Italia

     So...I just went to Italy. Yes, this is why I have not blogged in over a week. Two very dear friends of mine decided to get married outside of Florence, Italy and I was lucky enough to make the trip. Now how does a single mother of two afford a trip to Italy? It's simple; her parents buy her ticket and pay for half of her lodging.
    Five years ago, it would have been hard for me to take such a handout but divorce does things to a person, and in my case, I have opened myself up to charitable donations. Plus, my parents know me to be a frugal person who would not have made the trip without their help.
     Money was actually my first obstacle, my second was leaving my children. Being away from my kids every other weekend is hard enough but now I would be away from them for a week and by  choice. My daughter is a tough girl so I was not as worried about her, my object of concern was my sensitive, mama's boy son.
     My kid's dad agreed to take them for the week and for reinforcement he called on his mother to help out. She lives out of state so I knew that it would be a treat for my babies to see her but I still worried. I eventually had a heart to heart with my daughter about the trip and as expected she handled the news well. My son is a different animal though and it is best to wait until the last possible moment to break such news to him. When I could wait no longer I broke it to him gently. I told him that his grandma was coming to visit and that I would work while he played with her then I would attend a wedding and finally I would come home to his sister and him. He kicked his legs a bit, stomped on the floor, hit his leg with his hand, he was mad. He softened a bit when I mentioned the words Mall of America, a place his grandmother always visits when she is in town. And when they came to pick up the kids, he went quietly and seemed...decent. That was more than I could ask for.
     I waved good-bye to my lovely kids then scrambled to pack and prepare the house for a week long absence. I had one hour. I thought the kids might get depressed if I packed in front of them so I waited until the last minute. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but after running around the house like a nut job and breaking a sweat, I decided that it was actually a crappy plan, well for me anyway.
     Have you ever traveled somewhere only to realize that the people you are traveling with find you annoying? I think that I am a fine person but apparently being late, being loud in public and videotaping events annoy people. Add to that jetlag and a headache that lasts two days and man you have not started out your trip on a good note.
     Thankfully, my headache subsided by the time the wedding occurred and I actually began to have fun. I missed my babies like crazy but thought I'm here I may as well have fun. And we did. We ate and drank and ate and drank. I was actually shocked to find countless thin Italian people. I truly don't know how they do it. I put on a pound a day while I was there.
     When the festivities finally settled down and I finally returned home to my kids, they greeted me with open arms. I hugged and kissed them like crazy. Then we snuggled on the couch for a time and eventually went to bed together at 8:30. I say bed not sleep because I did not sleep much that night. My son woke up three times in the middle of the night most likely to make sure I was still there and not some mirage. He would go right back to sleep but I would not. Then my daughter slept in my bed pushing her body next to mine which seems sweet unless you are a person who likes to sleep, then it's only sweet for a few minutes.
     In the morning, I experienced payback for leaving my kids. I can't tell you how many times they fell apart that day. Tears of stress kept releasing from their little bodies. How is it possible that the most lovely creatures I have ever met also drive me to extreme kookiness? I can't believe that kookiness is actually a word, no spell check warning. Well, we all know that answer to that question and it's parenting. It's a life-long job with ups and downs and it takes the right perspective to focus on the ups. No matter what, I love you Miles and Nola.

Migraine Drama

     I used to get an annual migraine headache which would start by affecting my sight. First, things would begin to disappear. For instance, if I looked into a mirror my chin might be missing. Then things would progress to a full on aura where I could make out about fifty percent of what was in front of me. And lastly, the headache would hit and wipe me out for a day or two. When this occurred once a year I could handle it, but now, with age, they tend to hit me every few months. Yay for me!
     One day, as I bathed my little man, parts of his face started to disappear. Great, I thought, here we go. Now, because I am familiar with the exhaustion that comes with a migraine, I tend to stress out as it brews. Yet, because I know how little stress helps a situation, I do my best to remain calm.
     "Hey Bud, I need to wash your hair quickly and get you out of the tub now," I mustered up slowly and in a controlled manner.
     "I don't want my hair washed!" he answered spastically.
     My vision was getting worse by the second so I grabbed a cup, dumped some water over his head and started massaging his hair with shampoo. You can imagine how well this went over. Tears started streaming down his face and he was yelling something about his eyes but I was a woman with a mission and the shampoo was tear-free.
     In seconds, I carried a clean, dry, screaming kid to his bedroom. There he protested every article of clothing that I pulled out for him; his pants had a hole, his socks were the wrong kind, not that t-shirt. You're probably thinking that his mood had something to do with the water in his eyes, but the truth is, Miles is a difficult kid to dress. He is so picky and irritating sometimes that the process can take ten to fifteen long-ass minutes. But not today, today mom was growing a migraine headache and had the patience of an overdue pregnant woman.
     "Fine," I barked. "Then don't wear any clothes." And I ran to the medicine cabinet to search for a bottle of Excedrin.
     I have a tough time taking pills. I get all psyched out and tend to choke as they go down. This can be a problem. So, in order to combat the issue, I often chew some food, bread works well, then I place the pill inside the clump, like you would for a dog, and swallow. I also meditate so even if the clump gets stuck, my calm state of mind will allow the clump room to slide down within seconds.
     While I searched the cupboard, I tried to calm myself down but the vision loss and screaming kid were making it an impossible task. Eventually, I found a bottle that resembled Excedrin and ran downstairs to ask my mother for help. Oh yeah, you should probably know that my parents took my kids and me in after my divorce. They have been very supportive and have helped me in so many ways that I could go on and on, but I won't, because this story is about a migraine disaster not how thankful I am to my parents. But I am, thankful...anyway, my mom advised me to only take one since Excedrin is highly caffeinated and I am a light weight in the pill department.
     So, I opened the bottle on my way upstairs and pulled out one pill; one large, horse-like pill. With my son still crying and my throat tight, I gobbled up some bread, got a glass of water and swallowed the mass. Well, half swallowed. The damn thing got caught midway down my throat. I could breath so it wasn't going to kill me but it hurt like hell.
     At this time, my daughter chimed in and yelled, "I can't take all the cry-ness. Miles needs to stop crying."
     This pushed me over the edge. Two crying kids were not helping this throat clogged mom. I ran downstairs to my mom's office, opened the door and hollered, "I'm choking but I can breath. I need a minute to get this pill down but can't do it with two sobbing kids." Then I shut the door and ran into the bathroom.
     My mom followed me shouting, "don't you close that door, that is how people die you know, they are embarrassed that they are choking then run and hide!"
     "I know this mom, but I can breath I just need a moment to relax and get this clump moving," I answered as I shut the door again. Then I put my head under the faucet, got some water in my mouth and swallowed. The water hit the clump and flew out of my mouth covering most of the mirror and half of my face.
     To add insult to injury, while I grabbed my shirt to wipe off my face, my dad opened the door to offer his help. Unfortunately for him, all he got was a clear shot of my naked breasts. Hey, I was in my pajamas without a bra and he just walked into a closed bathroom door. It was his gamble and he lost.
     I eventually worked the clump down my throat then sheepishly exited the bathroom. I knew what I had to do and that was to apologize for my hyperactive reaction that did anything but help the situation. What can I say, choking makes me nervous, I'm not that weird, right?

No She Didn't

     My daughter's bus picks her up at 8:53am. And because I am familiar with my late self, we leave the house at 8:48am. This gives us five minutes to walk half a block, seems reasonable right? Well, most days it is reasonable, so reasonable that I now know what it's like to be early.
     One morning, as we were walking out the door, my stomach grumbled. I stopped in my tracks and grabbed my gut. My daughter looked at me a bit confused, "What's wrong mom?"
     "Nothing really," I replied. "But I do believe that my coffee is kicking in."
     She had no idea what to make of that statement and I didn't stick around to for further questioning. In seconds, I heard my two kids outside of the bathroom door telling me to hurry up or we were going to be too late. I told them not to worry and that I would be out in a minute.
     A few minutes later, I threw the kids in the car and drove to a vacant bus stop. "Nobody is here!" my daughter yelled.
     "I'm so sorry, Bug. Don't worry, I'll just drive you to school."
     My poor girl sulked for a bit, she's a rule follower who likes a good routine and missing the bus was not part of her routine.
     I made a quick stop at home where Miles and I changed out of our pajamas and ran a comb through our hair. Then we headed up to the elementary school.
     As we darted into the school, we were stopped by one of Nola's friends and her mother. We both exchanged stories about why we were late and mine was extremely vague. I said something like, "I don't know what happened this morning, one minute we were on time and the next minute we missed the bus."
     To which Nola replied, "That's not right, mom. We missed the bus because you had to poop."
     Real smooth Bug, real smooth. 

Not Public

     I'm the type of parent who feels comfortable bathing with my children. The naked thing does not bother me. I see it as a time saver when you clean one mom and two kids simultaneously. It just makes sense. But this hasn't occurred without awkward moments like the two I will describe below.
     On another subject altogether, I am a single mother. For those of you who don't know any single mothers, let me tell you that single mothers are busy...very busy...extremely busy if you will. So being that I am a busy person, I mostly focus more on my needs than my wants. And when this happens, things get out of control, for instance, the maintenance of one's pubic hair. Yes I said pubic hair. Occasionally, I groom the hair but not as often as I would like.
     One day, as my daughter and I innocently showered together she screamed, "Mom! You're peeing!"
     I looked down to see water flowing from the long locks I had grown and watched as is streamed straight into the drain. It was worse than if I had peed. I tried to tell my daughter that I had not peed in the shower but she did not believe me and began to look at me differently that day.
     The next incident occurred after my daughter and I had showered. While we toweled off our bodies, my daughter asked me why I had feathers down there. Yes, my hair had gotten so out of control that it resembled some sort of feathery bush. Needless to say, I groomed myself that day. 
      
      

A close call

     My daughter is five years old, going on six, and has not quite mastered her toilet skills in the number two department. Because she has experienced occasional skid marks in her underwear and rashes on her butt cheeks, she asks for my assistance when poop calls.
     Yesterday, while I was telling a story to some friends, she pulled on my arm and said, "Mom, I have to poop."
     I told her that I would be right there and went on with my story. When right there arrived, I walked to the hall bathroom, tugged on the locked handle and said, "Goose, how are you doing?" There was no answer. 
     As I tugged on the door again, I looked up only to see my friend and second mother, Kathy, approaching me, "Ang, what are you doing?" she asked.
     In a goofy voice I replied, "Well, I need to wipe a butt and it's not mine." Then I laughed. She laughed too but not for the same reason.
     "You know Tom's in there, right?"
     My mouth dropped open, and a nothing came out. I had almost walked in on her husband using the jon. Thank god that door was locked.
     "Well, I definitely don't want to wipe that butt," I replied.
     My girl had apparently tried to enter that bathroom but since it was occupied, found another place to do her business. When I relayed the story to her, she laughed and laughed. "Tell that story again, Mom," she would say over the next few hours. I love that her sense of humor is so evolved. She going to need it being that she and I share the same blood and tendency for embarrassing situations. 

Bad Breath

     I wrote an entire blog on the medical issues I endured after my son was born, so it surprised me that I find this entry so embarrassing. Two times in one day, I was told that I had bad breath, and I was not informed of this problem by a mature adult, two kids reported the issue as only kids do.
     First, I found myself in a serious discussion with one of my sixth grade students. He had some trouble constructing his art project and I jumped in eager to help. I believe that he waited fifteen maybe twenty seconds before he sat back with a confused look on his face and asked, "Ms. Haider, have you been eating bologna?"
     As I stood up, a laugh filled with embarrassment slipped out. For I had committed the cardinal sin of teaching, I was guilty of coffee breath. And apparently, coffee breath that smelled of bologna. I admitted my coffee mistake and sprinted to my purse for a mint, okay, four mints.
     The second outing occurred as I put my son down for a nap. I decided to have another cup of coffee at lunchtime for caffeine's sake and the scent decided to bury itself deep into my taste buds. For when I put my buddy boy in bed, a child with an awesome sense of smell, he also questioned the toxic aroma. "Mom, did you toot?"
     Seriously? First bologna and now a fart. I need serious help or a visit to my dentist.

How could you forget?

     One of my students approached me one morning and informed me that he had forgotten his backpack at his bus stop. The pack contained all of his homework, pens, pencils, library books, you name it, he left it. I couldn't believe that he forgot to grab such an important item.
     As I was reprimanding him for his forgetfulness, I began to look for my purse. Where had I put my purse? It was not on my desk or in the closet. Was it in my car? My student could tell that my mind was elsewhere so he finally asked, "What are you doing Ms. Haider?"
     I looked sheepishly at him and replied, "I can't find my purse."
     He belly laughed at my expense, "it's kharma!" he yelled. "And you were lecturing me!"
     I could not believe it. He was right. How could I scold him when I was just as forgetful?
     I did not worry too much about the purse because I knew that it had to be in my car or at my house. And luckily, it was.
     I was also lucky later that same day when I recovered it from a Caribou Coffee house. My kids and I made a pit stop for a restroom, snack and coffee break. While we relaxed, I placed my purse on the back of my chair, ended up leaving it there and didn't realize my mistake until we were stuck in rush hour traffic.
     My son had no concern whatsoever about the fate of my purse, he was just along for the ride. My daughter, on the other hand, was very concerned and on the edge of her seat as we turned around and headed back to the coffee house. Although, she was fairly certain that the woman who sat behind us was carefully watching the purse until we returned.
     We all ran from our car and darted through the front door that was held open by a lovely gentleman. And there on the back of the chair was my undisturbed purse. The woman behind the chair smiled at us as I collected our sought out prize. My girl looked at me and said, "told you mom. I knew she would watch it for us."

Popper

    My kids paternal grandmother goes by the name Lovely. The name was coined because she would call her first granddaughter Lovely and her granddaughter returned the compliment by calling her Lovely as well. So, in the spirit of great grandparent names, the question was posed to my parents, what are my kids going to call you?

     My mother ended up with the name Gran. We decided to combine the word grandma and my daughter's name, Nola, and we came up with Granola, Gran for short. My dad just wanted to be the Grand-pa-pa. He would roll his "r" when he said grand and put a strong emphasis on pa-pa. This name was too much for my girl to say so she shortened it and called him Popper. Now everyone calls him Popper.

     Popper is a silly guy and the kids love it. Last night my Nola said, "Every time I say to Popper, do you know what, he says chicken butt. Did he say that when you were younger?"

     To which I replied, "Yes, my Bug, he did."

     Then she said, "I bet Gran looks at him with her eyebrows down because she thinks he's too silly."

     "Right again, Bug." Such a smart girl.

   

     

Sandwich

     Six years ago, I decided to quit teaching and stay home with my daughter. When she was three and my son was one, divorce struck our family and I freaked out about finances. So, to get my foot in the door, I took a part-time job teaching elementary art one day a week. It wasn't much but it helped my peace of mind and allowed me to network.
     What does this have to do with a sandwich? The back story is necessary because it explains my inexperience in shuffling kids and a career. The exhaustion nearly killed me and the guilt from leaving my babies was relentless. I felt like a zombie most days I taught because my kids would wake up two or three times a night and they did not take a break just because I had to work the next day.
     Another thing that gave me trouble was time management. I allowed myself just enough time to get ready for work in the morning. What I mean, is that I did not allow for unexpected problems. So if my son was crying for me or if my daughter needed help in the bathroom, I would begin to run late. It did not happen often which is probably why I neglected to fix the problem but it did happen.
     One morning, as I was making my lunch, my son interrupted me. I picked him up and took about five minutes to console him then I threw my food in a bag, grabbed my school stuff and ran out the door.
     I taught for three hours then collapsed onto my desk chair. I was tired and starving. I opened up my lunch, pulled out my sandwich and took a huge bite. What the? It did not taste right, or taste at all. When I investigated my meal I found two pieces of bread...and nothing more.
     My lack of sleep, children's issues and time management problems had finally caught up to me and the price was starvation. The bread hit the spot for about five minutes and left me with a rumbling stomach for the remainder of the school day.

Sleeping

     Lately my daughter has been asking me if she can have a sleepover. My friend Stace and her kids have spent the night before but we have never had a parentless friend stay over night. And my daughter has never stayed at anyone's house without one of her parents. There are two main reasons for our inexperience with sleepovers: one, my daughter is only five years old and two, a week has not gone by without my daughter sneaking into bed with me in the middle of the night. And sometimes she sneaks in two or three times a week.
     Because of her mom snuggling issues and age, I have decided not to allow a sleepover. She was so disappointed when I told her and could not understand the reasoning behind my decision. So I engaged in a simple discussion.
     "Bug, do you ever climb into bed with me in the middle of the night?"
     "Yes, Mama."
     "Do you do it every night?"
     "No, just once in a while, but sometimes I come in right away and sometimes I even start sleeping in your bed," she said with a smile.
     "I know, Honey. This is why you can't have a sleepover yet. I don't want you getting scared in the middle of the night because if you do then you will call me and I will come get you at 3am. That is way too early."
     She thought this dialog was funny. "That would be funny if I called you at three in the morning."
     "Yes, hilarious, my bug. So you see, some day you can have a sleepover just not now."
     "Yeah, and do you remember how sometimes I accidentally kick you in the middle of the night? Or how I lay real close to you or on top of you?" she said giggling.
     "Again, hilarious."
     "I don't try to do it but it's funny when you tell the story."
     "Well, I'm glad that your sleepless mother keeps you entertained. Now would you sleep in your own bed all night for me?"