The Importance of Being Me

There I sat, behind closed doors, trying to take care of some personal needs, while my youngest child stood outside, banging on the door and sobbing hysterically. I ignored her. There are times when you need your privacy. Besides, if she was trying to get the door open I knew she wasn't getting into trouble somewhere else.

Over the last couple of months she has taken to shadowing me around the house, following me from room to room like a miniature stalker. She is particularly adept at recognizing when I am headed in the direction of the bathroom. In desperation I've had to resort to waiting until her head is turned before taking off like an Olympic runner pursued by a pride of lions. Today I'd barely made it in ahead of her, closing the door even as her little hands touched the wood, palms flat as she pushed with all of her weight.

Unfortunately, the wailing attracted Arielle's attention. She left the television show she was watching in the living room and came to see what all the ruckus was about. Immediately discerning the problem, she decided to be the helpful big sister.

Gabrielle burst in as soon as the door was opened, running up to where I sat. "Mommy! Mommy!" Her grin was wide enough for three little girls. She patted herself on the chest with both hands. "Me!"

Yes indeed, little girl. You.

Shoot the wounded

I cannot believe I am up this early. It is 4:22 a.m. and Arielle is sitting beside me as I type this, happily popping bubble wrap, which may yet deprive me of what little is left of my all-too-fragile hold on sanity.

I have been up around half an hour.

Arielle woke up early this morning. Despite the fact that it was dark outside, which means that she needs to stay in bed, as I have explained to her before, she got up. When she couldn't find either of her parents in the living room she became very upset and started crying.

The husband was already up, getting ready for work. He heard her and brought her into our bedroom, to me.

Isn't he sweet?

Why yes, yes indeed, I do plan to return the favor, some dark night.

Of course, this was after I went to bed sometime after midnight, because I'd been waiting up for Michael to come home. Which is when I realized that we had made a fatal mistake and not specifically spelled out that we were expecting him to come home, instead of spending a second night at his friend's house.

We're going to have to specify that the restriction about spending more than one night away from home is the default position. Unless we state, in so many words, that he is allowed to spend two nights in a row away from home, he is to get his hide back here within 24 hours.

Lawyer, thy name is teenager.

Let's see. Gabrielle will wake up in about two hours. She won't go down for her nap until noon, although I can push that to 11:30. I can turn on the tv and doze while they watch Dragontales and the like. Arielle will be pretty tired later on. I might be able to her to take a nap at the same time Gabrielle does.

Or I could just grind up some of the husband's pain medication and slip into her juice box.

Yeah, yeah, drug the kid, that's the ticket.

Where do we go from here?

We went over to some friend's house for dinner last night. As we were leaving the wife casually uprooted one of the plants lining her walkway and gave it to me.

It's called a blackberry lily. Judging from the look of the their yard, it can be fairly invasive. At least, it has been with them. Hopefully it's also sturdy enough to handle being torn out of the ground as a preliminary to being replanted. Not that I think I'll have a hard time getting another from her if this one dies. It's a good thing I'm entirely doing container gardening, though!

This woman is something of a supergardener, the kind of person who has an asparagus patch, a grape arbor, blueberries, a quarter acre vegetable garden, strawberry plants that she has to keep beating back, cherry trees, plum trees, raspberries, you name it, she grows it and grows it well.

Needless to say, she's also into canning and preserving all the food she grows. Since also I'm into gardening (she has the kind of garden I dream about having someday,) canning and preserving you'd think it would be a cinch to make friends with her. Especially since I can tell she wants to be friends with me and both of us are making a real effort toward that.

And yet, we just can't make it happen. We just can't get anywhere beyond rather stilted conversations about those two main areas. It's pretty frustrating, since I still don't have all that many friends here. I'd love to get some more. I don't know why we can't connect. I've never experience anything like it before and I'm not sure what to do.

How is it that two people who want to be friends can't make it happen? It just doesn't make sense to me.

Yes, I'm actually asking to be nagged.

Dana is going to bawl me out for saying this, but I've been postponing getting a mammogram.

Last time I went into the doctor he asked me when my last mammogram was.

"I haven't had one yet, actually," I told him. "You're supposed to get your first one at 40, right?"

He gave me this look and said, "No. 35."

"Oh!" When I thought about it though, I could see how that had slipped past everyone. After all, I've been either pregnant, trying to get pregnant or nursing, for several years now. None of them exactly times that are good for sending jolts of radiation through important parts of your body. Especially nursing. Radioactive milk for baby, yum.

So he gave me a referral to the local hospital to go in and get everything smashed. That was a month (or so) ago and I still haven't called to make the appointment.

I don't know why I haven't done it. I'm not scared of it or anything (although from everything I've ever heard I'm sure it won't be pleasant. But then, nothing important ever came easily, right?) It's not that I don't take cancer seriously. I've known several women who've had it and my own grandmother (my mother's mother no less) had to have a radical mastectomy when she was in her early sixties (of course, that was back when that was all they did, no lumpectomies or other such alternatives were available.)

I just keep forgetting. There's just so much else to do and scheduling is going to be difficult because I have to do it on a day when the husband is home (as I don't think having the two girls along would be a wise decision, although they would find it vastly educational, I'm sure!)

In other words, lousy reasons not to get this done. So nag me, people. Ask me if I've gotten it done yet. Remind me not to be dumb and to get on the stick. Ask me about it. If I get harassed enough I'll probably finally remember to pick up the phone.

You'll see this coming.

We are experiencing a minor crisis here at the moment.

Yesterday, as I was sitting down to blog, Arielle came up and wanted to sit in my lap. This is not an uncommon request for my two little ones to make. Frequently I wind up typing with my neck craned around some small person's head, unable to see the keyboard or my hands as my arms stretch around either side of that same small person's body.

So, there we were, Arielle leaning back against me, sucking on the first two fingers of her left hand, happy to be held by Mommy and vaguely interested in watching what Mommy was doing on the computer. It wasn't long, though, before her interest began to wane and she became interested in something else - specifically my wedding ring.

Arielle has had a thing about my rings ever since I made the mistake of buying Pat the Bunny when she was much younger. (I bought it online, thinking it was about a bunny named Pat. I was unpleasantly surprised to realize it was a feel-and-do kind of book. Since she was a little too young for that kind of book right then it wasn't long before it was pretty much destroyed.) One of the things the children in the book do is to try on their mother's wedding ring. Ever since then, Arielle has been obsessed with wearing my ring.

She begged to look at my rings and I told her she could, with the familiar caveat, "But, you have to stand by me, where I can see you and the ring, OK sweetie?"

Now Gabrielle has reached an stage lately, where she is much more aggressive about making sure she gets the attention she wants. In other words, she's taken to behaving badly and making huge messes whenever she thinks I'm not looking at her enough.

I'd given Arielle a handful of peanuts and raisins earlier and evidently hadn't put the peanuts back, because as her older sister was looking at the ring, Gabrielle walked into the living room with the half-full jar of peanuts and calmly dumped them all over the carpet.

Much consternation followed. I jumped up with a cry, Arielle decided she needed to reprimand Gabrielle, I reminded Arielle that it was my job to deal with Gabrielle, then reprimanded Gabrielle myself. I told Arielle to get the now empty jar and throw it in the garbage for me. I got out the vacuum and started to hoover up the mess. Gabrielle cried, because the vacuum scares her.

It was chaos.

When it finally all settled down I noticed Arielle standing by the entertainment center. Her shoulders were hunched together, her face tilted toward the ground. She was sucking on her fingers.

"What's wrong?" I asked, immediately suspicious. This body language was not a good sign. It bespoke guilty feelings and fear of punishment.

She was very brave, though, and answered me immediately. "Mommy, the ring is gone."

I'd so thoroughly forgotten about the ring that it took me a moment to remember. Then panic hit me. My ring!

It's still missing. We've torn the house apart and there are only two places left to look. The garbage and the vacuum bag.

Yuck.

I'm still gearing myself up to tear into those. Today's blogging entry is just a way of procrastinating. I do want my ring back, though, so if you pray, send one up for me to find my ring, OK? And to live through the ripened dirty diapers and flying dust.

Thanks!

Maybe I need to buy better vitamins

I caught Arielle eating baking soda today. Yes, as in sodium bicarbonate, bicarbonate of soda, Arm and Hammer, useful in cleaning, deodorizing and leavening. Nasty tasting stuff, as you will know if you have ever brushed your teeth with it or bitten into a soda biscuit that wasn't adequately mixed.

And she was eating it, dipping her finger in and then licking it off.

"What are you doing?" I asked her, aghast.

"It's yummy, Mommy," she told me.

Then she stuck her finger in again, sucking off the soda like another kid might eat sugar out of the bowl.

"Arielle, that's yucky stuff! Don't eat that!"

"It's yummy," she repeated, smiling at Mommy to reassure me that all was well as she ate some more.

"Stop that! You're creeping me out!"

I took the baking soda away and placed it high up, out of reach.

Garielle likes to eat rice wine vinegar. She was begging her dad for some the other night (Michael won't eat broccoli without rice wine vinegar on it) so he put some on her finger and let her suck it off.

"Yummi!" she exclaimed. (And yes, she says yummy with an 'I'. Don't ask me how I know. I just do.) Then she begged for more, which he gave her, and when he stopped giving her vinegar, she cried.

I have the weirdest kids.

Slings and arrows, here he comes!

Michael starts his first job this week.

We've been talking up his getting a job for quite a while now, but with not much response from him. Oh, he'll respond enthusiastically about the idea of the money he'll make and the things he could learn, but hand him the want ads and he'll thank you for them, then go back to his video games and eventually walk away leaving the paper lying on the floor, forgotten.

(Hmmm, think I could make that sentence any more run-on?)

He did go so far as to pick up a few applications from fast food places he went with his friends, but he never got as far as actually filling them out. As a matter of fact, he never got as far as actually getting them out of his friends' cars. He has empty applications littering half the teenagers' cars in this corner of our state.

Last week we took matters in hand. We informed him that I would be chauffering him around to fill out applications. All day would be fine; for however long it took him to get everywhere he wanted to apply we would be glad to help him out. Then we gave him lots of advice about how to dress, how to act, what to say and what information to have on hand.

He was shocked to find out that it was the best idea to fill out the application there. He was even more horrified to find out that we expected him to wear nice pants and a collared shirt. He also had to shower and shave, ultimate indignity!

He looked pretty good all cleaned up and I handed him a cheat sheet I'd typed up for him with such useful information as the names and addresses of his references and Social Security number.

He wound up only filling out two applications, because you see, when I dropped him off at the mall, only one store said they were hiring. I didn't have the heart to explain to him that you fill out applications for everyone, regardless, because someday soon they will be hiring. The other store was a fast food place he loves and they said they wanted him back for an interview in two days.

Yes, that's the job he got. I don't know whether to be relieved or disappointed. I'm not sure it was good for him to go out and get a job so easily. Of course, I'm sure he'll have plenty of time to learn about how rough the job market can be and a little confidence out of the starting gate can be a good thing, right? Besides, now he won't be spending his entire summer rotting his brain on video games and destroying his body with junk food. OK, so he'll still be destroying his body with junk food (he told me he'd be happy if they just paid him in tacos) but at least part of the time he will be constructively engaged in learning about the grown-up world of high expectations and hard consequences.

He thinks we're mean? Wait until he ticks off his boss.

Books, books, books

Ok, so, Joshilyn blogged yesterday about someone who wants to be a writer, but never ever reads books. (He's afraid it'll screw up his "voice".)

I have never understood people who don't read. I can remember back in high school having a friend tell me that she'd never read a book and I didn't know whether or not to believe it. I was shocked and aghast at the mere idea that someone could be our age and never have read a book. How can you avoid that? Not even a short one? A small one? A picture book?

Nope. Never. Not even a picture book.

I can't quite wrap my mind around that. Not reading would be, to me, like not breathing. I read my first book in the first grade when I learned to read. It's been my favorite form of entertainment ever since.

The best summer I ever had as a kid was the year we lived within walking distance of the local branch of the public library. I was allowed to walk to the library almost every day. I'd walk out of the heat into that delicious air conditioning and draw in a deep breath of book-scented air. And then I'd settle in for some serious reading. Some days I'd just check out a pile of books (we were only allowed to check out six at a time) take them home, read them and return them the next day to check out another pile. Some days I'd just pile up books around me and stay as long as I dared reading everything from the Moomintrolls books to the dusty old encyclopedias. They had a complete set of the Oz books, the first chance I'd had to read books I'd only ever heard about before then. I finally found out who the Hungry Tiger was, and Ozma, Tik-Tok, Jack Pumpkinhead and many others.

It was a wonderful summer, one that left a mark on me that persists to this day.

I have no idea how many books I've read over the years, but I'll bet it's in the thousands. And there are so many more books out there that I haven't read, so many that I'll never get a chance to read. Which is rather comforting, because that means I'll never run out of reading material. Yippee!

I can't help wondering why someone would want to be a writer, if they don't like to read? I started wanting to be a writer when I was six, when I first realized that I couldn't find the books I wanted to read. So I decided I would write those books when I grew up (a few years later it occurred to me that I didn't have to wait - I could write them when I was still a kid!) and then I could read them and always have the kind of books I wanted to read. And I could share them with other kids who liked those kind of books, too! Yay!

But, if you don't read? Why would you want to write? It's hard work, with little payoff and lots of insecurity. It's no way to get rich, in fact, if you can even support yourself you're doing pretty well. So ... why? I don't get it.

What's the score? or Counting on my fingers: A tale of ten toes.

Wow! What a day we had yesterday. So much happened, good and bad both.

I'd ordered the husband's Father's Day present earlier this week. I got him a GPS, something he's wanted for years. They're expensive though and it's a huge amount for us to spend, especially this month, when things are tight. So, naturally I procrastinated getting it, looking desperately for somewhere to get it for less. No luck, so I finally bought it online, only to find out I'd waited too long and it wouldn't get here until next week.

No. I wasn't happy with myself. An IOU on Father's Day isn't nearly as much fun as giving him a really cool present.

But Hooray! What have we here? A UPS delivery! The GPS got here almost immediately. They couldn't have gotten here any faster if I'd arranged to have it beamed here, Star Trek style. One up for the Happy Day side.

Unfortunately I got another delivery, a juicer I'd gotten through a special group order with some people I know online. It's a $150 juicer that I got for $16. Super deal with just one slight drawback. Any problems are my problems. They assured us that each unit had been checked over and was in good working order though and everyone else has been happily reporting the fun they've been having as their juicers have arrived. So I was excited to see the box sitting on my porch when we got home after the park. Until I plugged it in and it wouldn't work.

Sigh. I was really looking forward to having a juicer, too.

One for the bad day side of the board.

The husband came home from work three hours early. He was in pain. Good to have his company early, bad that he was hurting so badly. He took some heavy duty medication and fell asleep on the bed until dinnertime.

One good, two bad.

Dinner went super well. I made a new recipe I'd gotten from Saving Dinner, something called Asian Coleslaw with Ginger Chicken. Yummy, yummy, yummy. The husband raved about it and even the girls liked it. Michael didn't care for it, but that just left more for the rest of us. The best part was when the husband told me it was even better than his mother's coleslaw! The entire time we've been married I've been hearing about his mother's coleslaw, how delicious it was when he was a boy, how she'd gotten the recipe from her mother, but then forgotten it after her sons had grown up and never been able to make it again. And this was even better? Well, I guess I know what's going on our permanent dinner roster.

Tied at three each.

The biggest event of the day was the park. I think I figured out what happened a couple of weeks ago when Arielle was so sad and wanted to go home early. There were two girls there that she kept trying to play with who were Queen Bees in training. Oh, it was heartbreaking to watch her standing there on the fringes of the group of kids, trying so hard to engage them, only to be ignored.

I couldn't think what to do to help her. (When we went home I ordered The Unwritten Rules of Friendship: Simple Strategies to Help Your Child Make Friends to avoid having that happen again!) While I was thinking, though, the situation changed dramatically. The larger group broke up, leaving Arielle and two little girls her age. It quickly became apparent they were the ringleaders of her exclusion.

She kept pleading with them to let her play and they would look at her and laugh. As she came closer to them they would squeal, "She's coming!" and run away. This kept being repeated until Arielle was in tears, at which point I lost my temper.

I called Arielle over to me and in a voice loud enough to be heard by the two little witches (who had followed her over and were lurking within earshot) told her not to play with those two girls anymore.

Arielle started sobbing louder, trying to tell me these were her friends and she had to apologize to them so they would play with her. I explained to her (still in the same carrying voice) that these girls were not her friends, that they were mean and that although they looked like big girls they were babies inside because big girls were kind and thoughtful and only very immature people were mean. I told her we'd find her some kids to play with that were big girls inside too and that she shouldn't have anything more to do with those mean girls. She was much better than them, because she knew how to be nice.

Well, nothing like forbidden fruit. They edged closer, very interested in playing with Arielle all of a sudden. Now, lest I sound like some social genius I'm not, let me point out I didn't anticipate that. I was just so furious that I really wanted those girls to know what I thought of them. Yeah, I know. Not terribly mature of me.

It worked out well, though. Arielle kept begging to play with them and they were peering out at us from behind a bench, so I put on a big show of reluctance and told her she could play with them, but if they were mean to her again she would have to stop playing with them. And off all three of them went.

For a few minutes at least. Then Arielle ran into another little girl, one who was not into manipulation through intimidation and they wound up playing quite happily the rest of the time we were at the park.

Later Arielle and I had a good talk about mean people and why they act that way. I think she got something out of it. I hope so. I'll keep working on it.

So that was good and bad, about equal again. At least I was able to figure out what was happening at the playground.

Final score? Tiring. All those ups and downs are wearing!

Recipe: Basic loaf of bread

In honor of Amie's getting a bread machine, I thought I'd share my bread recipe. I make this on my bread machine on the dough cycle. Then I punch it down, turn it out, and shape it into rolls, which my family prefers to the classic loaf shape. This makes a great, very sliceable loaf, in my opinion, though. It slices better, though, if you let it stand about 12 hours. 24 hours is even better.

Makes one loaf

3 C all-purpose flour
1 scant T yeast (or one package of yeast)
1 1/2 t salt (which equals 1/2 T salt, by the way)
1/3 C potato flakes
2 T sugar
4 t dough enhancer (powdered gluten) (opt.)
1 egg
2 T oil
1 C water

Put in bread machine on dough cycle. When done, punch down, shape and let it rise another 1/2 hour or so, then cook at 350 for about 1/2 hour.

Now, I have to confess I'm really bad about measuring. 1/3 C potato flakes? Yeah right. That's about how much I use, yeah, but trust me, I don't haul out my measuring cups. I actually just throw in a handful. Oil? I just kind of splash it in. It's actually probably a little more than 2 T.

I also like to play around with this a lot. Substitute a cup of rye flour or wheat flour for one cup of AP flour (if I make the loaf wheat I'll leave out the gluten.) Or throw in a handful of sunflower seeds. Sub a half cup of oatmeal for a half cup of flour. Up the sugar to a full quarter cup and sub some of the water with a second egg (just put the egg in the measuring cup and fill up with water to the 1 cup mark) and replace the oil with an equal amount (or a little more if I'm feeling generous) of butter, to make a nice rich dough for dinner rolls.

If I do this, I just keep an eye on the dough as it's mixing and starting to knead. If it seems a little too dry from the changes I made I drizzle water over it as it mixes until it looks and feels right. If it's a little too wet I'll sprinkle flour over it a little at a time until things improve. Or I'll add a spoonful of cornmeal or Cream of Wheat, instead of the flour.

Oh, and you might be wondering why all-purpose flour? Well, it's cheaper, that's why. The gluten doesn't cost much at my grocery store and all together it's much less than buying the bread flour. Considering I'm making at least 3 loaves a week and usually more like six or seven, that slight savings really adds up.

That's the only problem with using my bread machine. I've been thinking seriously about getting a really nice heavy duty mixer for myself so that I can make several loaves at a time. And no, I'm not going to start doing it by hand. I hate, loathe and despise kneading. I can never get it right. I'm all in favor of having a machine do the hard part for me, while I do the fun part of deciding what to make.

Alarums and Excursions

The husband was unusually tired last night so he went to bed early. Really early. As in 7:30.

Of course, counting on my fingers (Math skills? What math skills?) I realized that since he has to be up at 3:30 in the morning this month, to get to work on time, 7:30 is exactly when he needs to get to bed to get a full eight hours of sleep.

Have I ever mentioned how much I love him and appreciate all he does to support our family? I've told him. Many times. Trust me.

Anyway. Getting back on topic.

The point of all this is, he was tired. Exhausted. Couldn't keep his eyes open as he stumbled toward the bedroom kind of exhausted. Switching shifts is always hard on him.

Since Michael was spending the night at a friend's house, that meant the entire family evening routine was left up to me. Which was kind of nice. I don't mind having the house to myself one little bit. I finished watching the show that was on and then decided to take the dog outside for his evening constitutional. Although it's not so much a walk as it is him running around the yard frantically lifting his leg on every blade of grass to ensure the insects are aware this is HIS! ALL HIS! And he will bark fiercely at anyone who dares intrude!

He'd bite them, but he's too small. So he barks instead.

We spent about 20 minutes outside, then he tried to run into the street so I picked him up and brought him back in. The girls had been quiet when I went outside, asleep I thought, but I heard Gabrielle crying when I opened the door.

Okay, I thought. She's still awake and Arielle has fallen asleep. Gabrielle is bored and doesn't want to fall asleep so she's crying about it. But there was something subtly wrong with her tone and it kept bothering me, so after a few minutes I decided I'd better check on her.

Just when I decided that, the sound changed, becoming clearer. Their door had been opened. Obviously Arielle was still awake. Drat. This was going to be one of those difficult nights, I could tell. The past week had been full of them. I was feeling almost as tired as the husband with all the sleep I'd missed in dealing with nightmares and various other night wakings.

I went back to their room and sure enough, I saw Arielle through the crack in the door, which she'd opened a couple of inches. I started to tell her to get back to bed as I opened the door to go in, but I stopped before the words came out.

I couldn't get the door open.

I pushed harder and felt something on the other side move. Something very heavy. What the heck?

Arielle moved away from the door and through the larger opening I could finally get a glimpse of what was going on. Something large and white was blocking the door.

Oh no! The dresser!

I was suddenly frantic to get in and check on my children. How did they ever manage to knock the dresser over? And where was the husband?

It took a lot of effort, but I finally managed to push the dresser aside. The girls were both fine, although frightened. I'm still not sure how they managed to knock the dresser over, although I have a hunch it involved either climbing or kicking. The room is so small and their beds fill so much of it that we had to get rather creative in how things were arranged. Which is why the dresser was in a position to block the door when it fell and why it would have been possible for a small person to lie on her back and kick the back of the dresser until she knocked it over.

But Gabrielle can't talk well enough to tell me what happened and Arielle was too upset to talk about it last night and this morning doesn't seem to really remember very clearly. She keeps trying to tell me about a dream she had, instead. So I'll probably never know.

And the husband? I checked on him as I was taking the girls out into the living room to snuggle with Mommy and have warm milk to help them calm down. He was still fast asleep, snoring softly. Like I said, he was exhausted. Really exhausted.

Liar, Liar, Pants On Fire

He's lying to us again.

Not that he ever really stopped, I suppose. It's just that things seemed to be going so much better. I guess Michael just got better at lying.

In May he asked to be allowed to skip two days of school for Revenge of the Sith. The first day was for spending at his friend's house, watching the other five Star Wars movies in a nonstop marathon with several other boys. Then, the next day, they were all going to go to the morning premiere of the movie.

Considering he was basically flunking out of the entire school year we gave him a very quick response. "Sorry kid, but no way. If you were getting good grades, we'd be willing to consider it, but you're not even passing. So, no."

We just found out he went to the movie anyway. He unplugged the phone when he got home so that we wouldn't get the school's automated your-student-was-absent-today phone call.

Other lies have come out, now that we are re-evaluating his behavior of the last few weeks. And, while Michael doesn't know that we know about the lies, the husband did ask him point blank if he was being fully honest with us. He swore he hadn't lied to us in any way. The lie came so easily, the words slipping out of his mouth like oiled soap in wet hands, that I felt a little sick.

I know that to some of you this is going to be no big deal. You are dealing with problems that make this kid's behavior look like nothing. And yes, I am grateful that he isn't in worse trouble. We think. The thing is, with this kind of lying going on, what do we really know about what's happening in his life? He's too good at telling lies. Too practiced.

Which means he's had practice telling lots of lies? I hope not.

If everything is only as bad as it looks on the surface, we still have a problem. If we don't find a way to counter this behavior and snap him back into realizing what matters in his life, he could be headed for real trouble. We both feel we have to respond to this forcefully to make him see we are serious. If this still isn't serious, we need to make sure our reaction helps to keep him from making mistakes that will be more serious.

Two more years to graduation and college. If he can get in. If he doesn't have to completely repeat this last school year.

Sometimes I would just dearly love to smack him.

On the Prowl

My license plate is trying to pick up men.

Seriously. I swear. It really happened. I did nothing whatsoever to provoke attention, unless carrying extra weight, wearing clothes a sick child has wiped her nose on, and desperately needing a shower suddenly qualifies a woman for supermodel status.

I didn't think so.

There I was in the grocery store parking lot, hatchback open, loaded cart of groceries ready to be loaded, Arielle in my arms as I prepared to put her in her car seat, when this 60ish guy in an SUV pulled up and said, "So, you're single, huh?"

To which I responded, wittily, "Huh?"

"Your license plate. Single mom to one, right?"

I looked at the license plate. Sure enough, that's what it said. Wow. How weird.

"I never noticed," I told him.

"Oh. I thought it was one of those license plates that mean something, you know how people do that?"

"Yeah, but this one isn't." I waved my left hand at him. "I'm married."

"Hi!" Arielle waved to him. "We bought apple juice!"

"Hi!" He waved back to Arielle, then went back to his conversation with me. "Well, I thought you were single."

"Nope!" I started moving toward the front of the car, ready to put Arielle in her car seat.

"Oh. Okay." He pulled his head back in his car window and pulled away.

"Bye-bye!" Arielle vigorously waved her arm in the air. "Bye-bye!"

The funniest part is that's the car the husband drives to work every day. He wasn't happy to realize what the license plate can be interpreted to mean.

Bare feet, green grass, warm days - it's all good.

I picked up a swing set at a yard sale this weekend, a really nice one. Slide, swings, trapeze, and two kinds of swinging seats that are just perfect for Gabrielle (who really, really wants to use the big girl swing but has a disconcerting tendency to fall backwards when she tries it.) So we've spent most of the time since Saturday outside, playing hard. It's been great. They've never slept so well.

School is out, which means we've hardly seen Michael for days. He dashes in and out, calling every so often to let us know where he is and to ask permission to spend the night at a friend's house. He's supposed to get a job this summer, but so far hasn't done anything about it. As soon as I can catch him I'll load all three kids into the car and drive him around to various businesses to fill out applications. He'll thank me for it when he gets his first paycheck. After he's recovered from seeing all the deductions for taxes that is. Remember the shock of your first paycheck?

The husband's doctor appointment yesterday went well and they had space to get him in today for a shot that should take care of things for a while.

Cute thing Arielle said the other day, when we were going outside to play on the swings: "I like to touch the grass with my feet, Mommy!"

No-one will play with me.

We went back to the park yesterday, the first time since Gabrielle, my youngest, fell down and cut her head open. No, I wasn't paranoid about her hurting herself. Really. I wasn't.

Stop laughing.

It didn't go so well. Normally a visit to the park is the best thing the girls can imagine. It's always a very thrilling treat to be able to go and play. Yesterday, though, after only about 40 minutes, they both became very unhappy.

I think Gabrielle was tired, because her crying and whining had that fussy-because-I-don't-want-fall-asleep quality to it. Arielle, however, had her first experience with serious rejection.

It broke my heart when I realized what was happening. It took me a bit to figure it out. She sat down on the swings and just rocked back and forth, refusing my offer to push her. I hsould have realized then, but it wasn't until she went and sat on the end of the slide, sucking her fingers, that I realized something was wrong.

I pulled her over to a shady spot on the grass and sat her in my lap. "What's wrong, sweetie? You look so sad. Why are you sad?"

It turned out no-one would play with her. I don't know what happened, if it was a real or perceived rejection. It was very real to her, though, and her little heart was just breaking with sorrow.

I was able to help her find a playmate, but the fun had gone out of the whole day for my little sweetheart. She never did perk up and when I finally suggested we head for home she was more than happy to leave. That's the first time I've ever gotten her out of a park without screaming fits.

I'd feel better if I had some idea of how to help her in the future with this sort of problem. To a certain extent this is just part of life. We all need to learn how to deal with the inevitable reality that not everyone we want to be friends with wants to be friends with us. But it has scared me, because I was one of those kids who never had any friends and was the bottom of the pecking order at school. I want to protect my children from what I went through, but, obviously, I don't really grasp how to be an accepted part of the child social circle. I'll need to think it over. The husband never went through that sort of thing as a kid, so maybe he'll know what to do.