Author Archives: Stacy Swiger

Tales from the Trip – Part One

Posted on by Stacy Swiger

First things first… I realize that I forgot to make a Harry Potter reference in Friday’s post.  I will make up for that by doing two today.  My only excuse is that I have a horrible short-term memory.  Seriously, you could tell me something today and I might forget by tonight (unless it is good gossip).  I can re-watch movies and re-read books and I get excited about the endings because I have forgotten what they are.  I am just special that way. 

So I was all mixed up about what day it was from being on vacation and the trip back and I almost posted yesterday.  Then I remembered that there is no post on Sundays.  BAM!

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I survived packing day on Friday.  More importantly, everyone else survived the Master Packer and all the craziness that surrounds me.  My mother-in-law lovingly said I was actually more of a “Mother Packer,” which I thought was kind of sweet.  Either way… I got everything washed, gathered, packed and loaded just as a mega-storm bore down upon the eastern seaboard.

Rewind three hours.  Kid E decided to have a meltdown over nothing/ everything and no one but his Mommy could soothe him.  Unfortunately, my attention needed to be elsewhere.  So the background soundtrack for the Pack was a whiny and crying Kid E as a very sweet and helpful (although sadly ineffective) Kid B held him and tried to calm him down.  This as a news alert flashed across the television screen for a tornado warning in Atlantic County, which we get all the time in Georgia but they rarely see at the beach.  Next thing I realize, Kid D was crying inconsolably.  I went to him to see how I could shut him up calm him down and he explained through heaving chest and jagged sobs that “(he didn’t) want to die in a tornado.”   Me neither, pal.  So you gotta buck up and let mommy do her job.  I can barely do it with one kid’s screams echoing through the house, let alone two.  So, I refocus Kid D with a video game, reassure him that we will go down to the lower level of the house if a tornado does indeed come through and I plow ahead.

I had to load the truck in stages.  First, earlier in the day I attached the cargo roof bag and put all of the beach gear inside.  This had been done prior to the trip up by Sheepdog (who is at least five or even six inches taller than me – P.S. I think I am shrinking) and I had a hard time reaching the roof to put stuff in.  Sheepdog also had a helper (Kid A) and I was in the house taking care of the other kids.  I had no assistants (the girls were driving back from Hershey Park with my mom and dad), it was raining, and the boys yelled off of the deck that they “needed me for an emergency” about 14 times in a half-hour period.  But I got it done.  Check.

Then we had to load the way back of the truck with all of our stuff.  This took most of the day as I had to wash some stuff, direct the girls to pack their things, presume that Kid C would forget most of hers and compensate for that, pack all of the boys’ stuff and my own as well, plus all of the extras.  The storm started up again around dinnertime, so my dad suggested that I back the truck into the garage instead of loading it outside in a rainstorm.  I had to leave it sticking out about two feet so I would have room to attach the bike rack.  The rain kept coming and my dad started pacing in front of the truck because the crazy rain was coming down sideways (of course it was!) and all of his tools were getting wet.  He kept assuring me that it was “not a problem,” yet he was standing in front of the shelves trying to block the weather the entire time.  Then he hung up a towel.  And we still have Kid E throwing a tantrum-to-end-all-tantrums from above.  Awesome, right?  But I got it done.  And loaded.  And we didn’t have to leave anything behind (well, I almost had to leave Kid A’s guitar there – yes, she brought her guitar – but I was able to shift things around and make it all fit.  Check.

Those bikes did not stand a chance against my mad mexican wrestling skills

Finally I was putting the bike rack onto the trailer hitch.  But I couldn’t find the stupid effing cotter pin (it wasn’t actually an “effing” cotter pin until it started hiding from me, so once I found it in the glove box – smart planning on my part, right?  that’s how I compensate for the whole short-term memory loss thing –  the cotter pin and I became friends again).  I made my dad go upstairs because he was just stressing me out.  I wrestled (literally – at one point I was straddled on the bumper doing some Lucha libre moves in order to get the three bikes onto the rack).  But I got them on, strapped them in, and this job was done.  Check.

I was a sweaty mess.  My dad directed me as I backed the truck up so that he could shut the garage door for the night.  It fit by mere millimeters.  Good thing because I didn’t really want to leave the roof bag and the bikes out in a tornado and I don’t know if I could have watched while my dad nailed a tarp to the garage opening.  And trust me, this was surely his next step.

So I went in to diffuse Kid E’s meltdown (yes, he was still actively having one – he is quite tenacious), shower and go to bed.  I set the alarm for 3 a.m. and crashed.  Hard.

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I will continue with part two of this story in tomorrow’s post.  And, yes, I realize that I only included one Harry Potter reference today.  I got to writing and I forgot about it.  And I wasn’t about to rework the whole story.  Lesson of the Day:  If you drink too much in college you will forget stuff when you are old.

Look Out! I’m Packing

Posted on by Stacy Swiger

No, not a gun, which – let’s face it – should in fact scare the bejesus out of everyone who knows me.  There are certainly some days that I could be the poster child for road rage.  I wouldn’t shoot people, mind you, but I would sure as a Swiss watch shoot some tires that belong to the idiots, the texters and the people who can’t be bothered to thank me with a simple wave.  What has happened to manners on the road, people?  No, I am actually packing up to go back home to Atlanta.  But you should still be a little scared of me right now.

Much more apropos that this picture represent peace than that stupid Mercedes sign inside of a circle

You see, I am a Master Packer.  If there were a class in packing, I would have slept through every one then just showed up for the final gotten an A plus.  I would have a Ph.D. in Stowage.  Opportunus Plures res in vegrandis tractus.  I can pack so much into such little space that I often amaze myself.  And I don’t even need those SpaceBag things (while I must admit that they are quite amazing).  My mind just sees a big game of Tetris and I can turn things and flip them and make them fit into other things and then into whatever space I’m working with.  Or I’ll just throw it out/ not bring it with me.

But talent like this does not come without a price.  In the hours leading up to a Big Pack I can become distracted and sullen and moody.  My mind is working so hard to plan and calculate the puzzle that will soon lie before me that I have no time for common social mores, like feeding my hungry children (“Am I wearing a sign that says, ‘Carl’s Slave?'”) or not growling at people just because they have the nerve to speak to me.

I am busy doing laundry, finding duffel bags (they pack much better than inflexible suitcases), tracking lost items, planning for eventualities and random possibilities (do you think Mary Poppins’ bag got packed all by itself?), and re-assembling bike and roof racks.  And then I have to check the DVR to see if the season premiere of Flipping Out recorded yet (priorities!).  I love me some Jeff Lewis.  He always makes me feel better because at least I’m not as crazy as he is.  Plus, it was fantastically funny when he taught that 3-year-old girl to say her favorite drink was chardonnay.  Then I have to pack.  Dun dun dun.

Fortunately for those directly involved in the process, today is cloudy and not at all a good beach day.  Before this weather actually presented itself I had some crazy scheme planned that involved a final day on the beach followed by last-minute loads and loads of laundry and cleaning (and subsequent drying!) of beach gear prior to a late night packing session.  Right, because there is nothing less stressful than a Big Pack on a deadline. (guess what… I got that from my daddy too – heh, heh).

So today will be mildly taxing, but soon enough we will be on the road again.  I am hoping for a drive day that is free of incidents, whining (by me or the kids) and speeding tickets.  A girl can dream, can’t she?  And when we finally get back to Georgia I will open a big bottle of wine.  I am beginning to notice a trend here.

Wish me luck for tomorrow… (I really mean it, because that drive is going to be L-O-N-G)

Sheepdog’s Dream Come True

Posted on by Stacy Swiger

My husband is not a complicated man.  He needs water (often), food (oftener), and sex (oftenest).  But even more than the desire to quell the hormones that frequently control every cell in his body (“But I have the DSB!  This poison is going to kill me!”), he wishes for a friend who shares his passion for cycling.

He has been a lover of the biking since he was a young boy growing up in West Virginia.  Legend (or the stories that Sheepdog and his mom tell me) has it that he built his first bike ramp, Evel Knievel-style, when he was just three years old.  Many years and multiple emergency room visits later, he has established a zeal for the two-wheeled vehicles that rivals Voldemort’s compulsion to kill Harry (side note: in honor of the eighth and final Harry Potter film’s release on July 15th, I plan to put at least one reference to the books and or movies into each post from now until next Friday – you’re welcome).

Over the years he has read, watched, wanted to be, tried, studied, followed, traveled to watch a stage of, or participated in the following: VeloNews, Cycling magazine, Bicycling magazine, Bike magazine, any and every book on cyclists or cycling, countless shows on OLN and Versus, live bike race streams on the internet, a bike messenger, a bike commuter, a bike mechanic, a bike salesman, taking apart and putting back together his own bike – both out of curiosity and necessity, daredevil stunts on bikes not limited to BMX-style tricks with pegs at indoor/ outdoor ramp parks, mountain biking, mountain bike racing (both in good weather and in the unholy desert heat and/or the pouring rain and/or the freezing snow), road cycling – solo, road cycling – club, triathalons, track cycling, criterium, time trials, the Tour de France, the Giro d’Italia, the Tour of California, the Tour of Georgia, the 24 Hours of Canaan, the Six Gap Century, the Tour of the California Alps – Death Ride, and the Leadville 100 – just to name a few.

No, cycling is certainly not just a hobby for him.  It is a part of his heart and soul.  If he is not on the internet looking at pictures of starlets in bikinis or their up-skirt shots, then he is surely looking at the newest in bike technology – frames, gears, suspensions, drivetrains, forks… whatever.   Either that, or he is on craigslist or eBay to see which of those is for sale, “just out of curiosity” (trust me, I’ve had to enforce a budget).

I sill believe you, buddy

And as a human being it stands to reason that Sheepdog just wants to find camaraderie and share his excitement with other cycling enthusiasts.  I’ve tried to fill that role.  I really did.  I have watched countless stages of the Tour (I love Phil Liggett but I’d happily push Bob Roll off of the Col du Granon), I have attended countless races (or “Hippie-Freak-Love-Ins” as I also refer to them), and even tried riding myself (it hurts my butt and I tend to break the bikes – I once broke a derailleur just by pedaling).  “Trying” now consists mostly of me defending Lance (getting harder and harder every time 60 Minutes gets involved) and making fun of the costumes that the cyclists wear (really, there is nothing less flattering than a pair of bike shorts, except maybe biking bibs).

So it is a good thing that Sheepdog has all of these kids.  He is hoping against all hope that at least one of them will share his fanaticism for biking.  But so far, he is 0 for 3.  People-pleaser Kid A really tried to get into it (she even contributed to buying her own mountain bike that they found together on craigslist), but it just didn’t stick.  Kid B doesn’t like to try anything new, so she didn’t even fake an attempt.  Kid C says she will surely ride with him, but she has yet to hop in the saddle.

If you are keeping count, that just leaves the two boys.  As it happens, Kid D – even at six-years-old – often butts heads with his father.  Sheepdog has been trying unsuccessfully to get him to take off the training wheels for years.  Sheepdog’s seemingly casual pleas of, “Wanna go for a bike ride?” are often met with disinterested grunts from Kid D, “…um, nah.”  I keep seeing his heart getting crushed a little bit more with every negative response.  Until the other day.

One of the greatest things about my parents’ house here in New Jersey is the isolation of the very flat street out front.  Nobody else lives and therefore drives back here, so the kids have been able to ride their bikes undisturbed for countless hours.  That has led to a peak in Kid D’s bike riding confidence and a request out of the blue to remove his training wheels.

Sheepdog was remarkably calm and reserved (I presume because he has had his heart broken thrice already) as he got his tools.  He casually handed the bike – sans supports – back to Kid D, showed him how to set up the pedals for maximum push-off power, and gave him the go ahead signal to take off.  Kid D took to riding a bike like a Kardashian to professional ball players, and even the classically pragmatic Sheepdog couldn’t help but whoop and cheer aloud.

In twenty years I have never seen my husband smile the way he does when Kid D now asks him, “Hey, daddy – wanna go for a bike ride?”

Except for the other day when he asked, “Hey daddy – you wanna watch the Tour?”

Wish me luck for tomorrow…

Don’t Hate Me Because I’m Beautiful

Posted on by Stacy Swiger

It is Wednesday again and yes, I am still slacking off one day a week.  And yes, I am still on my family trip and the kids and I are still having fun.  I am even unexpectedly extending the trip by a few more days in order to drive all of them home, instead of having the girls fly back with my parents.  Twenty five days of being away from home is a long time.  Kids D and E do not remember where we actually live.  They keep asking what our “old” house looks like.  Sheepdog had to go back because he has a J.O.B.  I do not like when the chickens are scattered about, so I’ll be happiest next week when we are all back together again.

Today, however, the boys and I are going to the beach.  The girls are headed to Hershey Park with my parents for a little side trip down Nostalgia Lane (my parents used to take them there when they were little bitties), which should be interesting because my dad is scheduled for knee surgery next Monday morning (which facilitated the change in plans that extended our trip) and is having a hard time walking around.

So my honorary guest post writer today is another sister (I have lots of them), Sister C.  She is beautiful, in her mid-thirties, married to Handsome Rob (formerly Cute Robbie), has three gorgeous kids and is currently pregnant with Number Four.  She is pretty and skinny (despite her diet of candy, gum and Cool Ranch Doritos) and a former Miss New Jersey Teen USA and Miss New Jersey USA contestant (yes, there is a difference and yes, I can explain it so yes, that makes me a pageant dork).  She still does some modeling and acting work.  It is really cool to see her in a television commercial every once in a while (“You’re gonna LOVE it!”).

People often think that girls like Sister C are stuck-up or bitchy or full of themselves.  In fact, Sister C is a great example of things being the complete opposite of what you think they are.  She is quiet and shy, especially in new situations.  She is not very good at small talk or cocktail parties because they make her anxious.  She tends to focus on her own physical flaws that no one else even notices.  Yet she is hysterically funny and uniquely weird (she and a college roommate created their own language – totally bizarre but really funny to hear them use it) around people she feels comfortable with.

She works to make herself a better person – a better wife, mother, sister, friend.  She struggles with the big and little stuff that comes along with marriage and kids and work (she works part-time from home).  She is very much like you and me, except that she is beautiful and wears a size zero.  Now we could all hate her for that, or we could stop being jealous and remember that everybody has their issues and everybody struggles with something.  This bitch just gets to do it in skinny jeans.

So now I proudly present to you Sister C’s post…

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Wrangling the Entropy, Tip #5 by honorary guest writer, Sister C

I have three kids (7, 5 and 2) and one more bun in the oven (no, I’m not as crazy as Stacy with five…but, just one behind).  Someone is getting the old snipperoo after this one pops out, but I’m not naming names.  Life with kids (especially little ones) is crazy and you can get bogged down with the day-to-day and lose the big picture of things very easily, even more so if you are a stay-at-home mom.  I certainly don’t have all the answers, but have found that focusing on three main things helps me to keep looking at the big picture of life.  In no particular order, here they are (and don’t go judging me for not putting God as number one…He kind of ties everything together and will go last):

1. Make time for yourself.  Find an activity that you really enjoy.  For me, it’s tennis.  I took a few lessons as a kid, but never really played until a few years ago.  I joined an ALTA team in Sister B’s neighborhood and immediately loved it.  I don’t think I have missed a season yet (except maybe to have Kid Crazy, #3) and I think I will be playing until I can’t move anymore.  While the season is going on we practice one night a week and have a match every Sunday.  It is a great group of fun girls, who have become really great friends too!  It’s a great escape for me to hang out with friends and to burn off some steam.  I loved tennis so much that I finally convinced my husband (let’s just call him House Captain) that he she should start playing too.  He did and loves it just as much as I do.  We even have played a couple of seasons of mixed doubles and played as partners.  We consider it a date and get a sitter…it has been really fun for us to be a “team” on and off the court.  In addition to tennis, I enjoy jogging, yoga and pilates…sweating for me is the best way to burn off some stress and I try to fit some of that stuff in whenever I can.

Rest is another important “me” activity.  I actually think I have a disorder that I need to sleep so much.  I take a nap pretty much everyday.  That helps recharge me and helps me to not fall asleep by 6:00 pm.

2.  Make time for your spouse.  This can be one of the hardest ones.  You work all day (or watch the kids all day), have dinner, clean up, bathe kids, put them to bed…then the day is almost over and you are exhausted.  Last thing I feel like doing is having anyone else touch me or even talk to me for that matter…I need my decompression time.  But, I have heard way too many stories of middle-aged couples getting divorced because they lost each other along the way of raising their kids.  Then, all the kids leave the house and they don’t know each other anymore.  Not for me, pal.  I have zero interest in starting all over again in the dating arena 20 years from now.  And it ain’t like I’m getting any cuter, less wrinkly or less squishy in areas.

Your marriage is the foundation of your whole family…the rock from which everything else stems.  House Captain and I are lucky enough to travel together quite a bit.  We take a number of trips per year (most years) and that always seems to recharge us.  We also try to do date nights every so often.  About a year or so ago, I made House Captain take this quiz in the book The Five Love Languages by Gary Chapman.  It basically tells you what makes you feel the most loved…words of affirmation, quality time, receiving gifts, acts of service, or physical touch.  Once you know what your spouse’s “love language” is, you can try to cater to that.  You may think that your wife would love it if you brought her home a gift one day, but if her “love language” is physical touch she would probably much rather like a giant hug.  I feel like knowing each other’s language has really caused us to focus more on meeting those needs for each other.

Communication is also huge here…we have to sit down and have heart-to-hearts from time to time to work through something.  House Captain actually remembered a technique that was taught to us in pre-marriage counseling, where you go off separately and write down your feelings about something first, then come together to discuss it.  This prevents things from being said that either one of you might regret (When he brought that up recently, I was like, “lame…I just want to yell at you instead.”  But I was pleasantly surprised at how well it worked.).  Marriage is a lot harder than I ever thought…you have to constantly work at it for it to work right.  You can’t just forget about that part, though, because one day it will just fall apart if you do.

3.  Find a higher power to inspire you.  For me and House Captain, that’s the big guy, God.  I don’t want to come across as a holy roller or anything, but I believe that there has to be a higher power from which you derive faith and strength.  Our marriage, how we raise our children, and how we go about our daily lives revolve around God.  We found our church (shoutout to North Point Community Church) a number of years ago and it took me a really long time to get used to the giant-ness, lack of pews and hymnals, and broadway show-like production of it all.  I generally hate change and this couldn’t have been farther from the church I grew up in.  When I finally opened up a bit I realized that this was just the format to actually make me interested in going to church every week.  I ended up loving the music and the weekly messages are just what I need to keep everything in check…they are constant reminders of how I can be a better person, spouse and parent.  They also have an excellent children’s program and the kids enjoy going.  It can’t hurt for the lessons we are teaching them to be reiterated either…kids need all the positive guidance they can get.

I have learned that it helps for me to hand things over to a higher power.  I can’t carry the burden of everything on my own shoulders.  I have peace in my heart knowing that things happen in life for a reason and I need to trust in that.  Most importantly, I am learning more and more each day that I cannot control or plan everything (hello, baby #4).  Trust me, this is a hard thing for all the Paarz sisters to grasp.

Sister C says, "I love Cool Ranch Doritos almost as much as I love House Captain"

When You Gotta Go…

Posted on by Stacy Swiger

One of the things I have always loved about little kids is that they are as real as it gets.  There is rarely any ulterior motive or mind games or hidden meaning behind their words or actions.  If they are hungry, they ask for food.  If they are tired, they will fall asleep.  If they have to go, they go.  And they tell it like it is.

Mommy is Number One; Daddy is Number Two

Kid E is sufficiently potty trained and has been for a while now.  The problem is that he is too short to pee into the bowl and shake without making a mess every time.  And yes, I tried having him use a stool and I did not enjoy having him pee up onto the back of the toilet bowl or even one time the bathroom counter, just because he could reach up there.  Our solution was to have him sit on the toilet.  He very quickly developed the annoying habit of needing to take everything off (pants, underpants, shoes AND socks) each time he went.  It was a complete pain.  Being the mature parents that Sheepdog and I are, we both took to pretending that we did not hear Kid E when he announced that he had to go to the bathroom (I am an excellent fake sleeper).  Never one to give up on shirking the really mundane parenting duties, Sheepdog and I upped our ante and started hiding when he called us.  Kid E is a smart bugger, so he has now assigned specific tasks to each of us… I cover the Number Ones and Sheepdog gets to handle the Number Twos.  This solution is fine, except that Kid E has developed a shorthand speak about it and now he just yells out, “Mommy is pee!,” or “Daddy is poop!”  And he doesn’t even get in trouble for calling us names because he is just telling it like it is.

May the force be with you. Just be sure to put the seat down when you're done.

Toilet Star Wars

Kid E is getting taller every day, and he can usually reach the bowl standing up.  Since Sheepdog and I are completely over the removal of every article of clothing below the belt every time Kid E has to go, we are thrilled about it.  While staying at my mom and dad’s house for our ridiculously long family trip we have had some issues with everyone having to go at the same time, however, and not enough free bathrooms available to satisfy that need.  So one time Kid D and Kid E both had to go (right now!) and I told them to just go at the same time in the same potty.  As you can imagine, their streams crossed in an “X” formation and a lightsaber duel ensued.  Now I swear they are synched up to always go at the same time (right now!) just so they can fight it out Sith style over the bowl.  Boys are so gross.

Just Go In The Ocean

This story is an older one as Kid C is ten years old now, but it is quite applicable to today’s post so I am including it.  Years ago we were enjoying a beautiful beach day and Kid C decided that she needed to pee.  Quick, fast and in a hurry.  She was about three or four years old at the time and Kid D was just a baby and my hands were full (probably breastfeeding him without anyone being any the wiser on the beach because I am full of all kinds of talents), so I told her to just go in the waves and pee right there.  She looked at me like I was an alien, but I reassured her that all the little kids did it and no one would know so she should just go down to the water’s edge, whistle like nothing was happening and just let go.  Little kid pee is mostly water anyway.  She walked away like I was the crazy one but she really had to go, so off she went down past the lifeguard stand to relieve herself.  Next thing I know she was doing just that.  Except I did not think to clarify the subtlety of the maneuver and she had completely removed her bathing suit and was mimicking a sitting position, just as she would if she were on an actual potty – naked as a jaybird with pee clearly running down her leg.  Smooth.  I pretended that she wasn’t my kid for the rest of the day.

You Have to What?

We were at a friend’s pool yesterday after a nice beach day just as all of the BBQ and firework festivities began.  My kids are part fish, so they were swimming up a storm.  Not much can get them out of the water once they are in.  The only exceptions are lightning and bathroom breaks.  When the latter struck, Kid D ran out of the pool soaking wet, screaming with total abandon, “I have to poop!”  He did not care that absolutely everyone at the party (probably everyone in the town) had heard him.  He didn’t care that the very cute little girl who lived there was taking him by the hand to show him where the bathroom was and she was fully aware that he was about to drop a deuce.  He just didn’t give a sh!t.

It is awesome to me how simple being a kid can be.  I hope for my kids that they get to experience that feeling for as long as possible.  No worries.  Do what you like.  Say what you mean without worrying what other people think.  And next time you have to go, just walk down to the water’s edge, strip naked and let go.

Wish me luck for tomorrow…

ROTFLMAO

Posted on by Stacy Swiger

I will let you in on a little secret.  I do not like stuffed animals.  More accurately stated, I hate them.  They bother me to no end.  They shed, they are full of dust mites (invisible to the human eye, but they are there – guaranteed), and they smell.  I don’t care if they are the sweet, soft ones made for replicating a mama’s heartbeat and cuddling newborn babies, the lineup on the back dash of some child-at-heart/ molester’s car, or the three-foot-tall neon ones that have been sitting up on a boardwalk or a carnival shelf absorbing cigarette smoke and cheese steak and cotton candy farts from passerby tourists for weeks until someone actually gets three rings around the bottle necks and takes them home… stuffed animals of every kind are icky.

I also dislike toys that make really loud, repetitive noises.  Especially the ones that do not have an on/ off switch.  Argh!  I have no doubt that they are made in the devil’s own toy factory.  My house is usually pretty loud, just because of the number of people who are in it at any given time, and I am very good at ignoring many of the standard, resultant kid noises, but those particular toys just push my buttons and they get under my skin and into my blood like MRSA.

Put the two of them together and you have created my particular brand of kryptonite.  Stuffed animals that make noises can unhinge me in a way that little else can.  When I come into contact with them I can focus on little else until they are far, far away.  For Always.  Dear Good Lord, please please please make the talking stuffed animals all go away forever in a gasoline fire and send the ashes up in a space pod to Pluto.  Just make them disappear and never come back.  I would be ever so grateful.  Preesh.

So, we went as a family to visit with a very dear friend the other day.  Sheepdog and I used to spend a lot of time with this sweet woman and her husband (who has since passed away) when we lived in New Jersey years back.  As life is happening and kids and work and other stuff takes up most of our time, friendships can fall to the wayside, especially when they are long distance.  Sadly, we have not gotten together in years.

This woman has lived an amazing life and has the heart and soul of an angel and she is also a Dirty Bird (which is a character trait that will always make me want to be BFFs).  She still touches Sheepdog’s biceps and butt whenever she gets the chance, in the most loving and ornery way possible.  We were so excited to spend time with her again and to have her get to know Kids A – E a little better.

We couldn’t have orchestrated a more perfect visit.  The kids were fun and funny and played nicely with her and each other.  They were asking questions and listening politely and using their manners.  We talked and swam and ate together.  And at the end of the visit she brought out presents for the kids, including some beautiful bracelets for the girls, funny bobble head pens and a paper planes kit for the boys, a couple of very peaceful, solar-powered owls that are my new favorite Zen Friends, and this…

Guess which toy might “accidentally” get left behind at Nanny and Pop Pop’s house when we drive back to Atlanta this week?  Or strapped to one of the 4th of July fireworks tonight?  And I can guarantee you that it will not be these guys…

Because these guys are awesome.

Happy 4th!  God Bless America and wish me luck for tomorrow…

Dear Mom and Dad,

Posted on by Stacy Swiger

Sheepdog and I can’t thank you enough for letting us stay at your house while you are in Mexico.  We are having the best vacation family trip with the kids and we are so grateful to have such a fabulous place to stay while we are doing so many fun things in New Jersey.

We have been bringing taking great care of the house while you were gone too.  Sheepdog bought a new ceiling fan for the green guest room and he installed it the other day.  We are bringing in the mail every day and checking in with the builders on the front porch and landscaping projects as they progress.  It’s all good.

Please save us, Nanny Fabulous!

Except for your plants.  Despite my best efforts, they are not thriving.  I have managed to kill a few, and many of the rest go to the brink of death and then come back to life on a daily basis.  I have watered them every day like you said, plus I have been talking to them and visiting with them (mostly at the Point during cocktail hour), but I think they just miss you.  So come home soon.

Much Love,

Daughter A

Kid B Uses Her Powers for Evil

Posted on by Stacy Swiger

Happy Wednesday morning!  I continue to be thrilled that my immediate family keeps sending me posts so I can be a slacker who uses guest writers whilst I am on vacation this summer.  Today’s post comes from my very own twelve-year-old Kid B.  I have always said that she has a special something that draws people to her.  And I remind her that she has to make a conscious choice all the time… either use her powers for good, or use her powers for evil.  Apparently the ornery part of her is pretty strong-willed.  She must get that from her father (wink, wink).

She wrote this during our drive from Georgia to New Jersey, and I proudly present it to you.

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Sibling Pranks by honorary guest writer, Kid B

Hi, Kid B here!  How many of you out there have little sisters or brothers?  Well, I do, and trust me when I tell you this – they can be extremely annoying.  What to do when they are all up in your business and bothering you to no end?  That’s simple – make fun of them or pull a joke on them.  Easy stuff (no dangerous tricks) that get the point across that there are consequences for being pesky.  Here are some of my favorites…

I don't care how cute you are. I will do mean things to you for my own amusement.

Example #1:

In the February of 2004 my dad had a work trip to California and my mom went with him.  Our Nanny and Pop Pop came to babysit us.  We lived in our old house in Roswell then, and I was an innocent 5-year-old.  Kid C was about to turn 3.  She was just starting to eat “big girl” food, and was extremely excited because Nanny was cooking a big Thanksgiving-type dinner for us one night.  We all sat down to a feast of turkey, mashed potatoes, and a big bowl of gravy.  That’s where the trick began – with that bowl of gravy.  As I said before Kid C was so excited to try these new foods so she insisted on having piles of chicken and mashed potatoes, but she refused to even try the brownish-grey stuff (the gravy).  I noticed this and of course jumped at the opportunity to put one over on her.  I decided to try to call the gravy something more appealing so she might try it.  “Why aren’t you eating your chocolate?” I asked.  At the mention of chocolate her eyes popped out of her head and she excitedly asked for some.  Being the generous person I am, I gave her a surplus – I mean I poured it all over her plate.  She grabbed her fork and took a big spoonful.  To her surprise (and my delight) it was not even close to what she expected and she made a face that was a mix between a face for a sour lemon and one like she was about to barf.  I laughed until I cried.

Example #2:

Sometimes, when I am babysitting Kids C and D we play a game called “Star Wars.”  In our game there are two teams – the good (them) versus the bad (me).  We use foam swords or wiffle bats as our lightsabers and we hide from the other team.  The object is to find someone from the other team, sneak up on them and hit them (lightly, as my mom is no doubt reading this) with your lightsaber.  They will then turn around and you duel until someone gets poked with the other’s lightsaber.  If you get poked you are out of the game.  The last person/ team standing wins.  Pretty easy, right?  Well, one stormy Saturday afternoon I was babysitting.  Kid D suggested a game of “Star Wars,” so we grabbed our lightsabers and headed our separate ways.  After about five minutes I found a great hiding spot in Kid E’s room.  Kid C came up the stairs just minutes later.  I think she knew where I was, so I went through the bathroom into Kid D’s adjoining room and snuck up behind her.  Then I whispered in her ear, “Looking for someone?”  I swear, she jumped ten feet in the air, peed her pants, and screamed all at the same time.  I was on the ground, howling with laughter for at least twenty minutes.  Apparently, she didn’t find it as funny as I did because she hasn’t agreed to play again since.

Example #3:

Ahh… April Fool’s Day, the perfect excuse to play tricks on your siblings.  It was the Friday before Spring Break and Kid C  had just left for school on the bus.  I had carefully planned this so she wouldn’t know what I had done until she got home after school.  I snuck into her room and made my way carefully over to her dresser.   First, I removed all of her underwear and took them into my room.  Then, I rearranged all of her clothes so they were in different drawers.  Feeling satisfied with my trick I made my way downstairs and headed out for a great day at school.  I had forgotten all about my prank by the time I came home, and still didn’t remember until after dinner.  Later that night I was sitting in the living room with my mom, my  dad, Kid A, and my Nanny and Pop Pop.  All of a sudden, Kid C comes downstairs in nothing but a towel.  “Mom, you moved my underwear, right?” she asked.  My mom looked puzzled and she replied skeptically, “No….”  That’s when it came back to me.  I started laughing and could barely choke out, “Happy… April… Fools… Day!”  My mom and dad yelled at me and ordered me to put everything back after Kid C ran back upstairs crying, but they did it while trying to stifle their own laughter.  I don’t care what everybody else said, that was a good one.

These are just a couple of tricks that stand out in my memory.  I realize that I pulled most of them on Kid C, but that is just because she usually bugs me the most.  My mom keeps on saying that we will probably be great friends later on in life.  But right now, my advice if you are a kid who drives your big sister or big brother bonkers, you’d better watch out because you never know where your underwear might end up!

How Sheepdog Kept His Daughter From Going Topless

Posted on by Stacy Swiger

We arrived on the beach the other day, with our small tribe of people and accompanying mountain of gear. No sooner had we staked claim to our parcel of sand and started to assemble our little beach village than Kid C announced to me that her bikini top was broken. Seriously broken… the plastic clasp had completely cracked in two, and the sides were not long enough to tie together.

Now with Kid C you never know if it just broke when we got onto the beach or if it was broken when she put it on earlier in the day and she got distracted by some confetti or a blue bird or a car alarm and forgot about it until just now when we can’t really do anything about it, but that issue is actually beside the point. Her top was busted and something needed to be done.

My solution was for Kid D to loan her his rash guard for the day. Unfortunately, his rash guard on this day was white and at least one season old (read: almost transparent even when dry – seriously, I don’t even know why he was wearing it). I immediately thought back to Spring Break 1989 and a particular wet t-shirt contest in Daytona Beach that I may or may not have participated in, and a shiver went through my entire body as I heard my mom saying, “I can’t wait until you have daughters. Payback is gonna be so fun to watch!”

Now Kid C may not technically require a top based upon her cup size, as she is a skinny 10-year-old girl who weighs less than 55 pounds soaking wet, but she is clearly a female and she can not go around all day with nothing covering her top half. We had several cotton shirt and/ or cover-up alternatives between the rest of us, but she is so tiny that even the smallest of them would fit like dresses instead of shirts, and they would not fare well in the surf. She would be uncomfortable and wet all day long (and she would surely not suffer in silence).

But fortunately for Kid C, Sheepdog was with us and he is awesome in these kinds of situations. He examined the broken plastic clasp, estimated the length of the straps, analyzed a few matrices and calculated a square root, all while referring to the Periodic Table of the Elements from memory (I really don’t know what he was doing, but he was a super smart person deep in thought… isn’t that the kind of stuff they do?). Then he reached into a magic bag of Sheepdog tricks and pulled out… TA DA!.. our car keys.

MacGyver has nothing on Sheepdog

In the very little time it took me to erect (heh, heh… I said “erect”) the tent and open a few beach chairs, Sheepdog had repaired Kid C’s bikini top using only a metal key ring. And in doing so he kept his daughter from going topless, at least for one more glorious day.

Amazing.

Wish me luck for tomorrow…

I Love the Beach

Posted on by Stacy Swiger

We spent this whole past weekend on the beach.  It was fantastic and I was in heaven.  I absolutely love everything about the beach.  I love the feel of the sand under my feet and between my toes, the chill of the ocean water in June, the smell of the salt as it sticks to my skin, the sound of kids yelling as they jump around in the surf.  By the end of a good beach day I am just a little crispy and a little tired and my hair is extra curly.  If it is a great day I get to see the diamond sparkles from the sun reflecting on the water as I go over the bridge, and it all just makes my soul happy.

I don’t even mind that getting my entire family onto the beach can be a cartoonish endeavor.  There is lunch for seven (picture twenty slices of bread on the counter… that’s one sandwich each, plus one for the ride home for the boys and Sheepdog – the boys are always so hungry!), drinks and snacks, the cart, the tent, the blanket for laying in the tent, the giant cooler on wheels, the chairs, the plastic toys, the beach towels, the boogie boards, and the frame backpack to carry Kid E.  And let me point out that my family is not one bit unique in bringing all of this stuff down to the beach.  We are surrounded by almost a hundred families who are toting around the same stuff for a glorious day of sun, surf and sand.

And those of us who love it will do it day after day after day after day.  All summer long if you’d let us.

I remember my very first beach day with Kid A.  She was born in January so she was just about six months old when good beach weather rolled around.  I was bound and determined to navigate the beach with kids as easily as I did when I was young and single and would take the NJ Transit bus from Absecon to Atlantic City with only my beach chair and a tiny beach bag.  And I was determined to do it by myself because Sheepdog does not love the beach as much as I do.

I found a parking spot just a couple of blocks back.  I had a pack-n-play cabana thing (it had a cover for shade – awesome!) with wheels on one side that I decided to open up and pile everything into so I could just wheel it down to the beach.  I carried Kid A on my hip and the plan actually worked really well.  Until we got to the beach block and I smelled something horrible.  Kid A had a blow-out and, as a result, both of us were now covered in baby poop.  I was just seconds from crying (alright, I totally broke down in the middle of the street) when some angel woman who lived there invited us in, gave me a clean shirt and let me get Kid A cleaned up.

Many years of trial and error and so much new gear later (some indispensable – like the frame backpack, some a complete waste of money – like the Happy Cabana), I have a system that works.  Sheepdog is still not as much of a beach fan, so it has continued to be important for me to do it single parent style.  It has gotten easier with time because the kids require less stuff as they get bigger and they can help me carry things now too.

But despite the years of practice at planning and packing for the beach, even the best of us can mess it up sometimes.  After seeing a flying ad banner from WaWa about Hoagiefest, yesterday I heard a mom next to us sigh, “Oh crap, I totally forgot the sandwiches!”  I often forget to bring a camera or the extra beach chair (which means someone is sitting on the cooler).  When the kids were little I would forget to bring extra diapers or a change of clothes (trust me – this is key for keeping them safe from sand rash on the drive home), or enough towels, or something else that seems critical when you forget it.

I swear that I did not drug them.

But then there are the awesome days.  These are the days when you bring everything you need and nothing you don’t.  The days when you get a great parking spot.  The days when you not only remember the beach badges, but you have enough for everyone in your party.  The days when the seagulls stay away from your lunch and you brought enough food to satisfy even the hungriest kids (and Sheepdog!).  The days when the water is just cold enough to cool you off and there aren’t too many shells on the ground or flotsam and jetsam in the waves.  The days when you get a great spot near the lifeguard stand and nobody comes and sets up their camp right on top of you and proceeds to smoke stinky cigarettes all day long.  The sun is out, but occasionally some cloud cover drifts by to cool things off.  There are no bugs, but not too much wind.  The kids play hard in the surf all morning, then chill out in the afternoon.

These are the beach days that bring me joy.  That I get to spend them with all of my kids (and Sheepdog!) makes it that much more special.  I actually prefer it this way over the days when it was just me and my one beach chair.  And after two really great beach days in a row, my soul is extremely happy.

Wish me luck for tomorrow…