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I’m talking about vacations, holidays, or even a quick trip. Quality time with out of town family, or even a wild adventure with friends.

We had a magical vacation last year. A week long surprise holiday to see our out of town family. Although it wasn’t actually a surprise because I, Kristina, have a hard time containing my excitement. It was still an amazing adventure. I find myself reminiscing about this magical trip as a new one slowly approaches.

We drove out to California with 8, 10, and 15. One-thousand one-hundred miles and twenty-four hours in a vehicle with my three blessings and Fiance. What a magical adventure!

At first, it was pleasant and exciting. As it turns out, shoving three children in the back of a vehicle and expecting them to truly admire and take in the scenery was probably not our finest idea.

8 grew tired of sitting still, 10 grew tired of looking at the plains, and 15 quickly grew tired of 8 and 10. All together they started in with each other. The whole ride wasn’t a disaster though, they slept for about six hours.

The magic truly began upon our arrival. There were adventures of casinos, swimming, movies, barbecue’s, the ocean and so much more. Our time spent with our family was packed from sun up to sun down, every day for a week.

10 and 15 were able to see family that they hadn’t seen in several years. 8 was able to meet a small portion of his new kin, and it included plenty of new cousins to run free with.

It was truly a magical time as Fiances family took both 8 and I under their wings and enveloped us with love and perfect memories.

8 and 10 taught themselves how to swim in their Aunts pool. 15 was able to play with babies and relax and catch up with cousins she hadn’t seen in ages. Fiancé was at home with siblings and nieces and nephews with the most heartwarming smile. It was brilliant and simply magical. Watching my perfect family experience the magic of a perfect vacation.

The magic of seeing the ocean for the first time, visiting a Casino for the first time, meeting family for the first time, and even catching up with the ones we have missed was so incredible. It all fit together like a puzzle piece.

Even when the children had a big day with horses and hiking. Tired and sun exposed, they managed to get themselves back into their spunky personalities. 8 literally told us he didn’t have the patience to brush his teeth.

Maybe it wasn’t the perfect vacation in afterthought. Maybe the magic wasn’t as magical as I remember it. Those memories and that magic is what I hold close to my heart. That is what was perfect.

With all of the magic that happened, I needed a vacation from my vacation. With a new magical adventure right around the corner, I’m hoping that I will need a vacation from this vacation as well.

Kristina Here. I just have to say that this is not a parent-bashing-parent post. What it is though, is the real story of how I feel about going from Co-parenting with Fiance to Tri-parenting with Bio Dad.

Just so we are completely transparent, I feel you should know that I read everything I can. Blogs, Books, even magazine articles on parenting and co-parenting. I have always preferred gaining any knowledge I can on the subject in order to hopefully be the best parent slash co-parent I can be for my three children.

Fiance of course has several more years under his belt than I do. I’m not passing any blame. Mistakes were made on both sides of 8’s parental team and because of those mistakes Bio Dad has not had the privilege of knowing our wonderful 8. Until recently-ish.

Simply put, Bio Dad has decided to be a part of 8’s life now. We have juggled the plates and jumped through some of the hoops but there is still a long road ahead. All charades and shenanigans aside. This is both difficult and terrifying.

Fiance is truly the only father figure 8 has ever known. A very long time ago, he and I made the agreement to never force our children to “love” either one of us. We never force hugs, kisses, “I love you’s”, they call us by our step-parent names if they choose. Of course we always tell them we love them and call them by sweet nicknames. we do all of the thing’s that a “Real Parent” would do.

Side note, I just drastically rolled my eyes because a step parent is a real parent and I have a very large dislike for that term.

8 has decided that Fiance is his Dad, and it was truly his decision. It was a surprise to us all! Of course I had panicked a bit. I had felt it was too much pressure on everyone. Fiance, of course, kept it all glued together and helped subside my anxieties. We talked to 8. Told him that if he was uncomfortable with calling Fiance “Dad” that is was normal and absolutely not expected. then we asked the question.

“Why do you think Fiance is your dad?”

The words that came out of my beautiful child’s mouth touched the both of us so deeply, that all we could do was sit there . He said, with all six and a half years of his wisdom, “Dad’s help you learn all of the things. They buy you clothes and feed you, but most importantly… Dad’s love you. Fiance loves me. He gives me tucks, he taught me to use my skateboard and he helps me pull my teeth out. Fiance works hard for me and I love him too.”

I’m just going to let that sink in for a brief moment while I gather my feel-goods.

That was the moment when I realized I was no longer a single parent, but definitely a co-parent. Fiance had almost as much invested into this beautiful child as I had. Here we are two year’s later, he calls Fiance “Dad” and is beautifully blended into our crazy mixed up family.

Insert Bio-Dad with his own agenda, needs, wants, life goals etc. etc. Juggling those with what Fiance, and I want… Difficult. We find ourselves questioning everything we do. Not so much things along the lines of Will Bio Dad Approve? Instead we find ourselves questioning our beliefs on what is best for 8. Terrifying.

As a single parent, I can confirm that there is a sense of security. A sense of purpose or even almost a sense of… Regality. My word was the end-all be-all. My decision, with my sons needs at the front of my mind, final. As a new Co-parent, I found myself still sure I was making the correct decisions but then seeking approval because Fiance’s opinions mattered to me. However, as a Tri-Parent, I seem to have lost my footing completely.

In the difficult and terrifying new world of Tri-Parenting, I feel as though I am walking blindly through a field of mines. Obviously, I walk through this Mine Field blindly because I personally feel that having Bio Dad in 8’s life is going to be most beneficial. It’s the ebbs and flows of this new river that we have to navigate. It’s going to be bumpy. I Just hope we are strong enough to be this epic Tri-Parenting team that I can envision us to be. Unfortunately I have not read any of these types of blogs, books, or magazines. So new and uncharted territory may not be wanted but should definitely be expected.

Today, I am celebrating me. You heard me correctly. My goal is to celebrate myself more , and I will happily share what brought it on.

As of late, I have been feeling more and more..introverted. You know what I mean? I have no time for my friends, family, or even that precious “Me Time”. I feel socially awkward and personally sheltered. The problem is not that I am overworked, under paid, or even just depressed.

My life is fluid, ever moving, on-the-go, everyday…Non stop. The list of my daily accomplishments is probably longer than I am from head to toe. So why? Why do I feel these unbearably strong feelings.

Well…. I have the answer. It’s really quite simple. I don’t celebrate myself or my accomplishments. I focus on all of the things that I didn’t quite get marked off of my list. I know you of all people will understand that. This “Aha!” moment came to me while I was preparing dinner for my family. I found my mind wandering to all of the things I didn’t get done.

Well that’s fantastic, I didn’t do any laundry today. I also didn’t fold the laundry that I have dumped on my couch. I still need to clean my carpets. Oh man I need to clean out my fridge, I really need to sort through the kids clothes since summer is practically right around the corner. Why haven’t I gotten to the gym lately?

Do you see what I mean? I truly am my own worst enemy here. In reality I accomplished far more than I did not, this weekend. I went to 8’s back to back flag football games and nearly lost my voice because I was “In the Zone”. I spent an entire day yard-sale hopping and acquiring even MORE thing’s that fiance didn’t want. I spent quality time celebrating my family each with their own personalities and hobbies. We took the children to a massive new park and watched as they climbed to the highest of heights to slide down a long , winding, seemingly never-ending slide. Strolled around an outdoor mall, checked out some amazing sales, and even found a killer fire pit.

Today though, I celebrated me. For the wonderful caring, funny, beautiful, intelligent, empathetic mother and partner that I am.

Today I celebrated myself and all 33 years I have been on this planet. I did Cake Smash photos and it was truly amazing. I took 15 with me, as she has a way of making me smile from my heart. As I watched her, and used her as my muse, I realized that I truly DO deserve to be celebrated. You truly DO deserve to be celebrated. Every person truly deserves to be celebrated.

Maybe Cake Smash photos aren’t how you celebrate yourself. Maybe you celebrate yourself by claiming your day, or ignoring the laundry on a weekend. Maybe you celebrate yourself by taking that hard earned holiday. Maybe you do it with out your children. Maybe you do it with the whole crazy lot of people you call your friends and family.

The point is. You must celebrate yourself or no one else will celebrate you. No one knows what is happening in your head, except you. So when you feel introverted, or invisible. When you have more negatives on your checklist than positives. Celebrate yourself and all of the wonderful things you have accomplished.

It helps in a deeply soul-soothing fashion. It brings a smile that is so deeply satisfying to your face. It brings pride to all of the things on your list that you did finish. Most of all, it helps melt away the stress of life. I’m choosing to celebrate me. Will you choose to Celebrate You?

Yep, I’m busy. The children are all on winter break. They’re all another year older. Eight, Ten, and Fifteen are all home with us today. The day after our celebrated holiday, Christmas. Boyfriend said “You’re on break for the next two weeks.” What a Cheeky Monkey.

Sure, I don’t have to wake up and take Eight to school in the morning, but “Winter Break” And “Time Off” should never be used in the same sentence in reference to parents who stay at home.

It’s winter break. This means that my children are encouraged, and capable of sleeping in. Yet, they won’t. Winter break means that all three of my growing children are home and need to eat. This means Breakfast , Second Breakfast, Elevensies, Luncheon, Afternoon Tea, Dinner, Supper, and Dessert are all on the agenda.

Winter break means that I have officially lost the lay of the land as my boys turn my entire house upside down in a hellfire of Nerf Bullets. Winter break means Fifteen locks herself up in her room while making duck faces and watching videos on contouring.

Today, I didn’t do a lot of the things. I tried, I really did. It has been a very rough day. I did as I always do on a work day. I woke boyfriend up when his alarm went off, shortly followed by the alarms I set for him on my phone. I ushered Ten back to bed then I attempted to lay back down but the damage had been done. Ten was awake, which meant at any moment he would surely be waking up Eight. Fifteen actually woke up at a decent hour. I laid there in my bed and watched as she went into their bathroom to take a shower. My mind, slightly more at ease, started to slow and I drifted off.

Only to be very frantically awoken by Ten. The shower, which fifteen was currently using, was spraying out of the wall and into my living room. Flooding it. So naturally I very frantically messaged boyfriend about it and how to semi-fix it until he gets home from work.

After cleaning as much as I could and gathering as many towels as possible. I finally grabbed my choice of caddie from the fridge and take my first sip.

Good Morning Gorgeous!

After doing my best to corral the children and herd them out of the house, my day began. Delayed, as expected, but not late.

We went for a check up with Eights pediatrician. They forgot about us so we watched the Lorax twice in the waiting room. Then we went to the store so that the children could use their gift cards that their Elves had left them before going back to the North Pole.

You need MORE Caffeine….

I spent all morning watching my children go crazy trying to math the tax on their new toys. Fifteen of course was very methodically searching for whatever fifteen year old girls like, and the boys were losing patience. They didn’t understand how come they were so quick to pick out an arsenal of nerf guns but she took two hours to pick out press on nails.

Four Nerf Guns, 2 packs of Nerf Bullets, a package of purple curtains, a curtain rod, scented oils, a water bottle, and a package of press on nails later. We finally head towards home.

Just make lunch and let the children entertain themselves while you clean.

We got home and I started cleaning. No sooner do I say “You can not open your new nerf guns until you pick up your Christmas mess!” They already have them out and I’m stuck n the middle of a full blown Nerf War. This is my point. It is quite literally raining Nerf Bullets.

It’s okay mama, put your feet up. Do not do the things. The things can wait.

I’m not caffeinated enough, I’m extremely tired, I’m hangry. This is not what I wanted out of my day. I’m done.

I tried to do the parenting thing. I must have asked ten times for my boys to pick up their toys and clean their room. I must have asked Fifteen for help with the boys five times or at least a guard dog to maybe scare them into cooperating three times.

I even made the mistake of telling them that I wanted to take a nap. Hoping that the Christmas spirit would still be in their hearts and I could catch a nap to help perk up my “Winter Break blues.”

It’s just not going to happen. 

I am fully aware that I should have stood my ground, could have started throwing bullets away. I could have even turned off the power in Fifteens room. I’m also fully aware that I made the choice to just let it go. I’m not a bad mother because I opted to let my children do as they wanted. I let them enjoy their gifts. Let them enjoy each other’s company. I wasn’t in the best of moods anyway. Their laughs and ambushes is each other made me smile.

Winter break means relaxing and enjoying time with our loved ones. It doesn’t mean that I get a break too, but it does mean I get to thrive in the chaos and spice that my children bring into my life.

Let’s talk about questions. On an average day Seven will ask me no less than 200 questions before school. On this same average day I will ask Seven no less than 30 questions before school. That is a grand total of 230 questions before we leave the house at 8:15 in the morning.

This made me stop and think. How many questions do I, as a mother and a girlfriend, answer in a single day? I’ve taken a total of three days to accumulate an average for the amount of questions I encounter on a daily basis. I am in no way a scientist nor is this to be held to any kind of standard -Mathematically or Otherwise-. I’m just a mom, doing my own mom-type-thing.

I feel as though we need to address some of these questions before we begin. We have the random questions. How much cheese do you suppose would fit inside the moon? If I decided to use pliers to take my tooth out, would I really need to go to the dentist? How many dogs do you think I could hug at once? We have the “I spy” questions. Mom, where is my other shoe? Have you seen my water bottle? Honey, do you know what I did with my work keys? Where did you put the blade for the food processor? Then we have the difficult questions. If  y equals 24 and x is equal to an unknown number please solve the following math question. Purple and green make orange and orange is equal to banana. W hat is x? How many stars are in the sky between the hours of midnight and one a.m.? Would you please do me a favor mom? Will you help me count every single blade of grass we have in our yard?

Questions. Our main source of knowledge acquisition since the beginning of time. I am an inquisitive person by nature. I fully support and encourage my children and all others to ask questions. It is through these questions that we obtain a better understanding of the ideas and things around us. So over the course of three days. I have added up all of the questions I have been asked and I have averaged them out. To be fair, I want to make a note here. I did, in fact, include all questions that I asked as well as answered.

On average I am asked about 650 questions a day. I also ask close to 800 a day. Please keep in mind that I included every question that I personally asked. Even if it was WTF? silently. I feel as though I don’t have to point this out but I am going too. I am a mom and a girlfriend so I silently say to myself  “WTF?” more than I should.

How do we contain all of the knowledge that our families expect us to have? I’ll admit it. If I don’t know the answer, I’ll make them find it. I’ll give them the resources to collect the research and form an opinion of an answer. We will go to the library, or we will use the Google.

Mama, you don’t know everything and you don’t need to. You should be flattered that your family thinks that you do indeed know everything. It’s okay to admit that you don’t know the answer. Think of the memories you get to build while you teach your children to seek out the knowledge they are curious about. How many questions have I asked in this post alone? The answer is sixteen in total. Eighteen if you count the WTF I threw in there twice.

Grab a brownie. Do your own experiment. How many questions do you encounter on a daily basis? I’m curious to see what you can uncover. Curious about how much you actually do understand and keep tucked in your beautiful brain. Questions are never ending, knowledge is power and making memories is a forever gift.

It’s okay, I understand. I really, really understand. I lose my Sugar Plums too. Here is the deal. I’m not perfect, neither are you. We all lose our Sugar Plums for a variety of reasons and we all feel bad about it. Let me reiterate, I fully understand these moments in your life. Losing your sugar plums is a right of passage for being a parent, especially a mom.

I lose my Sugar Plums when I walk into a room and see wrappers of some sort sitting on the floor a foot away from a full trash can. There are two reasons for this. First: It’s. A. Foot. Away. I mean, really? The garbage can is right there, if you look at where you are putting your wrappers, then you would know you missed it. Any normal functioning person would pick this wrapper up and then put it in the garbage can. Second: The. Garbage Can. Is. Full. Seriously, right now? If the garbage can is full, you tie the bag closed, you walk it out the front door and you put it in the can outside that we pay people to come empty. You don’t just stuff it until it is overflowing and then leave said wrappers on the floor. Yes, I lose my Sugar Plums.

I lose my Sugar Plums when I’m nice enough to let my kids eat in my car. When I let my kids ride in my car, and they turn around and treat it like it’s a garbage truck. I mean really? Is it that hard to collect your trash and take it with you when you exit my car? Is it such a hardship to make sure you take your dirty socks inside so that I can wash them and not find them petrified under the back seat next to the fossilized french fries.

I lose my Sugar Plums when I stub my toe on a scooter that has been next to my clutter cubbies for three days. I lose my sugar plums because I have asked no less than ten times for any child to move it. Ten times I have said the words “Seven, please put this scooter where it belongs before someone hurts themselves.” “Nine, would you please take this scooter into your bedroom.”  How many times should I ask politely or even use threats of taking it and hiding it before it is acceptable to lose my Sugar Plums.

I lose my Sugar Plums when I tell my kids to find something, and they can’t find it. Then I open my eyes and boom there it is. Shoes, backpacks, homework folders, clothes, electronics. I mean I know I’m not the only one with eyes. Or is it really that hard to use your hands and lift something up to look under it. Or you know using your eyes to look for the object that is right out in the open. I can not spend my entire day looking for other people’s stuff. Seeing as I still have to do all the other things.

I lose my Sugar Plums when I spend all day long doing all of the things and fifteen minutes after everyone walks into my home…You. Can’t. Even. Tell. I. Did. Anything. I don’t really feel as though I need to explain this one. It’s like taking a painting that someone made for you and tearing it in half right in front of them. Devastating, simply devastating.

I lose my Sugar Plums when I get told “I can’t. I don’t know how. It’s too hard. I’m to tired.” Blah blah blah blah. And it’s something as simple as putting socks on. Or picking up a piece of trash. Or handing me a diaper. Guess what? I know you’re FULL of sugar plums. Get up off your butt and be helpful.

I lose my Sugar Plums when I take the time to wash, dry and fold all of the laundry in one single sitting. Hand it off to the person that it belongs to and ask them to put it away. Only to discover, a handful of minutes later, not only has it not been put away…. it has been thrown all over their bedroom. Even better, when it sits on my bed for days on end so I put it away even though it isn’t mine. Then I catch flack because I put it in the wrong drawer or in the wrong section of the closet because someone else is picky. I lose my Ever-Loving-Sugar-Plums when the laundry hamper is sitting in it’s normal spot, and there are dirty socks, underwear, even shirts and pants. Sitting. Right. Next. To. It.

I lose my sugar plums when I just spent goodness knows how many hours doing something freaking awesome for Hubby or the kids, and no one appreciates it and they immediately start asking for more or something different. Because, you know, I didn’t already bust my ass for you. Thanks but no thanks.

Do you know what Kristina says when she loses her Sugar Plums? Well That’s Fantastic. At least when she text messages her best friend about it, because all of these terms have been changed in her auto-correct dictionary. Kristina is trying to lessen her cursing so she loses her Sugar Plums. Kelli on the other hand completely embraces losing her sh**. It’s her release, but she totally gets behind losing her sugar plums. We all lose our Sugar Plums. That’s okay. Next time, We’re going to hide and eat the good snacks. What will you do?

I am not an outdoorsy person. The sun hates me, bugs love me, and I don’t appreciate either of them. However my husband is an avid outdoorsman. If you can do it outdoors he wants to do it fishing, hunting, camping, hiking, all of it.

G’s fifth birthday was this month and on her birthday weekend Hubby was pheasant hunting. Yup, you read that right. He took a half day off of work and spent roughly five hours with G to celebrate on her birthday. Then he drove off with his hunting buddies not to be seen and barely to be heard from for the whole weekend. I wasn’t upset about that trip. He has missed it almost every year since we’ve been together mostly because G’s birthday usually falls on the weekend him and his friends get to go.

I feel slightly bad about my lack of outdoorness, because he wants me to go and do these things with him. He, also, wants the kids to go do these things with him. He wants us all to enjoy the hunting and fishing and all things outdoors. I try to get excited about when he wants us all to go fishing as a family. I know the kids love going, even if they only “fish” for five minutes before something more exciting catches their eye.

Hubby talks about taking us camping. I want to muster the enthusiasm to discuss going. As a kid I used to go camping with my parents, brother and sister all the time. It wasn’t the bugs or the sun that turned me off from that. It was the impromptu haircut I received one year. When, after washing my hair in the cold Colorado winter, the tree sap wouldn’t come out of my hair. Camping kinda lost a bit of it’s shine.

I want to be the outdoorsy wife that likes bird season, and excitedly gets up before the sun to go “kill some birds,” as Hubby would say. I wish I could look at fishing with more joy and less disgust. I’m not completely apposed to camping, as long as we’re not roughing it too much.

I knew when we got together, him being an outdoorsman and me thinking the outdoors is best enjoyed from a beautiful view looking out a window, would cause us to clash a little. What he enjoys and what I can handle with the outdoors varies greatly. I’m lucky enough that he understands. I’m willing to do some things, but the rest I’m going to offer up our kids so he can teach them what he knows. How to shoot. Different duck and goose calls. The right kind of bait for whatever fish your going for, and so much more. But I’m going to keep enjoying my outdoors from the comfort of my air conditioned room, preferably from a plush couch.

 

 

Every day is go-go-go. We have to be doing something. Cleaning, shopping, cooking, organizing, school, errands, work. Always on the go, always busy. Monday thru Friday and usually Saturday and Sunday too. There’s always things to do and never enough time to do it.

However every now and then we stop. We do the minimal amount of things that need to be done. Then we just relax. Today is the day to relax. This Sunday is lazy Sunday! I didn’t choose it today. I had plans to clean and organize and turn chaos into a beautiful clean organized masterpiece.

A climbed into my lap and decided it was naptime. Yes, I could have moved him, and worked on the mile long list I had planned. I could have wiggled away and spent the next couple of hours working, but cleaning can wait.

Hubby pointed out that A had a super busy morning. Getting into things and playing and running around like the busy two year old he is. He’s two now, so no, I’m not going to set him aside when he needed to crawl into my lap for a nap. I’m calling lazy Sunday, and if the dishes get done, that’s cool. Or if they pile a little more that’s fine too. Or if G and D climb up here for snuggles too, that’s even better.

We don’t always have to be going and doing things. Everyone deserves at least one day off, whether it’s planned or not. Whether your day off is being a pillow for your baby, or sneaking out of the house for your favorite cup of coffee with your bestie, maybe even a bit of shopping just for you. We all need a Lazy Sunday.

 

I have a problem. An obsession. An addiction if you may.  It’s not drugs or alcohol or cigarettes.  In some ways it’s much worse. Although, some will think I’m being dramatic. B thinks it’s a serious problem. D and G think it’s great and wish they could join in. C is totally following in my footsteps.

There is a big block store, one of the more popular ones out there, and they sell. . .leggings. Not just any kind of leggings, but fuzzy leggings. The kind of soft and fuzzy that has me sitting here petting myself all day long. It’s become a stress relief for me to just rub my legs, because they are so soft and comforting.

I discovered these leggings last fall. I bought a pair, because seriously who could pass up such cozy leggings. Not to mention, I was learning to rock the “mom” look. Or the Basic Chick look, because that’s apparently what I’ve become, and I’m more than okay with it. I think I totally rock a tunic-y shirt with a long open cardigan over the top. Plus leggings, preferably fuzzy, with slouch boots. Occasionally, you’ll even catch me toting a Starbucks to go with it.

Every time anyone comments on my fancy pants, I always tell them how addicting they are. “I sit and pet myself all day. It’s great.” Then I proceed to tell them that they have to go out and get their own pair. At roughly $8 a pair, who can pass that up. With the added bonus that they are fuzzy and fun to wear they are surprisingly warm.  It makes me sad that I can’t wear them during the summer. I’ve actually thought of moving to a place that has colder weather year round, just so I can keep wearing them. That’s just as good of a reason as any, right?

Since last fall I have acquired eleven pairs of these most fabulous leggings.  Including a Halloween pair and a Christmas pair. I’m really hoping to find a Thanksgiving pair. I’ve already warned Hubby that I plan to buy all the fuzzy leggings I can get my hands on. Not to mention shirts and sweaters to go with, because my addiction demands that I have a something to wear with the leggings. Well, that and society too. No judgments from me, Mama. You go get those leggings. Get ALL of the leggings. It is all going to be okay,  just put your leggings on, rock those leggings. Be the best Basic Chick you can be.

 

Can we just take a minute to grumble and complain about school parties and functions? Not really to complain about attending these events, the frequency of the events, or even the ideal behind these functions. What we really want to gripe about is how we feel about juggling all of the events. How we feel about dropping the ball.

As you know Kelli has five children. Littles, Monsters, Monkeys… whatever term you’d like to use. Four of which are school aged. Sadly, one doesn’t live anywhere near her. Another is home-schooled, but that still leaves two in public, brick and mortar, schools.  That gives her twice the holiday/school functions to attend. Kristina on the other hand has two bonus babies, one in high-school and one in a charter school thirty miles from home. Add one full time mini-me in the same public school as D and that leaves a grand total of four different schools and their own corresponding functions.

When C & B were younger Kelli worked, so she didn’t get to attend very many, if any, of their school parties but she never missed a ceremony or awards presentation. As for Kristina, always jumping through hoops to make the award ceremonies, school performances, and even sporting events has always left her feeling as though she just accomplished her first decathlon.

With D had her first school party, Kelli was home sick with a one-week old A. D had brought home a stomach bug and passed it around. Lucky, G got over it quickly and she and Kelli’s mom, Nana, made it to D’s party in her place.  She did her best to make it to the rest of D’s school parties once they moved out here. We think there were only two to finish her kindergarten year. With Seven in the same class, and it only being half-day, Kristina was going through the juggling motions of Volunteering as much time as she could.

The following year G started Pre-K and Kelli had a horrible time figuring out school parties. G was in pm Pre-K so her’s and D’s class celebration’s clashed. For a few of the events she went to G’s then signed her out early to make it to the tail end of D’s. Then there were the ones that G just didn’t go to school so they could make it to all of D’s. As much as D begged though, she never took her out of school to go to one of G’s. Juggling A, while helping G craft a snowman was hard enough, let alone keep D from inserting her opinion on G’s school craft. Nine and Fourteen were still in the same charter school this year so Kristina’s juggling act was more like balancing two plates. Some days Seven would leave school a little early to attend a Volleyball game, or a talent show, or Kristina and Boyfriend would divide and conquer for the separate schools and then regroup.

This year, as Kelli sat in her car waiting for G to be let out, obviously she missed the first party of the year. She had plans to go, she could have made it to both G and D’s Halloween parties. She could be that mom that has her sugar plums together. Instead, she’s still the mom trying to find all her ducks and get them in the same room, no less in a row. Kristina now has a schedule on a calendar with post-it notes, her squirrels are at their rave and she just wings it. We aren’t perfect, we adapt to the changing school years and functions as we go. We try out new crazy systems in hopes of keeping up.

Sure, Kelli is already working on her plan for D and G’s Christmas parties. She is even planning teachers gifts, which is another hit and miss idea in her life. Although, Kelli is completely on top of Pajama days, because what mom wouldn’t want to skip the getting dressed fit in the morning.  What about Kristina? Honestly, she gave up on teachers gifts, except for end of year, and just sends a card. She does her best to help keep the children up to date on special days at their schools and make sure they have what they need and support at their programs. Everything outside of that is hit or miss though.

Our children act as though us missing an event is a travesty of the highest order. Hopefully, they won’t remember all the times we dropped the ball instead of all the times we actually made it. All the effort we put into the end of year teachers gifts, the primping and pressing for formal concerts, the money and time spent at the school carnivals or end of year fun. C & B didn’t hold a grudge. Not that we have noticed. We aren’t dropping the ball because it sounds like a good time, instead it is because we are human. Our lives have a lot of chaos in them. School parties are just one of the many things we drop the ball on.