Summertime, and the livin' is easy

There are lots of things I hate about the summer. Mosquitos, for one. And humidity. And having melon served at every gathering because it's in season. I hate melon.

But there are lots and lots of things I love even more about summer. Daylight past 8 p.m. Pick-up baseball games and trips to the park and not having to bundle up when you walk outside. Those nasty hot, humid days that end when the wind picks up and a cold front ushers in a quiet, beautiful summer rain.

And porch swings. Ohhh I love porch swings.

I've got lots of summer memories from my life on the farm. In fact, thinking back, most of my childhood memories are from the summer; you wouldn't know it's only three months long. I remember the four of us being sent out in the morning and not going back in until dinnertime. We caught bugs, counted cars, dug lots of holes, built treehouses, and exhausted our imagination. Unbelievably, we seemed to manage all of this without any injuries. Ever.

These days, I don't live on a farm. Not even close to a farm. And that's not going to happen anytime soon, if not ever.

So this year, we brought the farm to me.

Several months ago on my birthday, when we had just made the decision to buy this house, Chad bought me a hammock - or the promise of a hammock - to put in the backyard I had always wanted. Problem was, I only half-wanted a hammock. I could foresee Jackson getting tangled up in it when he was playing and having to mow around it and lying there swatting bugs in it and the idea became less appealing. So I never bought it.

About a month ago, on one of those first few summer nights where Jackson had gone to bed but it was still light out, I came out to our porch. Sitting here decompressing and reading a book, I looked up to soak it all in.

Rungs.

Sure enough, someone who owned this house within its last 60 years must have loved porch swings too, because there were already rungs screwed into the studs. It was almost too easy to decide that I needed a porch swing for my birthday present. But we're talking about me...so of course it wasn't.

I looked and looked and looked - and then Chad looked - for the perfect fit. I finally picked one. And picked the stain. And ordered it. Two weeks later, this beauty was sitting on my front steps (bless you, online shopping).

This little lady is small - as Chad said, "It can only fit two Tolleys" - but, man, it's awesome.

Last Sunday night, we had some friends over for a cookout. The second Jackson went to bed, it started to rain, and we had to move the party inside. Until Chad brilliantly suggested we go out on the porch, so there the four of us sat - protected from the downpour but still enjoying the smell in the air and the cool breeze on our skin - and chatted for three more hours.

Around 11:00, our friends went home. And the rain stopped. And the days got hot again. And we went back to work after the long weekend, and life got more complicated. But the summer has stuck around, seemingly forever. Something tells me that a lot of memories will be made on this porch, and it makes me happy that even though I can't totally replicate my childhood for Jackson, there are some things we can do that might make him look back in 33 years and smile.

Hello, goodbye

For a few months now, Jackson has mastered a few basic words - notably "ball" and "more," in that order.

But lately, he's been Mr. Polite whenever we see the neighbors, leave daycare or chat with a waiter at a restaurant. And usually it's an emphatic, "BYE!" followed by a wave that goes from one shoulder to another along with a few blown kisses and another "BYE!" for good measure.



Between being raised by Midwest parents and spending hours with Hispanic women at daycare, we're not sure where the Southern drawl comes from. But we think it's charming nonetheless.

Like father, like son

Let's not get in to how or why Chad is playing football again, despite the fact that's how he blew out two knees. He is.

On Sunday night, Jackson and I had a few moments to spare before bedtime and went down to the football game at Jackson's future high school.

Those of you who know this kid know that he doesn't sit still for anything so I was bracing myself for the equivalent of a track meet to catch up with him. But God love him, this kid loves football.

To prevent future injuries, which came during the quick start-and-stop of the receivers, Chad was on the line - meaning that he needed to know how to snap and play center. Jackson was absolutely riveted by this concept, and stood on the field mesmerized as all the players ran around him to practice.

The best part: as the guys all moved their practice further down the field, Jackson was clearly trying to figure out what his dad was doing - and then figure out how to do it himself. The next picture I took looked like this.

On the way out of the stadium at halftime, we got stopped by a woman who was running the track. She asked which league was playing and how her husband could get involved. "I'm looking for something for him to play where he isn't going to get hurt," she said. For her husband's sake, I kept my mouth shut.

I just don't know what to do with myself...

It's no secret over the past six months I've been crazy busy. I've been working at work and working when I got home and having a toddler underfoot means no time to do anything productive on the weekends. And those of you who know me well know that I hate to be disorganized. The fact that we moved in October into a not-very-spacious house and I still had boxes of artwork and photos and things for Goodwill made me c-r-a-z-y. Well, crazier.

The good news is, when you've worked someplace as long as I have, you tend to rack up the vacation. So when I checked earlier this month and had 38.5 vacation days I was required to take before February - or lose - I decided that it was time to put those days to good use and take myself a little staycation. No kid, no husband - just me, the dog and a list.

I'm not going to lie. I was absolutely clueless as to what the heck I'd do for a whole week. But by the time Monday morning rolled around, I had a list of projects broken out by day. Watch out, world, this lady is motivated and on a mission.

Yesterday, I slept in, got a haircut, made lunch and spent two hours cleaning out our bedroom closet. As a bonus, I found some old necklaces and instead of tossing them into the giveaway pile I spent 10 minutes shining them up and now they're good as new.

Today, I was up at the crack of dawn with the little guy, had an appointment for the HVAC serviceman, did one hour of catch-up work emails and then spent more than four hours cleaning out the guest room. It was by far the biggest project yet to be tackled and gave me some time to find a few gems, like this from my high school graduation.

Fortunately, I now have better control of my hair. And Janice has better fashion sense (but wasn't she cute?).

On the agenda for the rest of the week: clean out the attic, the storage shed in the backyard and make the coveted trip to drop all these somebody-else's-treasures off at Goodwill. But I'm not going to lie, I baked some fun in, too - lunch with a good friend tomorrow, a massage on Thursday (from a gift card Chad gave me in 2009 that I still haven't spent) and perhaps a trip to the zoo on Friday with the little dude and his cousin.

While three days ago I was worried I was going to be bored out of my mind, it's only Tuesday and I feel like my vacation is over. I'm thinking next time it might be nice to take two weeks - one week to get things done and the other week to read a few good books, go for some long walks, take a road trip with the windows down, and turn off the email. Wonder if I'd have a job to come back to if I pulled a stunt like that?

Week in review

Saturday, May 5: We buy a new washer and dryer. [Cue the heavenly chorus!] Special ordered so they will be delivered in one month.

Sunday, May 6: My dryer breaks, which I realized after leaving what I thought was a dry load of clothes in there for a week. Thankful for sisters, one of whom took the moldy load home and washed it - three times - to get the smell out.

Monday, May 7: Repairman comes to fix the dryer. Jackson bites a kid at daycare.

Tuesday, May 8: Jackson bites another kid at daycare.

Wednesday, May 9: I meet Michelle Obama. She was really nice. And tall. And thinner in person.

Thursday, May 10: Our townhouse basement floods due to a screw-up of either the tenant or the plumber, causing about $2,000 in water damage. Since neither will admit to it, guess who is getting stuck with the bill?

If Day 7 doesn't end on a high note, I give up.

Bite me

When Jackson moved up to the toddler room at daycare, we got a note about what to expect with the new schedule, what his days would look like, and a little about new behaviors he might encounter.

Please know that biting and hitting and scratching are more common with this age group because the children are not verbal, meaning they cannot use words to let another child know “don’t take that”, “that is mine”, “I don’t like that”, etc.

I was so sad, the idea of my little buddy getting hurt by a bully while I was oblivious at work. I didn't want to think about him growing up and having to deal with fending off kids who didn't want to share or play nice. I think I'd just rather he stay little forever.

My fears were confirmed earlier this week, though not in the way I anticipated. On Monday, I walked in at 4:30 to pick up my sweet boy. One of the teachers walked up with not one but two incident reports. First one was pretty standard: Jackson was running and tripped over his shoes and got a fat lip. It happens. Second one was a bit more unexpected:

What?!? Seriously? It was only Monday and I had already been unofficially given the Worst Parent of the Week award at daycare. Where the heck did this come from? Jackson has never bit us when he's been mad or upset. So they were going to talk with him about "no biting," said it was a phase, and we put it behind us. Maybe it was because another kid accidentally pushed him. Jackson wasn't the bully; he was just defending himself!

This theory lasted until Tuesday, when I got this:

And this:

Crap. One day shy of his 17-month birthday and I get called in for an emergency parent/teacher conference. I was so upset about this last night I was almost physically sick. (Fortunately, I've got a good friend who had a biter, and she knew just what to say to make me feel less bad.)

While I was getting him ready this morning, we had several conversations that went something like this, "Jackson, look. There's a shark on your shirt. And the shark has teeth. But the shark does not bite his friends." And, "Jackson, today you're going to go to school and you're going to play outside and eat lunch and take a nap but you are not going to bite the other kids. We do not bite." In one ear and out the other. I might as well have been telling him that he was going to an all-you-can-eat pasta buffet for dinner.

So then Chad and I trotted off bright and early for a little appointment in the principal's office. The best news of the day, they didn't kick him out. Didn't even threaten to. We actually had a fairly productive conversation about what could be causing this and what we can do at home to help the teachers, especially since he has never done anything like this with us. (And we did hear one comment that is consistent in every single meeting we have ever had with doctors, nurses, teachers...which went something like this: "Jackson is a very active boy. He has a LOT of energy.")

Then we left. And I waited. And waited. And waited for the end of the day. If I walked in to another incident report I was going to lose my mind.

I walked in and the head teacher did not go straight to the clipboard. Good sign. "Jackson had a very good day today." Halleluiah. My prayers worked. Or maybe that conversation this morning did the trick. Whatever or whoever is to thank for this, I'm grateful.

Here's hoping this phase was only two days long because I can't handle this scarlet letter much longer.

Shameful shirking

Earlier this week, I read a great column in the Wall Street Journal, "What They Don't Tell You At Graduation." While the piece takes a tongue-in-cheek approach to graduates - my favorite pieces of advice being "marry someone smarter than you" and "I am not asking you to cure cancer. I am just asking you not to spread it" - there's one tidbit I just can't get out of my head. It's #8:

Don't model your life after a circus animal. Performing animals do tricks because their trainers throw them peanuts or small fish for doing so. You should aspire to do better. You will be a friend, a parent, a coach, an employee—and so on. But only in your job will you be explicitly evaluated and rewarded for your performance. Don't let your life decisions be distorted by the fact that your boss is the only one tossing you peanuts. If you leave a work task undone in order to meet a friend for dinner, then you are "shirking" your work. But it's also true that if you cancel dinner to finish your work, then you are shirking your friendship. That's just not how we usually think of it.

Ohhh...boy, oh boy. I so do this. I honestly can't count the number of times in the last several months I've done this, there are too many. Sure, I've got excuses - at one point, I've literally been doing four people's jobs - but just because you have excuses doesn't mean what you're doing is excusable.

I've skipped important lunches that would catch me up with friends. I've totally forgotten birthdays. I've completely neglected emails, and walk dates, and girls' nights, and promised meals for new moms. I've been speeding into the parking lot minutes away from daycare closing time at 6:00 even though I'm supposed to be there around 3:30 to spend a few hours with my little dude before bedtime. I haven't cooked dinner since...March?

Quite frankly, and pardon my French, I suck. There's just no other way to say it.

This isn't even my boss's fault. He's actually a crazy nice guy with a young family who would be the first one to tell me to get my priorities in line. But here's the problem, because the author is right: nobody other than my boss throws me peanuts. (Even though Jackson throws just about everything he can get his hands on, we've not yet gone the peanut route.) So I work like hell at the office to the detriment of everything else. Good thing I don't get a performance appraisal as a mother or a friend because sometimes I worry I'd get a big, fat "does not meet expectations."

All that said, the article came at a really unique point in my life, as I transition to a new role at NRF and away from a department I've been a part of for almost 10 years. (More on that another day.) I'm anxious to get started, sad to leave my diehard team ... and thrilled to be putting something new together. But as I move into that position on Monday, I've had this weirdly refreshing perspective that I'm free. I get to start over with this work-life balance thing. A whole new team. New expectations. The rest is up to me. Instead of working more on work, I need to be working more on life.

So when I leave a mound of emails to spend time with my kid, take the dog for a walk, put together a meal that doesn't require something frozen going into the microwave, and spend an evening with my husband that doesn't involve me sitting on the other side of the room with a computer on my lap, I just have one request: somebody, please, pass the peanuts. Or just smack me upside the head with them.