The Power of Surprise

For reasons I won't go into Sam and I went to IKEA late yesterday to get a new stand for our TV. If you've never been to IKEA, it's Swedish-inspired housewares, on the cheap. In my mind there are several reasons why IKEA is cheap. First, no one helps you. You could buy hundreds of pounds of merchandise and they give you your boxes and some twine and send you on your way. Most of the time you have to check yourself out. Secondly, you have to assemble everything. You could buy a box at IKEA and it would come in four boxes.

Today we 'reserved' our TV stand, which meant we would pay for the item then take the receipt to 'cash and carry,' where they would wheel the item to a loading dock so we could load it - ourselves. After we bought a $2 nightlight and a $4 tray we headed to cash and carry.

Since there was a 15-minute wait I went ahead and wheeled our tray and night light to the dock, got the car, parked in one of the precious few spots, locked the car and headed back in to get the TV stand. About that time I was approached by a Kris Kristofferson-esque man: "Did you see my carts when you pulled in here?"

What I thought he meant was "I put my carts here and now they are gone" but what he actually meant was "Do you realize I had this parking spot reserved because I left my carts here on the curb?"

"Actually, no. I didn't see them. Do you want me to move my car?" There was a free space two spots over. My offer was sincere, but I really didn't think he'd take me up on it.

"Yes I would. I really don't want to have to move my carts. Is that all you have?" he asked me.

My normal, sarcastic self would've said "Yes, it is. I took up this spot in the loading dock so I wouldn't have to walk across the parking lot with my tray and night light."

But instead I remained calm. "No, I have furniture boxes."

But I conceded and moved my car over two spaces.

"What are you doing?" Sam wanted to know. He was ready to go home and this was an unwanted delay.

"That man asked me to move my car. He thinks I took his parking space. I think he is being rude."

"But why do you have to move?" Sam asked.

"Because he's an asshole." I unfortunately replied.

I moved the car and after a 15-minute wait they brought out my TV stand - in two large boxes. I was able to load the first one easily - it was big but light. The second box was a different story. Not only was it heavy, but it was 7 feet long. I stood it on its end and tried 'twisting' it from the loading dock to the car. About the time I hefted one end into the car, someone tapped me on the shoulder.

"Let me help you."

It was him.

"I was very rude to you earlier. The least I can do is help you with this."

"I understand. I've been there. But I appreciate the help."

"No, it's not. I'd been in that store 4 hours and I was frustrated and I was rude."

He helped me load the last box. Then he got in the car and made sure both boxes were secure.

When he got out I thanked him again, shook his hand and told him I hoped his day would get better.

As we drove away Sam said, "That was nice of him to apologize."

And I told him, yes, it is. It was wrong of him to be rude, but it was wrong of me to so quickly criticize him. IKEA has that affect on people.

As we drove home I thought what I would say to him if I could redo the conversation. I think I would've said "Thank you for the apology. I am sorry too. Thank you for letting my son see us resolve this peacefully. Thank you for letting him see you apologize and doing something chivalrous. Thank you for letting him see me not lose my cool and be gracious."

Now if I could just take back the 'asshole' part.

Milestones, Plural

This has been a big week for Sam. He lost his first tooth over the weekend. It had been wiggly for some time, and the permanent tooth was actually through behind it, but it took some roughhousing with his friend Garrett to finally knock the loose tooth out. We never did find it so I convinced Sam he should write an apology note to the Tooth Fairy. He drew her a charming portrait and wrote:

Dear Tooth Fairy, I lost my tooth. I'm sorry. It will not happen again. I told Tegwyn I was sorry. Respectfully, Sam Romine

Tegwyn was a tooth monster I bought on etsy that holds the tooth and the resulting loot. We slipped the note in Tegwyn's gaping mouth, and sure enough, the Tooth Fairy accepted the apology and left $4, the exact amount Sam thought he deserved for a first tooth, albeit one he couldn't produce.

And then, this week he rode his 2-wheel bike for the first time. He got a nice new bike for Christmas but he's been practicing on his older, littler bike. And while it is somewhat frustrating trying to teach someone something that 'kind of just comes to you,' I found it entertaining. All in all it didn't take that long. When it finally clicked he pedalled all the way down the alley. Then it was down and back 8 times. It was bittersweet to give him that last push and watch him go farther and faster, without my help.

If I stretch it a little, I think there's a metaphor about parenting in there somewhere. You stand there, exhilarated at the achievement, breathless as they wobble and wind, and while you are yelling "Pedal, pedal, pedal" you are also thinking "Come back, come back, come back."

Your Mama's So Dumb ....

Bryon's been out of town the past couple of mornings, which means I have to get all the kids ready to leave by 7:40 or so in order to get Sam to school on time. I suppose I could just get Jake and Abby in the car and come back home after drop off to get them ready, but when you've got momentum you have to use it.

Most of the morning went well. I guess. The dog ate the first round of breakfast I put on the table, but since Jake didn't want his anyway, Sam wanted cold cereal and Abby likes untoasted Pop Tarts, it doesn't take much effort to make a second breakfast. Second obstacle - Jake wanted to wear his bathrobe over his clothes. (Fine. At least he agreed to get dressed.)

So at 7:48, two minutes before the bell rings, we pulled out of the driveway even though Jake refused to sit down and buckle his seat belt. He bounced around the car for a second before yelling at me to stop the car.

"Jake we are going to be late. You have 10 seconds to sit down and buckle your seat belt."

"You have 10 seconds to stop being stupid!" he told me.

And my witty response, honed from nearly 40 years of experience.

"Yeah? Well!"

My Guilty Valentine

I had planned to take off Friday, February 13 to run a slew of errands, do a slew of housework and maybe see a movie, but round about 11, just when I was gaining momentum, the nurse at Sam's school called and asked me to come get him. He'd been battling the flu early last week and apparently it hung on longer. So, suddenly, my day of errands and cleaning and movie watching became whatever I could fit in around Sam's need to eat and rest.

We made a quick trip to the grocery store for that night's dinner and for the ingredients for Jell-O Jigglers, the treat I had signed up to bring to Abby's school Valentine's Day party. We ate lunch, I did some laundry, made a pot roast and the Jigglers and at 3 p.m. we headed to Jake and Abby's school for their parties. Their school is about five miles away, with traffic a 15-minute drive, but I swear it took me 30 minutes to get there. In addition to the Jigglers, 60 valentines and four teachers' gifts I was toting two vases of flowers. I had to hold them in my right hand the whole way so they wouldn't spill. (I have no idea how they got them home.)

When we got to school we went straight to Abby's room because they were expecting the Jigglers. (If I can digress, toddlers go berserk for Jigglers.) After spending 15 minutes we headed down the hall to Jake's class.

Three of the four snack tables were stripped of their holiday decorations. But the fourth table still had its strips of red and white crepe paper and heart decorations. And sitting at that table, alone, was Jake, with his plate of garish cookies and cheese curls and juice.

"He said he won't start without you," his teacher told me.

I apologized profusely. He didn't buy it. After a few minutes he said he wanted to go home.

For most of the night he was sullen. At the dinner table, during High/Low, he said his low was that I missed his party. I said that was my low too, but by this point I was the one was crying. I don't think I'll ever forget that face ... genuine heartbreak.

Soon enough Jake calmed down but now I was the one who was weepy. Bryon convinced him to give me a hug, so he shuffled into the kitchen, hugged my legs and said, "I'm sorry you missed my party."

It made me feel a little better. A little.

My Funny Valentine

I love this kid.

A Good Day ... For a 2-Year-Old

Abby was in a particularly good mood when I picked her up last night. The kind of good mood that made me sad I spent the entire day away from her. And apparently she was in a good mood all day, according to the note her teacher left in her cubby. I had to laugh when I read it - I wish my good days were this easy and everyone, including me, was as excited about my "accomplishments."

What A Lovely Singing Voice You Must Have

Every Sunday from 4-5 I take Sam to church for choir practice. His choir is made up of about 25 kindergartners and first graders, and even though they only sing a few times during the year, they practice every Sunday. I signed up to be a choir mom, which simply means I sit there during choir and take kids to and from the bathroom so the choir teacher doesn't have to. But it has become one of my favorite parts of the week. For one, it gives me some alone time with Sam. But it is entertaining to watch the kids practice and learn.

Each week they practice a little for an upcoming performance but they also do a lot of singing games and inevitably I end up humming these tunes throughout the week. Today they sang a little tune "Messenger, messenger, do you have a letter? Messenger, messenger, do you have a letter? I can hardly wait to see what is in the mail for me?"

On the way home Sam mentioned he was a little sick to his stomach. I thought he was probably hungry and tired, although he did look quite puny.

"Are you going to throw up?" I asked.

"I don't think so."

I went back to singing ... "Messenger, messenger, do you have a letter?"

"But I might if you don't quit singing."

The Answer Is Yes

Years ago I read some advice from a mom who found the best time to get her son to talk about his day was right before bedtime. He was sleepy, less guarded, less distracted, and she found he was often open and honest.

Our bedtimes are usually too hectic for heart to hearts but I did find myself in a similar situation yesterday.

It was a beautiful, unseasonably warm day so I decided to walk Tag to Sam's school to pick him up.

Sam was a little dismayed when he saw us. He was tired, his feet hurt and he was thirsty - not good when facing a 20-minute walk home.

So I proposed that we walk slow, enjoy the sun and the fresh air and the exercise. About 10 minutes from home, when we had all slowed considerably, Sam said, "When I'm 10 or 13, I have a question I'm going to ask you."

I was curious and a little anxious.

"Well, how about you ask me now. It sounds like a big question. I might need some time to think of an answer."

"Do you think I will be a good man when I grow up?"

I stopped to hug him. "Yes. I think you will be a good man."

"'Cause I just want to be a good man and a regular guy."

I don't know what prompted the question. He implied he'd had some nightmares lately. But I've also noticed he has become a lot more observant and aware and perceptive. I think he is more cognizant of the ups and downs of the Romine family than one might think. And not that he needs to be sheltered from those ups and downs - that's reality - but I do need to consider all that sweet little head grapples with each day. It's not all Star Wars and Oreo Cakesters.

Looking Up

Occasionally there are signs that Jake is growing out of his temper tantrums. Don't get me wrong, he still has his wobblers - I think he will always be quick to anger - but as he gets older he is more able to recognize a meltdown before it reaches the point of no return.

Like this morning. He was lolly gagging through breakfast so after his plate of pancakes sat untouched for 30 minutes I rinsed it off and put it in the dishwasher. When he noticed the plate was gone, he started to lose it.

"But I wasn't finished. There were pancakes left!" he whined.

"Actually, Jakey, there weren't any pancakes, just syrup. Maybe the dog ate the last ones. You didn't really want anymore anyway, did you?"

He thought for a minute. Then he closed his agape mouth, turned around and went back to his Clone Wars toys.

Several minutes later he was standing on the dining room chair so I could help him with his clothes. We were face to face. He put his hands on my shoulders, looked me straight in the eye and said, "I know you're lyin' about the pancakes."

Hey Lady

One of my unfortunate nicknames for Abby is Lady or Lady Friend. I say unfortunate because it reminds me more of an old-fashioned term your home economics teacher would've used for your period than a term of endearment for your daughter. But every once in awhile "Hey Lady" happens.

Like yesterday. It was a potentially warm and sunny morning and I decided Jake and Abby needed a water/sand table. We quickly dressed, went to Target, and picked up the first water/sand table we found, along with some buckets, watering cans and plastic fish ("so they can be dead in the water," Jake told me.)

The whole trip was running less than an hour. We went to the express lane and were checking out when an impatient woman pulled in behind us. The kids were excited about their toys. They wanted in the cart, out of the cart, to push the cart, to ride on the cart. The box was unwieldy. Apparently we were taking too much time. About the same time my transaction finished and the woman behind pushed her cart precariously close to mine, Abby decided to climb out of her seat.

"Hold on there Lady!" I said. To Abby. But the woman behind me didn't know that. Rather than explain, I got our stuff together, corralled the kids and left.

I was actually feeling a little embarrassed on the way to the car. "So what if she thinks I was talking to her. I wasn't," I thought.

But you know what. "Hold on there" is right. I'm sorry if my excited kids are delaying your enjoyment of your newly purchased Mint Milanos, handbag and lawn chair. It's Saturday. Unless you're a heart surgeon on your way to Baylor, lighten up ... Lady!