Smoked Ribs, Fried Brain

I'm tired, y'all. Lincoln has been waking up at midnight for two weeks, both of my kids have pink eye, I'm remembering speech appointments for Lincoln and dress up days for Clark, I have groceries to buy and meals to make, and I'm trying to be Susie The School Volunteer. I. Am. Tired.

If you take nothing else from this post, know that I'm attempting to function under extreme conditions while trying desperately not to catch or further spread conjunctivitis. My brain power is at full capacity.

Today was long. We picked Clark up as a family, ran some errands, and made it to my happy place (the plant store 🪴) just as the skies let loose in a torrential downpour. After perusing and making my choices, we made a run for the car with 2 kids, a flimsy umbrella, a 20 pound diaper bag, and a cardboard box full of plants, pots, and soil. By the time we made it inside the car, the box was crumbling and we were all soaking wet.

As we traveled home, we realized that it was nearly dinner time, and we were all pretty tired. The rain was subsiding, so after we got the kids and car unloaded, I told Ryan that I'd go check and see if a BBQ food truck that he likes was open, and grab dinner to bring home. 

At the exact moment that I pulled into the parking lot, the Heavens opened and dumped buckets of rain everywhere. Having upgraded to a sturdier umbrella while I was home, I was confident that I'd be fine. I hopped out of the car and headed to order. While standing there, I discovered that they must park in the lowest point of the entire parking lot, as my boots and socks were rapidly filling with cold, dirty rainwater.

Bless the woman in the food truck who was trying to help the vegetarian woman order BBQ for her entire family. She even helped me maneuver the checkout system, as I'm too short to reach up that high. 🤦‍♀️

I ran back to the car to wait for my order and excitedly text Ryan that they were there, open, and had ribs. That's the holy trinity of food truck BBQ! A few moments passed, she called out my order, I waded through calf-high water with a current, and retrieved dinner for my family. Feeling like Superwoman.

Once settled back into the car, I put the keys in the ignition, turned them, and...nothing except the radio turned on. I knew that obviously my battery was working, because I had lights and music, and assumed that I just hadn't turned the key far enough. So I tried again. Same result. Hmmmm. Maybe I need to take my keys out and start over. Which would have been a decent idea if I could have gotten my keys out, but they were STUCK.

I have encountered this a few times in my driving career, so I calmly moved the steering wheel around a few times and jiggled my keys again. They weren't budging. I continued this dance of turning the keys all the way forward, all the way back, move the steering wheel, jiggle keys, huff with exasperation, think for a few seconds, and turning the keys again for a solid five minutes. 

My next step in problem solving was Google. It literally holds all the information on earth. I input a couple searches, skimmed the answers, and found that the good people of the internet don't have many more ideas in this situation than I had already tried. 

Soaking wet from literal head to toe, hot and sweaty from wrestling with my entire steering column, and near tears, I called Ryan. He ran through a couple things I had already tried, I tried them again with him on the call, and then we started brainstorming. He was at home with 2 kids and 1 carseat. I had 2 carseats and a disabled car, in the pouring rain, with food that I don't eat getting colder by the second. 

Nearing a complete mental breakdown to accompany this weird half breakdown of my car, I threw my hands in the air and gave up. I told Ryan "I don't understand. My battery isn't dead - I have lights and music when I turn the key. I can turn them off by pulling the key all the way back toward me. I've moved the steering wheel every direction that it goes. My keys are locked into the ignition, but the engine won't turn on. WHAT DO I DO?!" He very calmly ran through the list of things I had tried, and briefly hesitated (assuredly debating whether he was risking divorce by asking his exhausted, stressed, panicked wife the question that he was considering) before saying, "...and the car is in park?"

Y'all!!!! MY CAR WASN'T IN PARK. I had driven up, and apparently just pulled my keys out of the ignition without taking it out of drive!! Of course, the engine won't start and automatically be in drive, risking the lives of all around. Point, you, car makers of the world.

I'm tired. Like spend-15-minutes-fighting-to-get-my-keys-out-of-the-ignition-without-checking-to-be-sure-the-car-was-in-park tired. Enjoy this photo of Clark eating marginally cold ribs while I go to bed at 7pm and sleep until Monday.

Nine Days, Zero Naps

We're officially 2 weeks into the school year, and the Sloans are over here thriving surviving. Today concludes the first full week of school, and we are tired. Not like a normal tired, either. Like the-6-year-old-was-begging-to-go-to-bed-at-4:30pm-tired. 

Over the last nine days, we have endured the following:

- Agreeing to allow Clark to make one purchase from his Amazon wish list if he completed a full week of good reports. 

      - 42 separate conversations about the exact moment he'd be allowed to complete the purchase.

      - Finding a desired toy for $10, telling him he could buy 2, and then finding out there was only 1 left in stock. There were tears, friends. We prevailed and found a similar toy for $30, but there was some confusion and we didn't discover until checkout that he thought he could get 2 of this item as well, but mom thought $60 was too much. There were wails, friends. Finally, we found a $15 *and* a $10 toy and we both made it out of negotiations alive. 

- The school pickup line.

        - It's tough on these streets, y'all. And the parking lot. And the turn lane. And the exit lane. And the one way streets. Parents are the worst example of getting in line and waiting your turn that I have ever seen. And these poor teachers, exhausted from a long day of dealing with our offspring, now have to stand in the blazing sun and direct traffic while diffusing hissy fits from parents who are sitting in AIR CONDITIONED cars. It's the most bonkers thing I've ever seen.

        - We are supposed to put neon lime green signs in our front passenger window that has the name(s) of our child(ren) so the already overworked school staff can grab the right kid(s) and get them into the right vehicle. Name shaming the random consonants that people have thrown together and put on a birth certificate is my new favorite game.

        - My kid is 6. With a backpack half his bodyweight. He is tasked with getting into the car, getting the door shut, and getting himself buckled faster than a NASCAR pit stop. Because I am a decent human being, I don't like to leave the parking lot until my precious cargo is safely buckled, so I drive past the rest of the waiting cars and pull off to the side until I hear the click that tells me he's safe and we can go. I looked in my rearview mirror, pulled forward, and then heard the roar of an engine propeling a car next to me, speeding *directly* toward a staff member directing traffic, before cutting me off and forcing me to slam on my breaks to avoid an accident. Congratulations, dude. You just played chicken with a kindergarten teacher and risked all of our lives to pass a HONDA CIVIC and gain 1 car length. Also, your kid has a dumb name. 🙄

- No Naps & A Mid-Week Urgent Care Visit. 

         - Lincoln loves naps. The mere mention of a nap produces a huge smile on his face as he races toward the stairs and signs "I Love You" to anyone left behind. I have been looking forward to getting to partake in these naps since we made the decision to send Clark to in-person learning. So of course this is the week that Lincoln chooses to boycott daily sleep. THIS IS NOT WHAT I WAS PROMISED!!

         - Clark developed a deep, wet, nasty cough that appeared right after we ordered our food at a crowded restaurant. So we're the jackholes who took a hacking kid to infect the entire building. 🤦‍♀️ 

- The desire to do everything.

       - Clark has played soccer twice through a local sports organization, and the experience has been pretty terrible both times. Ever the optimists and against our better judgement, we decided we would give flag football a try through the same organization. I emailed first to be *sure* that they have enough coaches this year, and was assured that they do. We signed him up, they charged us 4 separate registration fees, and emailed to let us know he's on a team without a coach. Ryan is a saint and agreed to attend a coaches meeting to see if it's something he's comfortable taking on. Exactly 3 people showed up, and one of them was under the impression that this league of 1st graders is the NFL Combine.

       - In one week's time, I have joined the PTA, secured a corporate sponsorship, and volunteered to do some snack shopping for the school each month. Lincoln volunteered to look adorable, shop with me, & charm the amazing school office staff. 💕

I'm not going to get that nap, am I??

Fear, Loathing, and First Grade

Do your best. Stay focused. Move with urgency.

These are the goals that Clark and I identified for this school year. This school year, where for the first time, he will not be with me all day. To say I've been dreading this day is not accurate. I've been *consumed* by it. 

He's my first baby. The baby we prayed for, the baby who I quit my job to stay home with before he became a big brother and started school, and the baby who we checked on each night in his crib to be sure he was still breathing... until he wasn't a baby anymore. I still check on him every night. Just to be sure.

Tomorrow, that baby who now stands 3 feet tall, talks from sun up to sun down (Lord, be with his teachers!) about everything under that same sun, is missing 2 front teeth, has a nose dotted with the cutest freckles, and is sporting a mohawk with a lightning bolt shaved into the side of his head, will get out of my car and walk into school without me. Ryan tells me that I'll then drive my car home and wait until it is time to pick him up, but I have already made peace with the fact that I'll be forcibly removed from the parking lot.

Ryan and I decided before Clark was born that we would not teach our children to be afraid. We acknowledge all feelings as valid, and we have allowed him the space to say all the things he's feeling about school that don't fall under the happy/excited umbrella that we as a society expect 6 year olds to embody. We've talked for hours this summer about how it's okay to be nervous, scared, and sad about not being home this year, but we've also done our best to keep *our* feelings out of his world.

We have saved our sadness, fear, anxiety, and general doom and gloom for each other and for you. Welcome to our pity party. Tissues are on the left, and emotional support chocolate is on the right. 

Knowing how Clark was feeling about the changes ahead, we worked together to come up with a motto that we can have for the year and I can say to him each morning at drop off: Do your best. Stay focused. Move with urgency.

Do your best. Clark is going to do awesome. He's a smart, kind, and funny kid. He's been excited to make friends and to have specials like gym and art for two years (I'm a decent 'core subject' homeschool teacher, but PE and art have *never* been my thing). He excels in academics, he has been practicing how to introduce himself, and he is good about remembering his manners. His best is amazing. 

I'm going to do my best, too. I'm going to do my best to encourage him and not let him see my sadness. I'm going to do my best to let him be 6 and make mistakes and then make them right. And I'm going to do my best to generally just get out of his way.

Stay focused. Oh, Lord. This is my child who has to start his bedtime routine one full hour before lights out just to have a prayer of making it there on time. "Go to your room and get in pajamas" usually takes 20 minutes, two calls to the Alexa device in his room that he *always* answers with "Sorry, mom! I got distracted.", and all of my remaining patience for the day. He can do hard things (like staying on task), and I will keep reminding him of this. 

I'm going to stay focused, too. Focused on the growth that Clark is going to experience and how his independence will continue to expand. Focused on the confidence that I'll surely see sprout up in him. And I'll stay focused on my time with Lincoln, who has never experienced being the only kid in the house.

Move with urgency. I've always been the kind of person who rushes through tasks so that they can be finished and I can have the rest of whatever time is left to myself. And I think it's both science and law that people like me have to marry and procreate with people like Ryan, who doesn't crack open a suitcase to start packing until we should have already left for the airport. And like his dad, Clark can...delay. I'm convinced that the house could be on fire, and Clark would find a reason to LEISURELY walk around in literal circles, holding onto something that needed to be thrown away 10 minutes ago, and looking for his other sock... that's also in. his. hand. 

I'm going to move with urgency, too. Both from the parking lot so that I might make it off school grounds before sobbing (or landing a misdemeanor trespassing charge), and throughout the rest of the school year. I'm going to move with urgency and excitement when it's time to pick him up and hear about his day. And I'm going to move with urgency in our time together after school, too. I'm going to be quicker to set my phone down, ignore the laundry, and sit on the floor with both of my babies.

It's here, y'all. First grade waits for no one. He's ready, but I'm going to need more emotional support chocolate.