People (usually people with older kids) always say to enjoy every minute with your kids because they’re gone before you know it.  I’m not yet at the point where I look at my kids and think, “Wow!  That went by fast!”  (I’m usually thinking, “How much longer is this phase going to last?”)

I do notice time flying when I look at other peoples’ kids though.  If my friends’ kids are maturing, I must be getting O-L-D.  I’ve got to stop looking at my friends’ kids.

Today was a one-two punch of looking middle age right in the face.  My next post will show the other “where did the time go” event, but this post is dedicated to our friends and neighbors, Leah, Nikki, and their mom, Nancy.

Nikki is the knockout in the prom dress, and Leah is the soccer star beside her.  My kids idolize those two girls, and I can’t think of better role models for them to look up to.

Tonight was Junior Cotillion for FHS, and as I stood in the back yard listening to Nikki talking about who was going with who, and who lied to their parents because their date didn’t meet their criteria, and whose parents wouldn’t buy a dress unless their daughter went with a boy (rather than with friends), and who was sleeping over at the girl-boy sleepover tonight (Nikki’s not), I was having flash-backs to 1999, when we bought our house.     

We weren’t married and we didn’t have kids yet.  Nikki was about 6 years old and Leah was a baby.  Leah didn’t give us too much trouble the first few years, but I clearly remember Nikki standing on her deck watching us eat on our back porch (“Hi! Hi! Hi!”), and then there was the pogo stick incident.

I woke up one Saturday morning to the sound of Nikki jumping on her pogo stick in the driveway (on the same side of the house as our bedroom) and counting each jump.  When she got to 72 she fell off and ran to report the record number of jumps to her dad.  As I got ready to head back to LaLa-Land I heard her father say, “Great!  Let’s see if you can get to 100!”  boing-boing-boing-boing-boing-boing     :~0

I don’t have any photos of Nikki and Leah from when we first moved in, but here’s a flashback to the summer of 2002, when Aliya was about 9 months old.  Time flies.

My close friend and coworker, Greg, once told me that his family sits down to dinner together every night.  I have a vague recollection that he went on about how important it is to have that daily connection but I might have gotten that from the old issue of Better Homes and Gardens that I keep reading at the orthodontist.  Somehow after almost 9 years of motherhood I still sometimes get a pang of regret/guilt that I’m not doing things the right way.  If a friend told me that she was feeling regret or guilt I would tell her that we’re all just doing the best we can, but sometimes I forget to be kind to myself.

At mealtime, the kids usually eat at the counter stools facing into the kitchen.  Ben and I grab a few bites in between cooking, dishing out, refilling drinks, and cleaning up.  Tonight, soccer practice was canceled, so I made a nice dinner of pasta with chicken and broccoli, and garlic bread.  Ben plowed the stuff off of the table and we all sat down for a lovely dinner.  Norah actually confirmed, “WHAT?  We’re eating at the table?  Not at the counter?!?!”

So I sat down with my delicious dinner and a glass of Naked Chardonnay (Trader Joe’s – YUM – and no annoying cork to deal with so fast and easy access), all ready to talk about how everyone’s day went and whether they were excited about going to the Big Apple Circus tomorrow.  What followed was a fairly rapid escalation into a situation that came close to requiring medical intervention, since I thought I was going to burst a blood vessel somewhere.  I think I may need to invest in an AED if we’re going to sit at the table for dinner.

Adlani is an extremely picky eater.  Up until now we have somewhat catered to his list of approved foods, but last weekend we decided that we’d had enough.  He’ll be 6 in August and he should be able to eat more than just the 4 items on the approved list (yeah, right).  The new rule is that he has to try a little of what we make for dinner, and if he really hates it, he can have Cheerios.  I’m not cooking a separate meal for him every night, and the rest of us are not going to eat an all-nugget diet.  We’re trying to ease him into the new rules, so when I put the trial portion of pasta on his plate, it had no chicken or broccoli – just pasta with a little bit of alfredo sauce.

I spent the next half-hour alternately urging, cheerleading, threatening, punishing, and cajoling him into eating one bite of the f-ing pasta.  The girls did a great job but since the squeaky wheel gets the grease I barely even registered their presence.  I don’t know how their day went or whether they’re excited about the circus.  I only know that Adlani screeched, cried, gagged, and drooled his way to an early bed-time without dinner.  Before you call DSS, he had a bowl of cereal after school so he will not starve, I promise.

After I carried him upstairs for the third time I was in serious fight-or-flight mode, and I picked up my plate and my wine, grabbed a book, and ate dinner in my car in the driveway.  When I calmed down and came inside, I went straight to bed to sleep off the post-traumatic stress (Adlani did too).  I woke up at 10:30 p.m. and here I am.

Tomorrow – it’s back to the counter stools.

Ben:  “OK, Aliya.  Name 10 states.”
Aliya:  “Massachusetts, New York, Vermont, Maine, North Dakota, South Dakota, North Carolina, South Carolina…”
Adlani:  “Sweet Carolina?”
Me:  “Oh, oh, oooooh…”

If you’ve ever wondered why Sweet Caroline is played at Red Sox games, here’s the answer.
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Speaking of parenting skills, many of us have experienced a moment like this but there’s something about this video that is so hilarious and touching at the same time.  I love the “you’re a useless clod” look the daughter has on her face.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sb9eL3ejXmE&hl=en_US&fs=1&]

www.ragamuffinsoul.com/2010/03/single-ladies-parenting-manuals-and-fatherhood/

I’ll admit, we’ve been lax in one of our parenting duties – teaching our kids to ride a bike.  Last year, Aliya somehow figured out how to ride a two-wheeler without Ben running along behind her holding the seat while I videotaped, but apparently she hadn’t mastered the art of braking while steering, so today she decided to ride up and down our (dead end) street until she could turn around and ride back without stopping.

It reminded me of the day I learned to ride my first two-wheeler with the banana seat, fringed hand-grips, and the basket on the front.  As with many memories, I think I remember the photo more than the actual moment, but I’m sure it was exhilarating to ride through the neighborhood with the wind in my flowing, blond hair, unencumbered by a helmet.

Luckily I never cracked my head open, but boy my brother Elijah sure did.  When he was around 7 he was riding his bike and his front wheel came off, the forks stuck into our dirt driveway and he went @ss over teakettle.  He was a mess.  I don’t have a picture of him with two black eyes and multiple contusions, but here’s a picture of me scowling in concentration while trying not to wrap myself around a mailbox:

And then there’s Norah, who will never let anyone run faster, climb higher, or cliff-dive from a taller rock outcropping than she will.  She hopped on one of Aliya’s old bikes and pedaled madly down the street while I ran after her.  (I probably don’t need to point out that she was wearing a polka-dot tutu and pink flats.) Aliya got all cocky and rode by with a “So long…. Suckaaaaaa” over her shoulder, and promptly ran off the road.  Norah and I rode/ran past her with a “Suckaaaaa right back at-cha” and Aliya ran into the house to remain hidden in humiliation until dinner. 

I’m sure I’ll live to regret my parenting skills or lack thereof, but I figure they’re all going to hate me for a certain period of time anyway so I might as well have a few laughs in the process.  I have noticed that no matter how mad they get at me they still want to have “snuggle time” before bed.  I guess when they stop asking for that I’ll know that the honeymoon’s over.  Until then…”So long, Suckaaaaa!”  🙂
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