Old Age is Hard on Scouts

     I am writing this blog as a plea to the general, cookie buying, public.  I know those cute little girls in the blue and brown Girl Scout uniforms are hard to resist when they ask you to buy cookies.  I know those big doe eyes on a 5 year old make it impossible to say no.  I know because I have one.  I'm glad their cuteness works and you stop to buy a box of cookies even if you don't want it.
     In our troop, we are thankful for every box sold.  I want to ask you, though, please, please, don't pass up the older girls.  Teenagers are hard.  I know, I have one of those, too.  As a troop leader, its even harder to keep the older girls engaged.  They have so much more to do between school work, many after school activities, and having a normal teenage social life.  So, to see them continue to invest in a program that is teaching them to be strong women who will change the world makes my heart soar.  The Biggest One is now a Cadette in Scouts.  She wears the tan uniform, usually with a cat ear headband, and she looks like she is 15, even though she isn't.  She is smart, funny, and driven.  She already has a plan for her life that I wish I had at her age.  This year, she is implementing that plan by going to a special camp where she will start as a councilor in training.  Her plan is, by the time she turns 16, be a junior camp counselor, and at 18, be a Girl Scout camp counselor all through college each summer for her summer job to help pay for books.
     The thing is, this camp is expensive.  Even more so than a normal scout camp.  In fact, most of her activities are more expensive as an older scout.  So each and every one of those boxes of cookies she sells are vitally important to her.  She needs to raise the money to be able to get to her camp, learn more about astronomy with trips to the closest observatory, as she is still trying to decide between astronomy and microbiology as degree and career path (she is leaning toward microbiology as she wants to be able to research lupis and find a cure or treatment that actually works).  Knowing that she needs to sell more, she works harder.  She works with every one of those little doe eyed girls and shows them how to sell cookies.  She teaches and trains them like a champ.  After all, she has been selling since she was a little doe eyed 5 year old.  She is willing to go house to house for hours.  She will work every single booth sale I allow her, in between play practice on weekends and all county band.  Even with all that hard work, she can't sell as many as the cute little girls do.  For some reason, it is easier to say no to the older girls. I guess you think they can take it. The last time she went door to door, she went to street after street, and only sold 5 boxes.  Hours of work for 5 boxes.  She was ready to go out for more, though.  She wants that sale.  Same thing happens at both sales.  I pair her with a little one as often as I can so that the sales are higher for her.  She knows it, too, but she doesn't let it stop her.  I respect that drive, and I wish every one out there would, too.
     So, the next time a girl in a tan uniform knocks on your door, please open it and consider buying a box.  If they are still selling by the time they look like they are about to drive, it means they are strong, dedicated girls who will be the next leaders and game changers of our world.  Consider that dedication, and buy a box, even though they don't have doe eyes, even though they may be as tall or taller than you, and even though they might wear cat ears when they ask.  I promise it means as much if not more than the box you buy from the cute little bitty ones.  Don't stop buying from the cute little ones, either.  I'm just saying, a scout is a scout, and consider your purchase equally.  After all, I have three girls, from the cute little doe eyed one in a blue uniform, to a middle aged (for scouts) girl in the Girl Scout green uniform, up to my oldest in the tan.  She is almost as tall as me, which is another of her life goals, but don't let that stop you.  Buy a box.  Please.  I promise she will say thank you.

If you want to buy any boxes from any of my girls, you can buy from the littlest one here.

You can buy from the middle one (she is pretty cute, too, though I didn't get to talk much about her in this blog) here.

And last, but not least at all, the biggest one here.

No matter who you buy from, what council, what age of girl, I appreciate each of you who buy cookies, and please, don't forget that if you can't eat them, you can treat them to members of the military by donating cookies.  (Cookie donations to the military are also tax deducible if your into that kind of thing!!)

Thanks again, and try the new S'mores cookie.

The Breast Kind of Meal

Yesterday, I finally gave The Littlest One food.  I was going to hold off until 6 months, but she just kept reaching for my food, and so I gave in.
Truth be told, I've had the food and stuff for weeks, along with the go ahead from her Dr some time ago.  I just couldn't do it.  Part of me just doesn't want her to grow up so fast, especially knowing that she is my last.
However, let this be a joyous post in celebration of her major milestone: Eating.
I opted for baby oatmeal cereal.  You know, that noxious smelling pasty stuff that we give our babies in lieu of real food at first.  I always make mine with breast milk.  Generally, I will pump enough milk for the cereal, the pour it into a bowl and mix it.  With the first feeding, though, you give them so little, that I felt the pump wasn't warranted.  I could just quickly, and privately, express enough to make that little bit of cereal I needed.  I've done it this way in the past, too.  However, in the past, I've never had a child old enough to really question it.  Let me just say that adding an older child into the mix really changes things up.
As I was prepping The Littlest One's food, the big one comes in and looks at what I am doing: mixing a little cereal into the breast milk I had in one of the baby bowls.  She stopped, stared at the bowl for just a second, then looked at me with huge eyes.

"Did you squirt milk into the bowl?"
Yes.  I just expressed some milk to make the cereal with.
"Oh that is so gross, mom!"
What?  She gets breast milk all the time.
"No, mom!  That is just gross.  Into the bowl mom?!?"
Well, what do you want me to do?  I have to give her milk.

At that point, she started doing that laugh, head shake thing you do when you have just witnessed someone do something that you think was ridiculously gross but still kind of funny, like the kid who licked paste in school,  and just walked away.
It wasn't the fact that I gave the baby milk in her cereal, but the fact that I expressed it directly into the bowl that bothered her.
I guess I could have used the pump, but for only a couple of ounces the first feeding, why bother?  I did it privately, I just used a funny receptacle.  Same difference to me, but apparently not to The Biggest One.
The Littlest One liked it no matter where it came from, and I don't think she will care in the future, either.

All Girls and We Still Get the Good Toys

I think, in a perfectly juxtapose way, the two main gift brands passed at our house this year were Barbie and Nerf.  That's right.  Nerf.  As in Nerf guns.
The Girls got a Nerf Gun.
Their Father got a massive Nerf gun that is has its own shield attached, Nerf bandoleer straps with extra ammo cases, and extra Nerf bullets.
I even got, in what was a very sweet gesture, a tiny little Nerf gun that will go under my pillow now to help ward off early morning sneak attacks, and really will be The Littlest One's first gun.  Apparently, she needs one as soon as possible, and I can bear the gun, like I get to bear her, until she gets here.

Just because our house is and will continue to be made up of primarily females, 3 daughters, 2 female Guinea pigs, and me to one lone male, we don't play tea party or bake all day long.  While we love to do those things, by no means do we keep it straight girly around here.

Not only do we have Nerf wars, complete with favorite hiding spots for ambushing your enemy, but we do all kinds of cool things, that once would have been reserved for only boys.

The Girls know helicopter Aircrew calls.  They know them because their father practices the calls with them when appropriate.  Generally, this starts at a young age when he can still lift and throw them pretty well.  The Girls have practiced auto-rotations, simulating loss of engine power and the helicopter spinning downward.  They have practiced Search and Rescue calls as they jump out of our vehicles, where the call leading up to it directs the SAR swimmer to jump from the helicopter into the water.  They "jump, jump, jump" well on command now.

The Girls wrestle and fight with their father as much as any two boys do.  Either he or The Big One start it all the time.  We can't sit on the couch together without someone ending up in a head lock, or fighting for their lives to keep from getting farted on.  Which, I must admit with a bit of chagrin sometimes includes me, and is one of the times I do wish we kept it a little more girly around here.

Still, I love the fact that The Girls can do it all.  They can go and play with Barbies for hours on end. They carry around their little stuffed animals and care for them like little babies.  Then they can go pick up a Nerf gun and shoot down a fort made of the boxes from their Barbie toys, as much of Christmas day was spent doing.

I want them to all be well rounded.  I want them to reach for any dream they can dream of, and teaching them that its ok for girls to have a Nerf gun and a tea set is part of that.  I hope they all grow up to be strong women, prepared to take on the world, in whatever capacity they choose to take it on.  Whether they end up helicopter pilots, lawyers, chefs, or homemakers, I want them to be the best that they can be.

MY Sweet Sensitive Child

This Big One is very much a sensitive child.  She takes everything to heart.  Right now, that is working against her.
She is having a difficult time dealing with the death of her friend's mother.  At her age, having a friend's mother die is a total shock.  That stuff is supposed to happen when your friend is 50, not 7, but here it is.

All day today, she needed me.  This child doesn't need me unless the milk jug is too full and she knows she will spill it.  Today, though, I was needed constantly.  It took forever to do math homework.  Again, this child does not need me.  She is well, and I mean well, above average when it comes to math.  Today, though, I had to show her how to do each problem again and again.  At one point, I finally had to go do laundry and get out of eyesight or else she would have really wanted me to sit and explain each little problem to her repeatedly, and that doesn't help her learn. She needed to sit by me, on me, on the couch tonight. She had to be in the kitchen with me no matter what I was doing.  I had to turn the water on for her bath, because I get it right.  I needed to wrap her towel around her after bath.  I needed to put her to bed, and stay in bed with her, which I did, until she fell asleep.  All day today, she needed me.

She is scared.   She needs to know that I am there.  I have opened the door many times to talk about what happened, but she doesnt' want to, not yet.

We did manage to talk about her friend.  I explained that even The Big One doesn't want to talk about the death and how she feels, she needs to let her friend talk to her.  She doesn't have to respond verbally, or discuss it, but just be a friend and listen.  I explained to her that it might make her friend feel better to get to talk about her mom to someone who will listen, and The Big One can do that.

Bless her little heart, when I told her how it makes you feel better to talk to about someone that you lost she said that it was like when I talk about Princess, my old family dog who died long before The Big One was born.  She had tears in her eyes when she told me that she loved Princess too because of all of the stories my Mom and I tell her.  It was so sweet.  She is just that kind of child.  She feels everything, for everyone.  While that can be a wonderful attribute, it can also make like a little harder sometimes, like right now.

It was a difficult day.  Hopefully tomorrow will be a little better, and each day we can gain back a little of her independence.  I will dote on her a little extra each day, and make sure she knows I love her, and am here for her.  I will always be here for her, as long as I am here.  I love The Girls more than anything in this world, and if it means turning on their bath water when they are 17, and they just need me, so be it.  That's what moms do when you hurt.  We kiss it and make it better.  The Big One got lots and lots of kisses today, and has lots more coming in the days to come.

I don't have a baby anymore

My heart is happy/sad. My baby has gotten bigger. The Little One is officially potty trained. While I know posting this may result in a few accidents, I think it is time to admit the fact that she isn't in diapers, and face the reality that she is a big girl, now.

It makes me sad. The Little One is my last little one, unless we have a miracle. So, knowing, and admitting, that she isn't a baby anymore is hard.

We took down the crib a few months ago, too. The baby toys are going this month, in the post Christmas clean out to make room for new things. She is just growing up so fast.

I'm glad that she is growing into the funny, wonderful, intelligent person that she is, but sometimes, I still miss my sweet snugly baby. I guess all the money we used to spend on pull-ups will just have to buy me a chai tea latte to cheer me up.

Happy Birthday Big One

Today is the Big One's Birthday! I can't believe how big she is!!

It seems like just yesterday that I was bringing her home from the hospital. I will never forget our ride home with her.

We have a tiny little car, and I didn't ride in the back with her. So, with both of us upfront, we couldn't really see her. We didn't know about baby mirrors at that point. Anyway, I kept my hand on her, reaching back for her, the whole time. At some point, she stopped moving and making sounds. The Husband and I both sort of freaked out. I couldn't tell if she was breathing or anything. He tried to check her, and couldn't tell either. We began to panic and actually pulled over on the side of the road, jumped out and checked on her. Of course, the baby was asleep. Sound asleep. No one told us that babies sleep in cars. Our families were far away, and here we were with a new born, all by ourselves. How silly it all seems now. She spent many, many hours in that car sleeping in her car seat. In fact, we would often just get in the car, late at night, and take her for a ride and put her to sleep when nothing else worked. It would be just us, and the MPs driving around the base at 1am on a week night. We all survived her infancy, though, and that is what counts.

Now, she is such a character. She is absolutely 6 going on 17. She is all about the drama and attitude. She is the quintessential blond who lives on a different plane of awareness from the rest of us. She is also very intelligent. She is emotionally in tune with people. She loves animals. She has a heart of gold, and would do anything for you she could. She is an amazing young lady, and I am proud of her all the time.

We love you, Big One. Happy Birthday.

Maybe the 3rd time....

Today, we went to have pictures made for my little one's 2nd birthday, and spring pictures of both girls.

If you read my previous post, this was actually our second appointment. The first one didn't quite pan out thanks to the little ones sense of adventure.

So, today, I planned carefully to make sure we would have the time to get out and take the pictures. I laid out the clothes. When time came to pick the big one up, I drove to get her, as opposed to walking like we normally do. It saved about 15 minutes. We needed those minutes.

As soon as we get home, I rush both girls in. I give the big one a washcloth, which I had laying beside the door ready to go, and shove her in the bathroom with quick "Pee and wash now" instructions.

I get all the bags with extra outfits we need. I take the coupons, and make sure everything is good to go. As soon as the big one comes out, we get shoes, and we are ready to go.

I rush like mad to get to the place. Of course, the photo studio I prefer is about 20 minutes away. Naturally, the little one falls asleep on the way. Not a problem, she will have at least 30 minutes to nap between the car ride, and the time it will take to get us in, if she will sleep in the stroller.

Once we get there, I get everything ready so that I can get the little one out, and jut roll on in. She stays asleep. Cool. More nap time. She should be good to go once we get in.

I rush to the portrait studio, only to find out that I was too early, and had my appointment time wrong. I still had about 15 minutes to go. The big one wants to sit in the waiting room with all the other kids. So, the little one and I, who is still out, do circles around the entrance.
Our 15 minutes, even though it really was only about 15, felt like a good year, but it did eventually pass.

I send the big one on in, and she is stoked. My big ham is ready for some pictures. She has always been fantastic at having pictures made. In all of her life, there have only been 2 times she wasn't great at it. The first was because I had just pinched her belly in her car seat, and she wasn't happy about that. The second was because the young man assisting the photographer was so incredibly flamboyant, that she couldn't focus on the photographer. I had a hard time focusing,because he was just too much. So, I can't imagine how hard it was for an 18 month old. Anyway, like usual, the big one is good to go.

I grab the little one, and pull her out of the stroller. Immediately, I get the grouch face. I mean the serious grouch face. Crap. This does not bode well for us. I try to set her down, and the tears start. No. No. We came all this way. For another 15 minutes, that felt nearly as long as the first one, the photographer and I tried everything we could think of. That poor woman even put a cupcake on her head, all to no avail. It was absolutely useless. Not even the bribe of ice cream would work. She wasn't having her picture made. The photographer finally looked at me and said " I don't think this is going to happen today".
She was right. I apologized, and rescheduled for next week, at a better time. I packed up our stuff, put stinky shoes back on both girls, and got out of there.
I was totally defeated by a 2 year old. Ugg.

Of course, just so you know, this is where the big one started to cry because she didn't get her picture taken. No really. She did. So, both of them are upset, and I'm frazzled. I fixed it all pretty quickly, though. I bought big soft pretzels. Those seem to solve everything for us.

I'm hoping against hope for a better go around next week. If not, I'm just going to ask for some crying shots, because that is all there will be.

When she looks through her pictures 30 years from now, I will be sure to tell her of all the trouble it took to get her 2 year pictures, and remind her that it will all come back to her eventually. Then, one day, when she calls me to complain about how hard it was to get the pictures of her own children, I'll just sit back, listen, and laugh.

No pictures for us.

I think that if my life since having children were a play, it would have to be a farce.

A farce is a comedy written for the stage or film which aims to entertain the audience by means of unlikely, extravagant, and improbable situations, disguise and mistaken identity, verbal humour of varying degrees of sophistication, which may include sexual innuendo and word play, and a fast-paced plot whose speed usually increases, culminating in an ending which often involves an elaborate chase scene. Farce is also characterized by physical humour, the use of deliberate absurdity or nonsense, and broadly stylized performances.

That would be us. If you have ever seen my girls race around my kitchen island, which gives me heart palpitations, you would know that we could even include the chase scenes.

Today is the little one's birthday. She is two. That makes me both happy and sad, but that is for another post. Here, we are are going to focus on one of yet another improbable situations that make our lives a farce.

I like to have birthday portraits made on my child's actual birthday. I know that can often be a lofty ambition, as birthdays tend to be pretty hectic, but this one was set up perfectly. The big one has half days at school and would actually be able to go at a reasonable time. We were set. I got the confirmation call from the studio this morning, to make sure we would be there, and I did confirm. I spent a couple of hours early this morning going through all of the clothes that I had saved for posterity, looking for the dress the big one wore for her second birthday pictures. I had packed it away, thinking the little one wouldn't be able to wear it, but she can. So, I dug it out, managed to find the matching bloomers, and everything. Then, I got a second outfit that would match for both of them ready. Just as I was laying the clothes on the big one's bed, I hear a scream. I turn, and the little one, who had been rocking in their rocking chair, was now stuck in it. She decided to try to slip out the side of the chair, in the hole from the arm, Dukes of Hazzard style. She did really well, and managed to get her body out, but her head was stuck. Actually, she even got most of her head out. She was completely wedged in at her forehead. It took me a second to get her to be calm and still enough that I could lift her up from the bottom, and then work her out. In that time, she managed to give herself a pretty nasty mark.

I didn't cancel the pictures right away. I held out hope that the mark would soften. It does look better, but now it is a big red raised place. So, after nap, when it still wasn't looking passable for pictures, I tried every kind of makeup that I had on my baby. Nothing would cover. I needed some of that green makeup that blends out redness in skin, but I don't have it anymore.

So, I had to call, apologize, and change our pictures. I guess it might be better, though. Now, I can take the girls to play outside for a while, maybe even take the bubble machine along for fun. Then go get them something yummy to eat, before we get an ice cream cake for dessert.

I'll take a few myself in her big pretty pink dress. Hey, I bought Photo shop for a reason. The ones I take won't have any red marks, one way or another. They may not be as good as the ones I get taken, but they sure are lovingly retouched. = )

All in all, I'm sure it will still be great birthday with my two injury prone girls.

So am I old, or not?

My oldest is quite into the fact that the little one is starting to potty train. In her mind, this is the step where she becomes a big girl, and they will start to be more alike, do the same things, and so on. I think the older one believes that once the little one is out of diapers, they will suddenly have the same interests, as though an age gap has disappeared.

When we were discussing potty training, on the way to buy pull ups for the first time, the older one got confused about their ages.
"So, when Ava turns five, I will be 6?"

"No, babe. When Ava turns 5, you will be 8."

"Eight?? I will be eight years old?" The idea of being 8 seemed absolutely unbelievable to my 5 year old. She acted like I had just said 100.

"Then, not long after that you will turn 9."

"Nine?? I will turn nine years old. Wow. That is a lot of years."

Harumph. Nine is not a lot of years.

"No. Nine isn't a lot at all. You won't be old. Nine isn't old, even 29, like momma isn't old, huh?"

For those of you who are not in the know, yes, I have my daughter convinced that I just turned 29, again.

"No, mom. Twenty-nine isn't old."

Have I told you all how much I love that child??

Of course, then the little one has to join in.

"Momma old."

"What? Momma isn't old. Ava, 29 isn't old. Momma isn't old, right Lilly?"

"No, mom, you aren't old."

And in comes the wee one, yet again, to tear me down.

"Yes, momma old."

The conversation went on. The big one and I agree that I'm not old, but the little one is adamant that I am. Not sure if she remembers who buys the Dora gummy snacks around here, or not, but she needs to recognize. Ok. Sorry. I couldn't resist that one.

None the less, having your baby tell you that are old isn't very nice. It can really hurt. She will likely be my last baby, unless we are granted some kind of miracle, too. So, she really has the power to make me feel both old and young at the same time. I'm sure over the course of our lives, this will be far from the last time she makes me feel old. I just wish it didn't start at the age of 1.

Losing Friends

Sometimes, I really wish that I could be more like my five year old. She fights with her best friends all the time. They fight over everything. If someone gets left out of a game, because there aren't enough pieces, or one of them says they don't like the sand box anymore, they fight. They tell each other they can't be friends anymore, and one dis invites the other to an upcoming birthday party. Then the other does the same. It is heated and terrible, and hurtful for them. The great thing about being five, though, is that just a few minutes later, or maybe the next morning at most, it is all over and done with. Everyone loves everyone again, and we are all coming to the next birthday party.

I am amazed at how quickly these kids can forgive, and truly let go of the hurt. If we as adults could behave as such, the world would be a different place.

Tonight, I wish I could behave as such. I wish I could have talked to my friend who just called, instead of sitting on the phone, crying silently into a paper towel, because my feelings are hurt so badly by something she did.

I wish I could just forgive and be happy in our friendship, but I can't. I'm just not in that place. I don't know how long it will take me to let go of the hurt, or if I can, but I hope so. I want to be happy with her again. I want to celebrate with her again. I want to see her and be overjoyed for her and her big day tomorrow, but right now, I can't.

Maybe one of these days, instead of becoming more mature about the whole thing, I will act a little more immature, and take cues from my own child. I hope that like Pook does, I will just let go, and tell her that she is my best friend again even if she left me out of her game. I miss my best friend.

Ack! I need a career!

Last night, I was chatting with someone, and discussing my future plans. Though I am a stay at home mom (who is never home) right now, I have always planned on returning to the paid version of the working world once all of my children start attending school. During my discussion, I said something to the other person about my youngest starting school in 3 years.

Wow.

That means I have 3 years to be ready to go back to work. While that may seem like a long time, it really isn't when you consider what all I have to do.

First, and I truly hope this comes as a shock to those who read my fabulously well written posts, I have yet to earn a college degree. Though I did start, I never finished. Now, there has been such a time lag in between starting and the time that I am ready to go back, that I believe I will have to start all over again. I have 3 years. It generally takes a bit longer than that to get a 4 year degree. That doesn't bode well for me being ready.

Before I can even go back to school, though, I have to decide what I want to be when I grow up. I haven't figured that out yet. Perhaps I should have years ago, but I really just don't know. I have so many things that I would like to do, I don't know that I can make a decision. This is going to be a long process, and over the last few years, in particular since I became a mother and then started running a few community based organizations, the experiences and interest in different career paths keeps changing. Ugg. Choosing a career path isn't easy.

Then, I have to find the time and money to actually get back in school. Along with, of course, finding a school. I think I have some of that covered, thanks to my husbands GI Bill. I am very thankful that the contribution of a military spouse was recognized in this aspect, and what we are now able to use our spouses GI Bill, if they don't. Sp, at least that makes things easier. The time might be an issue, but I think I can handle it. It really comes down to where. I don't think I will be able to handle a tradition class room based school, as I am functioning like a single parent right now. A poor one who can't afford a baby sitter all the time, at that. So, it looks like I will have to go the internet route. Not problem, as long as I can find a good school to attend.

At least I know that over the last few years, I have been building experience. I am a Community Organizer. If that can work on your Presidential resume, then I think it will be good enough to fill in my gaps on my little resume.

Still, experience building aside, I need to get hopping on this one. I need a degree, and I need it now. I want to be ready to go back to the workforce, and be able to help pay bills, not by just writing the check, but by actually contributing to the money pool they get paid from. That would be great.

So, I think I'll be career shopping for the next few weeks. Maybe, since I seemed to have missed this in high school, I can even try to hit up a local school's career day. Ok. Maybe not, but some how I need to figure out what I want to be, and actually get cracking on it.

Anyone know of a great career where you get paid lots and lots of money, but don't have to work a full 8 hour day, or be in before 10am?

She did it!!

I don't want to jinx myself, but....the little one is asleep!! Can you feel my joy?? I am so excited!! She just lay down, and went to sleep. She ask me for her pa once, and I told her no. She whined for about a minute or two, and went to sleep!!!

It is too early for me to sleep too, or I would. I have no idea what I am going to go do right now, but this is so cool!!!!

Thanks for sharing in my moment!!