What does that even mean - "gangbusters"? Who knows - but whatever it is, we've been doing it.
End of year concerts, recitals, awards programs, field trips, grad parties - throw in sarcoma surgery and our own kid's birthdays - and it's all kindsa crazy over here.
But right now our time seems short, precious. We're caught on a tightwire of wanting to cram everything in before we leave for Mayo, and just trying to savor the here and now.
We've been doing our best to try to spend a little time with each of the kids alone.
In between doctor visits for Punk (don't ask - nobody knows - probably the same deca-syllabic disease his uncle battled all through college, and never got answers for either. Don't worry my brother is still very much alive and was completely capable of running a seven minute mile when he took Punk doorbell ditching at the hotel last summer, so clearly there was no lasting damage) annnnyway, we did manage to sneak in an early birthday present for Punk - a trip to see Book of Mormon, which he's been begging to see since seventh grade. Lest you think we're those incredibly moral people, who didn't think he could handle it - he'd downloaded the music and had the entire score memorized before he turned 13 - there wasn't much he didn't know (or hadn't imagined). It's just that - shows are expensive, we wanted it to count as a gift. We're thrifty like that. Plus once you get past the swearing, explosive diarrhea, and maggots - the end message is sort of nice - nice enough that believe it or not, the Mormon church signed off on the whole show.
For Kooka is was lunch at MOA and a manicure. She's pretty easy in that regard - a little time at Forever 21, some gelato, free cheese samples and trying all the lip gloss samples NYX has to offer, and she called it a good day.
Child three is another story. Every day is special when you're 5, and Yoda's favorite special thing is the public library. It's cheaper than a Broadway show OR a manicure, so we'd feel pretty guilty denying the kid her wish. But still . . . .
The bane of my existence.
But she's not.
Every time, evvvvvery freaking time, she drags me to the arts and craft section. Stained glass, tree-houses, make-your own scented playdough with just 26 everyday organic ingredients, plus the urine of a free-range mountain lion. That place is a nightmare.
At first I thought we could just check out the books, look at the pictures, and imagine what it would be like to make our own Amish-style candles or macrame pillowcases.
It begins before the book is even cracked open. "Oooooh - can we make this TODAY?!"
"No honey. We don't have the parts to reassemble an antique diesel engine."
"Oh - oh - oh, but we could stop at NAPA on the way home - pleeeeeeeaaaase. I've always wanted to assemble an engine."
"No you haven't."
"That's because there wasn't a book to show me hooooow. But now that I know how, it'll be easy."
Lord - save me.
I can literally hear my blood pressure increasing with my to-do list as we scan each book:
Beep - we're outside painting rocks to look like owls.
Beep - we're sewing doll pajamas.
Beep - we're raising monarch butterflies.
Beep - we're buying a box of dry ice.
Beep - we're gathering bark from the arboretum to create our own fairy houses.
Beep - we're making organic lipgloss.
Beep - we're covered in feathers and splatter paint.
Beep - we're hand crafting our own wallets out of felt.
The last one was today's adventure. She/we did a nice job. It's just the perfect size for a few dollars, and a new little something she acquired last week.
Her very own $*@!-ing library card.