high-class gymnastics camp, but I just never thought it was anything to be ashamed of.  Getting lice was like getting poison ivy - a bummer, a bit painful, and even though it took you out of circulation for a while, it was just bad luck.

A quick spin around the internet will show you that lice are universal.  It is a myth that only "dirty" people get them.  People from all walks of life have the little buggers hitch a ride onto their heads and into their homes.  Heck, even the Countess from "Real Housewives of NYC" had to deal with them.  Of course, her kid had international jet-set lice, but I digress.

This post is really for those of you parents who have yet to experience the thrill ride that is a lice infestation.  Chances are good that you will experience it at some point in your child's school years.  If (when) it happens to you, just remember that "louse" is not a dirty word.  You have nothing to be ashamed of.  Really.

Instead, do what I've done:  shampoo, treat, comb, pick, bag, wash, repeat.  Do your best to eradicate it, be patient and diligent, and try not to dwell on where your child picked it up.  Repeat after me: "Catching lice is not a moral failure."  Then go play the lottery, because you are totally due for a change of luck!