Brandon Vs. The Badger

I do normal mommy things like pick up my kids from school.

I expect my kids to do normal kids things like walk from their classrooms, down the sidewalk, and into our van. Since we don't live in an unsafe town or school district, this is not an unreasonable expectation.

What I do not expect is to be waiting outside the van for a missing child, namely, my son Brandon, and another mom to say to me, "Oh, Brandon is still by the fence on the sidewalk figuring out how to set a badger trap."

It takes a lot for my eyes to get really, really big and my jaw to drop wide open, especially when it comes to Brandon and his antics, but yep, after school, real-life badger-trapping, on the playground, in the middle of Wisconsin winter....that one will get me every single time.

Now, the other mom's son is friends with Brandon and the friend was also very excited about catching a badger, so the mom kindly filled me in:

An animal burrow had been found on the playground at recess. No one knew for sure what was living in it, but our boys were convinced it was a badger. The kids were not allowed to go anywhere near it (for safety reasons), but our boys were going to to figure out how to trap it from the sidewalk side of the school because that wasn't school property. Brandon had stayed behind to figure out the best way to build a trap.

So this conversation happened in less than a minute. I told Jon to watch the kids in the van (I always have extra kids with me, just in case), and I BOLTED for Brandon. My heart was racing and I was extremely worried that I was going to have a hot mess of kid vs ticked off Wisconsin winter mammal on my hands.

I'm not all up-to-date on my Who's Who of Wisconsin Winter Wildlife, but I do know enough to know that most of them are hungry, unfriendly, and do not want to be trapped by a curious eight year old.

So I found an rather excited Brandon examining all the possibilities this burrow could hold. He KNEW it was a badger. He KNEW he and his buddies were going to trap it. He was irritated that I was cutting into his planning time. I just didn't get it. I was mean.

In short, I was stifling his creative process.

I was awed at Brandon's tenacity, his curiosity, his creativity, and so danged relieved that I was almost in tears. My blood pressure at finding all his fingers intact was such that I could no longer hear my heart beat in my ears and my breathing was almost normal.

Brandon spent the night dreaming of ways to catch his badger.

When I picked him up from school the next day, it was to find a rather irritated Brandon. It turns out the school had someone come in and safely remove the animal from the school grounds, which was rather boring.

And, to add insult to injury, the badger wasn't a badger. It was a raccoon.

I swear I didn't raise my hand!

I am starting to suspect that I am addicted to volunteering.

Not in a bad way. Just in a "let me eat the last Oreo so my kids don't have too" kind of way.

Jobs have to get done. Oreo's are yummy. I'm capable. I don't want the kids to fight. So I say yes to the project. And the Oreo.

I'm not unhappy.

The reason I bring this up is because I am attempting to put myself in a "volunteering time-out."

The time-out is turning out to be an utter and total epic fail.

I have two projects that I agreed to before the time-out....and kind-of another one in the works...alright, two....I just remembered the email I sent last week. *blush*

What I have learned throughout this process is this: I need to be wise when I volunteer my time, talent, or resources. It's perfectly okay to say, "No, not this time."

When I am able to fully give myself to things I love to do with or for my children, it doesn't feel like volunteering at all. It feels like what Lauren said to me tonight, "You're the best mommy in world!" because I am present in the moment with my children and they know it...which is my motivation for doing 99% of the work I do.

The random Oreos (and coffee) are what give me the energy to keep doing it. ;)

See What Joining Gets Ya...

Rich and I used to have a rule that served us well:

If we brought you into this world, you could only be in one activity at a time. No overlapping. Swimming lessons were the only exception. It was a fantastic rule. It was easy to remember and not difficult to implement or enforce.

And then things went horribly, horribly wrong.

We encouraged our kids to explore the world around them and pursue their interests.

We let them make friends who were allowed to join wholesome activities.

We (strike that) Rich developed in all of the kids a desire to play sports.

The kids, against my will, grew older.

The "rule" became merely a suggestion of days gone by, a whisper of a simpler time.

Now, Rich and I engage in our own activity which I like to call, "Where in the city or state is Tolbert Child X."

We receive points if the child is at the right event on the correct day, on time, with all their gear and a water bottle.

Bonus points are awarded if: The children are fed supper ahead of the activity or there is a plan for supper by the time children make it home. Also, no melt-downs are huge bonus point earners, as is dropping off multiple children.

My favorite bonus point earner is the drop kid off, drop kid off, grocery shopping, run errand, field three texts from Rich, pick up kid more than which you left the house with, drop off all kids, come home, make supper, help with homework, get the "Mom I need 37 cupcakes tomorrow at 9pm notice!" combo. (This is a top-secret bonus level that most parents work their way up to...new parents would go into a catatonic state after the grocery shopping trip.)

As wild and crazy as the schedule becomes at times, Rich and I wouldn't change it.

We have talked about how truly blessed we feel that we are able to give the kids opportunities to pursue the sports and interests that they love under the tutelage of coaches, directors, and teachers that give so much of themselves and friends and family who support all of us.

Jesus was A Poser

Mixing my kids and church as enlightened me in ways I never thought possible.

When we first started attending church, as the van was making its way to the service, the boys would imagine fantastic crash scenes where we would all die in an explosion involving bombs, the military, and aliens. However, they were POSITIVE we were all going to Heaven because we believed in Jesus AND we sang Veggie Tales.

And then came the night I was teaching class and started with the "Lord's Prayer:"
One of my sons decided that instead of ending with the common and well-known, "Amen" he would end with "Peace Out!"

He wanted God to be able to speak and understand the current language.

But, my favorite church happened on Good Friday this year.

One son wanted to know why I was dragging him to church on a perfectly fine Friday afternoon. His brother's reply: "This is day we go to church to honor Jesus for dying for us because a bunch of people wanted to punish him because they thought he was a poser.... They thought he was pretending be the Son of God and decided he should die for it....Right, Mom?"

Uh.....

Uhhh.....

Right, Son.

Because God speaks to His people in their language....just like my son did to his brother.

It's an amazing gift he has to transform an age old story into everyday language.

Rainbows and Hawain Shirts

Lauren loves to dress like a rainbow. More days than not, she comes out dressed like a tribute to the color spectrum. She is happy and sparkly. Her eyes are shiny and her smile lights up the entire dining room. Nothing about her clothes match and I have made an odd peace with her choice of wardrobe. Life is so short and Lauren is so happy with her outfits (that are age appropriate), that I don't have the energy or desire to fight her about her clothing choices. We only get into disagreements when she is not properly dressed for the weather. She can be a winter rainbow, but she better be a warm winter rainbow!

Brandon went to baseball practice tonight in a Hawaiin shirt, grey shorts, a hot red baseball cap, and blue high tops. Everyone else's kid had on long pants, sweatshirts, the same red hat, and tennis shoes or cleats. Brandon did have a sweatshirt that he refused to wear. He was happy and didn't complain about being cold. I could easily spot him on the field and he did an awesome job fielding and hitting the ball.

It's easier to let the kids be who they are and celebrate their victories with them then fight over their clothing choices every day.

When Food Attacks

A long time ago, I went to school with a little girl who wasn't me.

What made this girl remarkable was that she was allergic to milk.

SERIOUSLY.ALLERGIC. to milk (or anything in the family of dairy). Her stomach would hurt, her nose would bleed, she would start vomiting, and all other kinds of unpleasantness would befall her if she drank milk.

Me being all of in the second grade, I didn't understand the enormity of her allergy, but I did understand this: THE LUNCH LADIES DIDN'T BELIEVE HER.

It was incredible in only the ways life experiences are when you live them but lack adequate words to explain them so other people can truly understand the sheer magnitude of horror to which you were not only a witness, but a helpless bystander:

Every day, this poor girl would patiently return her milk, explain her plight, and every day, the minute her back was turned, one of these ladies, would turn up her nose, and say, "I have never heard of such a thing. She's making it up."

Now, I have not in the past nor will I in the future, claim that I attended the most enlightened or progressive school in America. However, even my seven year old brain knew these ladies were wrong. I knew they were wrong in how they were handling the situation, how they were talking about this girl behind her back, and for not believing her doctor. However, even if I had told anyone, no one would have believed me (it was the 1980's and kids did not have a voice at that school).

This young girls mom spent months arguing with the lunch ladies, the lunch aides, and the school secretaries about her daughters allergy because they were all smarter than the allergist...a little bit of milk now and then wasn't going to kill her (the truth was, yeah, it could have).

Every now and then, one of the lunch aides would have the bright idea that this girl "was.going.to.drink.her.milk." Fortunately, mass episodes of vomiting and being lit up by the girls mom put a (rather sulky) but final end to the milk drinking.

Fast forward twenty-five-ish years, knowing what I know about food allergies, my heart aches for that little girl. I would like to think that the world has become more educated about food allergies since I have left second grade, but my experience is that as a whole, society still makes people with food allergies feel like they have done something wrong.

My kids go to school with kids who have peanut allergies, gluten intolerances, and who are lactose intolerant. The schools, like society, and food stores, make very little accommodations for these kids.

In October, I was diagnosed with severe lactose intolerance. So severe, in fact, I now carry an EPI pen with me. The journey has not been fun, but it has been informative.

Here is what I have learned:

PEOPLE BELIEVE WE MAKE UP OUR FOOD ALLERGIES. Duh. No. We don't. At the end of the day, it's your problem, not ours, but us food allergy suffers would appreciate it if you kept your opinion to yourself and didn't tell us to...

JUST EAT IT...That Little Bit Of The Food You Are Allergic To WON'T HURT ANYTHING.
Hives itch. Stomach cramps hurt. Bloody stool, not so fun. Body aches that feel like Sidney Crosby beat you with his hockey stick, not so great.

WE WILL KNOW WHAT IS IN FOOD BY OSMOSIS No. We aren't mind readers. We read labels carefully and are freaked out that there is no longer any real food in the stuff we eat anymore. However, if we come to your house, we need to know if the pasta is gluten free or if you used three kinds of cheese in that new dish you cooked. We're not being rude; we're trying not to cut the visit short with a trip to the ER.

AT THE END OF THE DAY, SOME PEOPLE WILL REFUSE TO ACCOMMODATE PEOPLE WITH ALLERGIES/INTOLERANCES. Ultimately, we are responsible for what goes into our body, so it's best to have always have a back up plan when are visiting places where food will be served. I have learned this lesson the very, very hard way. After one too many close calls and too many emergency trips for Benadryl, this is going to be my new mode of operation.

Knowing what I know now, I wish I could have been a voice for that little girl in second grade.

Knowing what I know now, I can and I will be a voice now. Today.

Dude! Checkmate!

En mass, the kids have discovered the game of chess. Let me assure you that critical thinking is alive and well in the Tolbert house. Atop the dining room table, strategies are well thought and Knights are nobly sacrificed in the defense of Kings and Queens.

Unless you happen to be me and have not played the game of chess for many, many years.

Last night can only be described as Jon and Noah taking turns humiliating me via pawns and rooks.

Frankly, I was hasty, I used poor position play, and worse, I did not always think (at minimum) two moves ahead to form a cohesive strategy. I deserved to lose (how fast and how epically to a twelve immediately followed by a ten year old, is an issue for another day).

For the record, I am not a novice to chess. First, my dad taught me how to play the game when I was in sixth grade. It is important to state my father has a firm policy that he does not let his children win games to make them feel good...Ever...so that prepared me for the next chess phase of my life.

In junior high and high school, I had the privilege of playing against extremely talented chess players. During lunch time I honed my crazy chess skills. Although my losses were far, far greater than my wins, I kept playing the game.

(To maintain some street cred, I was not in chess club. Okay, truthfully, I was not and still am not, that good of a player.)

As the kids and I are gathered around the table, I am taken back to those times in the library: The people playing the game, the spectators offering (unsolicited) advice, the competition, the critical thinking, and the sheer mind bending that it takes to check-mate your opponent.

As a family, we are supporting each other, laughing together, and agonizing together. The kids are enjoying discovering the finer points of the rules and sharing them with me. I love being a part of their new found knowledge.

I cannot wait to surprise them with an official Chess Rule Book for our family to pursue and discuss.

As a point of pride, I did win the rematch against Jonathon tonight. Jon held his own; admitedly he was surprised to find out I had learned from my mistakes from last night. Ultimately, Jon underestimating me was his downfall. We are now tied 1-1.

Unfortunately, due to bedtime contraints, the rematch with Noah was postponed.