Privacy at Any Cost

Everyone knows that kids have a catastrophic effect on privacy. It comes with the territory. I see first time moms walking along in late term pregnancies and think two things: "Awww, God Bless;" and "Kiss peeing uninterrupted goodbye for 19-21 years."

For all the joy my sons bring me (and they do, really, that's just not a juicy blog fodder), there are times I feel like running out the front door just hear myself think. Their keen sense of timing would make the most seasoned comic green with envy. Going to bathroom? Major crisis will strike the playroom. Disrobed and one foot in the shower? Nope. You must stop and explain the logisitics of how Santa can monitor every child in evey house, regardless of location. Benevolent gift-giver, or tech-savy voyeur? We'll discuss that at another time. Think you can actually get through a phone call with a major client or close family member? BAH! Funny how the dog opens the door himself at exactly that point to tour the neighborhood.

Today I'm heading off on what is veiled as retrivieing Son1 from his Sea Cadet camp. Sure, he needs to be picked up, but that's only part of it. He's in Norfolk, seven hours from our NJ abode. Each way. With I95 in my future. Alone. And I'm willingly hopping in to the car and will  bask in the glow of "Do you see what lengths your father and I go through for you two?"

And why will I do this to myself? P-R-I-V-A-C-Y. Solitude. Quiet. Phone conversations without little ears tuning in like CIA agents. Complete ownership of the radio with its recently loaded satellite 80's New Wave Channel. This is what life has come to for me. I'm willing to send my sons (because 11yr old Son2 had his Norfolk excursion last week) seven hours away simply so I have some peace and quiet. Oh, quit judging me!

I'm getting ready to pack the car, and still need to get Son2 off to his day camp before heading off, but am already kind of psyched for the quiet enclosure of my Volkswagon for today's trek. There are even stretches where the cell coverage is spotty, so that may not be chiming away. True, unmitigated quiet. Ahhhhh. Can you hear that? Hear what, you ask? Hear- NOTHING. That will be me. No one to whine when I stop for gas. No one to rapid fire sixteen questions while I shower. No one to knock on the bathroom door every time nature calls me. Hell, I might stop to use the restroom when I don't have to just to enjoy the silence. Then tonight, I'll stay in a hotel and fully control the remote, have dinner where I choose, and enjoy a leisurely shower. Dear Hampton Inn of Smithfield: Please do not be alarmed if you hear room 232's shower running 6.25 hours. Really, it's all good.

In the end, this is really a continuation of the chapter that starts when the kids are very young and parents drive for hours around their own block just to help a crying baby in a car seat fall asleep. The car is still a refuge. For today, it's my private, quiet space with my beloved 80's music and six cup holders.

Last Man/ Dog/ Hermit Crab Standing

Well, it’s coming down the wire here. Hubs heads out of town tomorrow for a five day ride with a group of buds to New England. This will leave me in charge of the home front, encompassing Sons 1 and 2, two dogs, two hermit crabs, a turtle (I think we still have a turtle?), and three elaborate tropical fish tanks. I can’t really say who or what will be left standing (or swimming) by the time he returns. My bets are on the crafty, survival-savvy Son2, the 7 yr old labradoodle, and at least one hermit crab.

As crazy-hectic as the afternoons or evenings can be with activities and the random late night of work thrown in, the part of the day I most dread will be the mornings. Hubs is simply superb in the morning. He was made to rise with the sun. I was made to rise when the sun was two time zones past my own and someone else had started the coffee and walked the dogs. I know this makes me sound lazy. It’s not the doing I mind, I just mind doing them each first thing out of bed. I’m going to be playing a man down against a really skilled, super conniving, dare I say hostile, team in a match that drags on longer than cricket.

It’s really hard to say if 13yr old teen angst will afford both Son1 and me the opportunity to survive five days without the hubs as a buffer. Hubs hasn’t even fired up the bike yet, and I’ve already gotten two rounds of, “so wait, it’s just you with us? Or can we go to Grandma’s?” Um, yeah, just me. Thanks. The boy opens his eyes and the complaints fly in quick succession. He is not a morning person, and any of you whose lives are touched by ADHD know it takes a wee bit for all systems to be a pharmaceutical go. This would be OK were I a morning person. But I am so not. And so in lies the rub. If Son1 and I can successfully survive five mornings of “Rise and Shine and quit giving me that obnoxious attitude and speak to me like a human being not a slave or hard-of-hearing ATM, or you’re on your bed for five afternoons,” we’re golden. If he mouths off too much while I am in my pre-caffeinated state Armageddon may come to our town.  On the flip side, afternoons on the bed will provide solid blocks of summer reading time. Hmmmm….

Son2 can be just as annoying in the mornings, but for reverse reasons. At 11, he’s still a natural early riser, and wakes up like a jolt of energy. It’s like someone pours Red Bull down his throat thirty minutes prior to waking, so he is inherently on a higher energy arc than I could hope to be. And he is the worst thing a morning person could be to a non-morning person upon waking: he’s chipper. He expects chipper back. Are you crazy? Please just go watch TV while I curse a blue streak at the toaster, ok? I do want to see your artwork and hear the songs you’ve made up, but I’m not equipped to appreciate their subtle nuances at 6:45am. Be a dear and go watch Tom & Jerry beat the hell out of each other. Thanks.

I’m clueless with the fish. I can’t even tell you when we got so many fish. The people at PetSmart must love hubs as much as I do. The fish department manager surely must. Hubs probably earned this guy a company car or sales trip to Hawaii. When he goes away (hubs I mean, not the overly-reward PetSmart guy), I am left with very detailed instructions on food amounts, water treatments, lights on lights out, pump checking blah blah blah. In reality I stare blankly at the tank and mutter, “um, ok, pinch of this, pinch of that, please don’t die.” And then I wait to see if any are floating at the top the next day. No floaters= successful fish parenting in my book. I wonder if he’s taking inventory before he goes away? I should really slip the 11 yr old some extra coin this week to watch the fish, now that I think about it. He’s kind of bonded with the hubs over their care, while Son1 and I get caught up bickering over whether the introduction of the eel has skirted my “NO snakes!” rule.

At least one hermit crab will survive, but only due to Son2’s intervention and observation. His detail orientation has helped them survive and thrive a whopping 3.5 weeks now. Now that I think of it, they’ll probably each survive thanks to his diligence.

So, all this brings us to the dogs. The lab is a goofy, 4yr old, 90lb hulk who works himself into panic attack every time a threatening, ninja-like chipmunk scampers up the drive. Heaven forbid a truly ferocious looking squirrel runs along the patio. You’d think we were being invaded. I’m pretty sure he’ll make it through the five days, but probably a little hungry since hubs feeds him as part of the morning routine. I’ll delegate it Son1, who, in true Son1 fashion, will forget to feed the dog. At times I think he forgets we have a dog even when said dog is sitting right in front of him. The labradoodle will survive very nicely. She’s the brains of the outfit among all household dependents, and will have the foresight to escape the house early on, meander to the elderly couple across the street, Ralph and Alice, who adore her sweet nature, and live the high life in their backyard. Yes, they really are “Ralph and Alice.”

I’ve been to the Ralph and Alice’s house. She’d be pretty clever to hide there till hubs returns. It’s quiet with lots of booze. One or two mornings of teen attitude, and I think I’ll join her!

It Just Doesn't Need to Be This Long

I was trying to run a webinar from the comfort of my new office today, when who should come stumbling in but Son1 and Son2. Hubs had a lunch meeting, and for no reason I understand, the town’s summer program was not running this morning “for the holiday.” Sorry? Did we move to Canada last night? July Fourth is our day. MONDAY. They day I don't have a webinar scheduled with an overseas crew. So in the door they stroll (loudly), sent in by hubs with lunch to enjoy before heading to the lake, which is open for afternoon. Thank you, God.

While fumbling left and right with mute buttons and timing synchs, we also had a Mountain Dew explode on the conference table (“all by itself”) and then topple over onto a chair (“by accidentally”). Note to self: grammar tutor for the 13 year old, STAT. I’ve long bemoaned the insanely long summer vacation our kids get. If we’re falling behind every industrialized country in math and science, why the hell are my kids not IN SCHOOL.

To really grasp how long this crazy educational hiatus is, all 110640 minutes/ 1844 hours/ 76 days/ 10.857142857143 weeks of it, I will share with you the scale of what you could accomplish in this span were your kids not driving you insane:

Select your preferred activty:

• Mix, bake, cool, and ice 31,239 cupcakes
• Jetski from San Diego, California to Papua New Guinea 9.346 times
• Welp a litter of puppies, and have 2 ½ weeks to spare
• Walk the Appalachian Trail 2.27657 times. Go for 3.3891 times if you choose not to sleep.
• Listen to the song American Pie 12,815 times
• Watch 5,029 episodes of Sex and The City. I don’t know, I really think the Samantha character could get a little stale by episode 3,210, but that’s just me.
• Ride “It’s A Small World” 10,537 times
• Be arrested, arraigned, sentenced, serve 5 days and 1,000 community service after the violent spree that many rounds of “It’s A Small World” would trigger… and STILL have a week left
• Read “War and Peace” 12.3 times.
• Order Rosetta Stone, learn fundamental Russian, and read it in native language 1.7 times.
• Get to the center of a Tootsie Roll Tootsie Pop 3,951 times by licking only
• Perform 1,053 liposuction procedures. Hey wait a minute, we may be on to something after all.
• Create 623 really amazing dioramas, thus seeing your child and every child in your community through from Kindergarten through 5^th grade.

And my personal summer vacation favorite:

• Blend and drink 2,688 margaritas. I’ve adjusted this down from 3,688 to allow “sleep off time.” Without it the blender may get a little hazardous. Safety first!

Yet in reality, my 11 and 13 year old will be lucky to simply get through 2-3 summer reading books a piece, and avoid being trampled in a fit of rage by my Roomba-vacuum-wielding hubs, crazed at the sand in the house again from the lake’s beach. And it’s only July 1.

Now, again, I ask you…. Why the hell do they get ALL this time off???

Why 3-Ring Binders Are Giving Me a Buzz

At 8:30 this morning, I began one of the happiest tasks of my entire year. It’s a seasonal joy that ranks up there with trimming the Christmas tree, planting the Spring flowers, or stocking the beach bag. I am bursting with a joy that needs to be shared. I organized the back-to-school-supplies! I think I have a buzz.

A few years ago, Staples had a commercial that became an instant classic. You probably know the one I mean, with Andy Williams singing “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year” as a dad gleefully filled the cart. Yeah. Right now I’m that dad. Between rotating camp schedules, kids who think they should be entertained 24/7, and every pop-up road trip being marred by record-level road construction, I’m done. I love summer. LOVE it. Always have. But now I am embracing September as the perfect month. I’ll jack up the heat and whirl up a margarita if I need a summery smile. I gotta tell ya it would have to be some pretty solid Cuervo to make me feel as giddy as I do this moment writing Son1’s name on 27 places on folders, binders, and sundry supplies that’ll be lost in week anyway.

The only time I can recall feeling this happy for school related reasons was when late August meant back to college time. I attribute it to the feeling of impending freedom I felt. Right now, I’m less than 24 hours from freedom… freedom to go to work and know that from 8:45 through 3:00, my kids are in one place for recurring days and weeks, with no ride or pickup needed midday. Just off in the morning, and clear sailing until late afternoon when there’s an after school program. What’s more, next week, it will be exactly the same thing. And the week after that. And the week after that. For months on end, my days will be more predictable. Including their transit time, and barring any calls from the principal, school nurse, or school disciplinarian, I can rely on seven hours of just work time. It just took me five minutes to type that sentence because I was laughing too much to keep my fingers on the keyboard.

I won’t be spending days relaxing in the backyard, gardening, or jogging midday. I really am this stupid-happy at the mere thought of sitting in my office sure in the knowledge my 12 year old is accounted for, for nearly a full business day each day. No one can call and ask me something his father answered two seconds before. No one can call three times to ask if I take them bowling, to a movie, to Six Flags. It will be bliss. I may finally get work done. I’m especially looking forward to nearly eight tattle-free hours, since people in my office usually don’t unravel into whinefests of allegations over missing Wii controllers. They also won’t normally race to the laser printer tackling each other to make sure they got the last copy of whatever was sitting there.

There’s a bit of delusion tucked inside my euphoria, a little inflated optimism. There’s something so promising about all the clean binders, untorn folders, and unchewed pen caps. I know in a week this stuff will all look like it was run over by a truck. I know my color coding system for each subject will be totally ignored. Well I shouldn’t say totally. Son1 will ignore it. Son2, Felix to his brother’s Oscar, will take two weeks to develop his own system which will be so elaborate it will look like DNA sequencing while making mine look like three patterns of Garanimals characters. I know I’m going to curse under my breath like a sailor each time a project assignment comes home. I know the wonderfully laid out soccer and tutoring schedule balance will be shot to hell in three weeks, max. But all this can’t kill my buzz. I’m like those people who rack up New Years resolutions that they know are futile but doggedly make them each year.

I also just remembered that as if all that wasn’t enough, this Sunday, church school starts up again. So now we can sit and listen to the service without squirming kids forcing the most highly unchristian thoughts in our heads. September bonus!

It’s official, Mommy’s in her happy place… all week.

Hell Days... Down to the The Home Stretch

Eleven days until the kiddos go back to school. E-lev-en. Almost there... almost to the end. In the home stretch. Steady as she goes. And of those eleven, today is the real watershed moment. Today is the final "in the office day" cranking through tasks before we head out on family vacation. (Insert "Holiday Road" melody courtesy of National Lampoon.) Today is the last office day of this Summer's "Hell Days." These are the hellish days you see on the calendar every year between school dismissal and day camp start, then between day camp end and school return. There are usually a few peppered in the middle of Summer somewhere too. But these long blocks of days, "these are the times that try men's souls." And women's. Even if you don't have kids, trust me, it's a stress bomb rippling through facets of your life too.

"Hell Days" know no time zone, school district, or part of the country. It doesn't matter if your school lets out in May or June. Rest assured, it will conveniently fall 1-2 weeks before your town or local Y can ramp up enough college kids to watch your kids while not texting their own friends their drinking plans for the night. Provided my own sons are safe, I don't begrudge them their good time. In truth, I'm jealously nostalgic about it. I just wish they'd assemble a little earlier. Then, regardless of what college these counselors all attend, the day care option will slam shut 2 weeks before you can safely drop your newly-backpacked kid at the school's door. In all good conscience, you know you can't send them to the school bus stop with lawn chairs and tents to camp out for days like American Idol tryouts. (Sigh) If only.

For working parents, it's more than a basic cost issue, though that is a factor. Beyond hiring and paying for some short-term childcare (assuming you don't have 4+weeks of vacation time), there's the air-traffic control job of knowing who's where, with whom, until what time, with how much spending money. My husband works from home for the most part, so the main juggle falls on him. I know I've got a good thing going there. I delude myself that he is just hyper-happy to see me for the sake of me at the end of the day... as opposed to thrilled to be able to retreat to his office without 50 gillion interruptions of, "Can I/Can we/When are we/ Why can't we? etc etc etc" We save on a babysitter, but he's paying his proofreader through the nose.

I used to think this was only a gripe of working moms, until I started Facebook and saw stay at home moms complaining about trying to entertain way-bored kids for these two week clips. You can only do so many arts and crafts projects at your table, spend so many hours at the community pool it seems before insanity sets in. I get that. I can barely get through Easter egg dying or pumpkin carving without ER visits. Looks like one more area in the mom-debates in which the grass that always seemed greener is now coming into true focus. You want your kids out of your house just as badly as I do.


I said above this affects all, whether you have kids or not. I really feel for anyone working with the general public during his or her region's Hell Days. Imagine the throngs of frazzled moms, bored kids, and dads just internally begging for a cell phone call without screaming in the background. We can't be the easiest consumers to serve. It's just got to suck for you all. I'm sorry. We're just stretched to the ends of our ropes. But, there is light at the end of the tunnel. The Old Navy and Staples sales tell me so daily.

So now, instead of standing around with my kids texting their buddies for drinking plans, all the college students have returned "to classes" (cough, cough) -- to discuss those plans in person. While they've flown off like swallows to San Juan Capistrano, we're dealing with a 10 and a 12 year old crawling the walls expecting constant stimulation and our respective sets of clients expecting their work. Ya know, the work for which we get paid, to afford the constant stimulation? And so, the vicious cycle rolls on.

Lest you think I will do anything to avoid spending quality time with my kids, Sunday starts vacation. I'll go on record now that as two self-employed parents, our vacation does come with iPhones and laptops. WiFi is as much a resort consideration as on-site dining. But, I'm determined to make lasting memories for Son1 & Son2 next week, and focus more on the "mom" part of "working mom."  I'm looking forward to some time away and adore VA where we're heading. We'll toast each other to celebrate the end of Summer reading assignments, enjoy the fleeting weeks of late evening sunlight, and rest up for the impending school projects knowing we have made it through another year of childcare-free Hell Days. And if we barely keep our grip on sanity during vacation with our rambunctious two-some... well, I am happy to report VA has a bustling region of wineries.

I know I should miss my kids

Last weekend, Sons1 & 2 embarked on journeys to that great American nirvana, "sleepaway camp." Sure, convenient would have been the same camp, perhaps the same state at least. Still and all, it's been nearly a week of Son1 & 2-free peace and quiet. Tomorrow, the retrieval begins as the hubs heads to fetch the 10yr old from his NJ camp and I head down to VA for Son1 accompanied by Jersey Diva Grandma. I miss the weasels, I really do. But I'm laying it on the line because we don't mince words in Jersey. I don't miss them enough to want them home this minute.

Think of me what you will. In six days, I have not asked a single human to brush his/her teeth. Dirty clothing has not appeared, as if by Harry Potter apparation, in the middle of the stair case. I haven't sounded like a mob-boss with threats like, "I really don't think you want to find out..." or "How would you like it if I slapped/teased/kicked you like that?" Not once, this whole week, have I looked at the clock at 10pm and thought, "Oh alright, I guess I'm on bedtime patrol tonight." Our utility bill has plummetted with every single light not left running 24 hours. The toilet has not backed up once.

The house has been so much calmer, I look like I've had botox. A lot of botox. I may have to get some if it will make me look so much less angry all the time. When I go to take a shower and get dressed, I can ... (wait for it)... take a shower and GET DRESSED. There are no fights to break up. No one has used my flat-iron as a light saber and broken it. I start my make up, then *poof* I simply finish my make up. It's amazing. I'm getting ready for work in a third less time. My days fly by in productive bursts without calls from school teachers or bored stuck-at-home-kids. It's like I picked up a billable hour each day. If  the recession would end, I may actually bill that time. A girl can dream.

I know I'm not alone when it comes to being ok with longer separations. There are multi-week and multi-month camps. There are even boarding schools. There is glaring geo-political evidence to prove other parents share my feelings. In addition to secured banking, gorgeous watches, and killer chocolate, the Swiss have some of the world's finest boarding schools. That's why no one invades them. That's why they can remain neutral all the time. EVERY country wants some place to send their kids from time to time. They carved out this much needed niche, surrounding the little hellions with the soaring Alps to "safeguard" them. Every country has a vested interest maintaining this haven. It's political genius, really.

Please don't get me wrong. I do miss my sons. I do want them home, at some point. Soon. Basically.

I'll be really happy to see Son1 on Saturday morning at his Naval Cadet Corp graduation. Obviously, I'll be happy because that means I'll be off I95 at some point, but in a bigger sense, yes, I'll be excited to see him. I'll be psyched to get his half-hearted "please don't cry or hug me in front of the guys" greeting. I'll be happy to see him greet Jersey Diva Grandma warmly. (Apparently it is always cool to hug one's grandmother, even through tween years.)

When I return to NJ late Saturday night, I'll creep in to kiss Son2's little blonde head. I'll be excited Sunday morning to hear all his stories. Sunday evening will be a return to routine in the house, the semi-contained chaos that is our zoo. For now, I do have to say I'm enjoying the waning hours of quiet. Time to stowe the keyboard and head for one last romantic dinner with the hubs as our mini-holiday comes to an end. And so, as we'll await our cocktails, and discuss the practicality and affordability of the boarding school near my aunts' home in Maine, I will think of them fondly. And then I'll fondly think how nice it is to start eating without cutting anyone's meat. Like I said, think of me what you will. ; )