1m2aSandbox

It’s 7:45 a.m. Saturday morning. The
phone rings, and because Cora got me up an hour ago, I answer it on
the first ring. “Hello, ma’am? I’m from the Acme
Party Supply Company. We spoke last night?”


“Yes,” I reply jubilantly. “I remember
you.”


“Well, I’ve got some bad news. For some reason, the box
never left the warehouse last night, so it’s still there.
Which means it won’t be making the Saturday delivery we
promised you.”


Which is the moment I collapse over my desk, weeping.


What brought me to this state? Try a three-year-old’s
birthday party.

I'm chest-deep in birthday preparations
and the girls are not cooperating and giving me any time to do so
during the day, so I've less than ten seconds here to reassure
everyone I'm still alive, and will be sending dispatches from the
Birthday Front shortly!

Maddie’s third birthday party is
coming up, and I have to confess I’m getting a tiny bit
stressed about it.


For her first birthday, we skipped the party thing: after all,
first birthday parties are for the parents (hey! I survived the
first year!) rather than the kid. And we played her second birthday
low-key as well: all our friends had zoo memberships, and so we all
gathered at the zoo (her favorite place on earth) for a birthday
celebration. No fancy plans, no big decorations, no theme, no
snazzy goody bags to give out.


Now, though, Maddie’s been to a few parties and knows
it’s a rather big deal. In addition to being the day she gets
to eat cake and have presents, Maddie understands that birthdays
are for fun parties with her friends, and she’s looking
forward to her birthday party this weekend almost as much as she is
her actual birthday next week.

My apologies to the Beatles and
“Abby Road” . . .


Yes, it’s time once again for that smell of fake coconut oil
and the white streaks of zinc oxide on all your clothing. Crack
open a bottle of sunscreen, and slather up.


Of course, if you’re like us, you’ve already been
wearing it for several months now – I’m obsessive about
sunscreen and hats when the weather turns mildly warm – but
even the most die-hard tanners know this is not the friendly sun we
grew up with, and it’s time to get serious and protect the
kiddos (and ourselves!) from those dangerous rays.

The other night Brian and I revived
argument #27 from our Greatest Hits list, entitled “My Life
Is Harder Than Yours”. To be fair, I’m usually the one
to start said revival, when I can’t take another long day
with the two girls and feel (usually wrongly) underappreciated. You
can probably write the script yourself, so I won’t bore you
with the details; what I wanted to bring up here was actually the
point at which we got into a good, earnest discussion – the
point after all the acrimony and accusations and martyrdom (mostly
on my part).


We were lying in bed and I was trying to put myself in
Brian’s shoes, and understand how his day truly is stressful.
The weight of responsibility for this big family is heavy on his
shoulders, especially in light of our last year and its eight
income-free months. So he’s constantly working while looking
over his shoulder, fearing the axe. Then add in the usual anxieties
– job deadlines, co-workers that he doesn’t get along
with, and so on – and he really does have a stressful job. I
get that.


But I know that my job stress is different, and I struggled to put
it into words. Aside from the obvious – that he gets two days
a week off from said stress, even if those days are spent doing his
other job, which is full-time dad – I knew there was
something unique about my job stress.

When we were house-hunting here in Texas
last fall, our realtor made an executive decision for us: she
wouldn’t allow us to look at any houses in neighborhoods
where there weren’t community pools. “Because,”
she said, “Your kids are going to live at the pool during the
summer, won’t they? It’s the best place for a mommy on
a hot summer day.” I thought she was a little over-the-top
with the decision, but we had so many great places to choose from
that fit the criterion that I went along with it. Consequently, our
new home here is located near not one, but two neighborhood pools.


And boy, am I thanking my realtor now.

For Cora’s birthday, the
grandparents gave her one of those water activity tables you see in
so many back yards. We’d let it be known we were on the hunt
for used back yard toys, and so this showed up as an answer to
prayer.


In fact, I’d almost put the water table on Cora’s
official list, but the neat freak in me made me hold back. Once
both girls got a look at the box, though, I knew there was no going
back, and truthfully I was glad the decision had been made for me;
both girls love the water, and our little inflatable pool takes so
long to heat up we hardly ever get it out!