Surviving School Vacation Week - 2/18/09

All right, who's sick of school vacation? Quick show of hands...

If you're reading this, then you have successfully reached "hump day", the middle of February vacation week. If you're not reading this, then you are among the lucky that are frolicking with dolphins in a warmer climate or perhaps ditching an afternoon ski lesson for a leisurely massage or facial.

As for the rest of us...Hang on. You're almost home free.

February vacation must be a New England invention. In my native New Jersey, we had Christmas vacation and Easter vacation (back before the words Christmas and Easter were banned from school, now it's Winter and Spring Break). President’s Day was commemorated with just one single day. We Jersey-ites lump our founding fathers in with Columbus and MLK and everything else that warrants a mere three-day weekend. What prompted this region to stretch it to an entire week?

One friend explained that February vacation was born in order to save fuel costs for the schools. Hmmm, let's see. Winter. New England. Cold. Did they not plan for this? Another friend told me it was because so many families were pulling their kids out of school to go skiing for the week. Poor little Billy and Sally; We can't expect them to learn arithmetic and spelling while their friends are off skiing moguls and enjoying hot cocoa après ski, can we? We'll just go ahead and shut down the entire school instead.

Whatever the reason, February vacation is here to stay. So if you're not off at some exotic locale, you're just going to have to muddle through the next few days.

February vacation has both its good and its not-so-good points. It's good not waking up early for the bus. It’s not so good bribing or threatening your kids in order to make it through an entire spin class. It's good not packing school lunches. It's not so good answering the question, "Mom, what do we have to eat?" sixteen times a day. It's good to spend quality time with your children. It's so very, very not good taking them grocery shopping.

Play dates can be your best friend (when they are at someone else's house) or your worst enemy (when they are at yours). A sleepover can either be a godsend or a nightmare (see above). The local movie theater can also be your savior, but be prepared for everyone else in town to have the same brilliant idea. Purchase your tickets online, or prepare yourself to be fitted with a neck brace after sitting in the front row of "Hotel for Dogs".

I find that it’s all about balance. I’ll use some of this free time to take my children to the Institute of Contemporary Art and expose them to a little culture. And then another day we’ll stay home in our pajamas and have a "Lord of the Rings" movie marathon.

Call me clairvoyant: I predict that by the end of this week my house will be a shambles, the pantry will be bare, laundry will be piled higher than my husband and there will be a nearly empty wine bottle in my fridge.

Whatever gets you through the week.

The End Of Snuggling 2/11/09

It is time to ban snuggles from my house.

I don't mean the fabric softener with that creepy little bear on the label, and I don't mean that strange blanket with arms that's over-saturating the infomercial circuit these days. I'm talking about the practice of lying down next to my child at bedtime in order to help him relax and fall asleep.

I realize that my husband and I are completely to blame for falling into this routine. We "Ferberized" both our kids when they were little, allowing them to cry themselves to sleep for a few nights in order to learn how to comfort themselves and sleep peacefully on their own. Of course this was a much easier endeavor when the kids were too small to climb out of their cribs and come looking for us. Once they were in "big boy" beds it became all too easy for them to wander out of bed mere minutes after being tucked in, complaining that they couldn't sleep. My husband and I really tried to follow all the parenting books by "...calmly but firmly telling the child to return to his bed." But calm quickly turns to annoyance and then yelling after repeating, "Go to bed!" six or eight times. At this point you'll do anything to get that child to sleep.

Hence the snuggle was born. My youngest in particular seems to crave the comfort that comes from having one of his parents lie down next to him until he falls asleep. I can't fault him. As an infant he was nursed in our bed each night, something many families practice. He now equates security with having his parent's dragon breath wash over him as he sleeps.

Though the process of "snuggling" seems like a harmless enough thing, the practice takes its toll on our household when it's repeated night after night after night. Why? Because inevitably I fall asleep too. And there goes the rest of my evening.

I know other couples that spend those few precious hours catching up on each other's day, paying bills, watching television or reading a good book. When asked to "snuggle", I typically fall asleep myself, only to wake after an hour or more completely disoriented with a crick in my neck from contorting myself on a twin-sized bed. At this point, I have two choices: Shake off my sleepy haze and try to be productive, or just crawl into my own gloriously grown-up bed and go back to sleep. Usually, I choose the latter.
This wreaks havoc on my household. Clutter abounds on every surface, bills remain unpaid, and movies from the library accrue late fees.

And most recently, the final straw. One night, after snuggling with my child, I woke hours later in an exhausted haze. Clearly I was in no shape to be productive, so I stumbled into the bathroom to brush my teeth before bed. In the hazy darkness of the bathroom, I noticed that someone had left the toothpaste on the counter by the sink. I flipped off the cap, squeezed some on my toothbrush and began to brush. At this point, I became fully awake when I realized that what was on my toothbrush was most definitely NOT toothpaste. Spitting like a crazed llama I flipped on the light only to discover that I had begun brushing my teeth with antifungal cream.

Now, like most parents, I've had my rare instances of calling poison control for something my children have stuck in their mouths. However, I had not yet experienced the humiliation of calling them at eleven p.m. to confess that I'd brushed my teeth with antifungal cream. Luckily, the person working the hotline contained her giggles while assuring me that the toxicity level was quite low and that I probably wouldn't even suffer an upset stomach from what I had ingested. When I railed at my husband about the incident, his response was, "Be thankful it wasn't Preparation H!"

Farewell snuggles. You've served your purpose, but it is time to reclaim my life. My house will be clean, my bills will be paid and my teeth will be brushed with toothpaste every night.

Sick of Winter - 2/4/09

I am sick of winter.

There. I said it. I have absolutely no right to feel this way. It's February. I live in New England. It’s what’s to be expected this time of year. But dang! This is bordering on ridiculous. I have not seen my lawn since before Christmas. My shrubs are twisted and misshapen from the weight of all the snow. Have we been transported to Narnia, where it's winter all the time? Here comes the white witch with a box of Turkish Delight, her evil dwarf sidekick cackling with glee.

Personally, I blame Al Gore. He and his global warming have lulled us into a false sense of security. Sure, we've had snow these past few winters, but we've also had more than our share of freakishly warm days in the dead of winter, to the point where robins returned to my yard and hopeful crocus buds poked their heads out of the soil only to shriek in horror and return to their winter beds.

I'm not alone in this. While waiting at the pick-up line for my second grader, one mother commented "I hear we're supposed to get more snow next week," to which a group of us simultaneously groaned and rolled our eyes. We should be counting our blessings. With all the storms, our school has had only one delayed opening and one snow day. Still... I'd really like to re-fill my bird feeders without donning snow pants and sinking up to my knees in frozen concrete (or so it feels).

Let's not forget how much fun it is navigating our shopping carts through layers of slush and slop. That's a workout in itself. And hey, who doesn't love the lack of parking spaces at places like the YMCA or the mall or Shaws? Those adorable mountains of grey snow/sand/ice will be in the parking lot till April. Whoopee!

The Boston Globe ran a special feature in their lifestyle section all last week entitled, 'Why We Love Boston In Winter". Obviously, even the Globe knows their readers are sick of all the snow and ice if they need to be reminded that winter in Boston is a good thing. You might have a tough time convincing those folks whose cars have been towed during a snow emergency. Or buried completely by the plow. Not to mention all those people in Southie and East Boston who shovel out and have to mark their territory with lawn chairs and traffic cones and shopping carts. "Why We Love Boston in Winter?" Guess what. We don't!

Animals have it right. Hibernation is the way to go. Stuff yourself until you're loaded with fat, then take a nice long sleep, happily oblivious to the swirling snow and ice outside your den. Wake up just in time to see bluebirds twittering in the trees and bunnies frolicking through the fields.

As of this writing, I have no idea whether or not that lovable rodent Punxsutawney Phil will see his shadow or not, thereby "predicting" an end to or an extension of winter. I just know that I'm starting to feel like Bill Murray from that film 'Groundhog Day." Wake up. Get out of bed. Look out window. See snow falling. Groan in misery. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.
I'm going back to sleep. Wake me when the temperature gets above fifty degrees.