King Richard's Faire, Magic, and Memories

   By now you know that I'm a sucker for any kind of cosplay.  That desire started with a little place in Carver, MA known as King Richard's Faire.  When I was seventeen or so, my friend Tracey asked me if I wanted to go to this renaissance festival that was really cool and you could dress up in olden times clothing, you could get this awesome jewelry that you couldn't get anywhere else...she had me at "dress up."  I immediately began to sew together a costume out of tapestries and odd materials, creating a character to go with the clothes.

     That was ahermferumpaderm years ago. I've gone off and on to King Richard's for years, but lately it has become a tradition with my kids.  This year was truly special; my brother Bill took us, along with my brother Charlie's teenage girls.  The dynamic that exists between the four teenage children is something magical in itself--while my kids love the Faire, and participate to an extent, when the four of them are together there's a bit of extra courage for each of them, as if the parts are made stronger by the whole.  I like to think it's the streak of the wild child in my brother's children tempered by the quiet creativity in my own.  Together they stretch the boundaries and made what would have been a fun time...well, as I said, magical.

     I knew it would be special the instant they started dancing when the drummers played.  Without care for who was watching, they twirled and dipped, arms flying about their heads. 

My nieces with Punkgirl and Happyboy dancing to the music.

     Off they went.  A small part of me wishes I could just follow them, and watch with glee the mischief they could indulge in.  

     But then I would have missed this:

And this:

And even this:

     Still...I did miss the children conspire with Queen Anne.  Yes, the four teens stalked the Queen, and when the Queen insisted they dance with her, they asked her if it would be easier if the King were...missing.  Now, I'm not going to go into details, but let's just say they wanted to take some of the weight off the King's  shoulders...in the Queen's defense, she made sure that the King wasn't to be harmed, only perhaps...indisposed for a bit.  It was almost too incredible to believe that the Queen played along, until an hour later, when she came back, and I heard the exchange with my own ears.  All in all, it was a fairly magical piece of the day.

The Queen indulges the young lady with some Harry Potter "expelliarmus" action

The young misadventurers in the Queen's court

While waiting to address the King, we caught the Misadventurers on the King's Stage...it was another highlight of the day, as the Missdventurers called for young children to participate, to become Misadventurers themselves.  My two nieces (let's just call them Wild Wench and Lady Who) and Happyboy readily jumped up to participate, but to my surprise, so did Rose.  Up the ramp to the stage she went, and as the show went on stopped periodically to yell, "Mom, Dad, Billy--I'm on stage!" over and over.  She's a bit of a ham.

Happyboy, Wild Wench and Rose on stage at The Misadventurers

     Again, it was a huge highlight of the day.  There were also the Washing Wenches, the Whip Show, an aerial silks show, and the Jousting events, all free of charge, as well as a tiger show that we didn't stop to watch.  These were all of the events that were included in the cost of admission, and you can, with older children, get away without paying for anything else but food or souvenirs.  However, we had Rose, so we ended up shelling out cash for the maze/slide, the rocking ship, and the pony ride:

Rose and Jessie, a friendly little gal who nuzzled my hand and consented to a pat on the neck.

     Now here comes my one complaint.  King Richard's Faire doesn't allow any food brought in, and doesn't allow you to leave and return.  What this means is that for people like Punkgirl & me, who have celiac disease, there really isn't an option to eat there.  The food service helpers are woefully untrained about allergies--they told my husband that the chicken nuggets and fries were gluten free.  My daughter ate them, and for the remainder of the day I watched for headaches, rashes, and stress.  Before I purchased my own food (because I couldn't believe they were really gluten free) I asked again. I was told no, they were not.  I stood in two separate lines, because on the website both the sausage pepper onion and the chili bowl are listed as gluten free, but as I watched them dip the ladle into the bread each time and then back into the bowl, I knew there was no chance that my food wouldn't be cross-contaminated.  I get incredibly ill if I even get a drop of wheat in my system, and since I didn't want to spend the rest of the day in the bathroom or lying down on the ground, I chose to stick to water and chance the kettle corn.  Because KRF has a food ticket system, this meant I now had $15 worth of tickets (yes, it's $5 for a Coke and between $8 and $10 for a meal--and you have to buy tickets in denominations of 5) that I couldn't use.  This was the worst part of the day, but I did pull myself through--I've been dealing with celiac since before they had gf options anywhere, so I am no stranger to just sucking it up and being hungry at big events.

     The food hiccup aside, we had a really good time.  It was expensive, because we were feeding 4 people (5 counting me--but I used my tickets to buy my mom some fudge and Rose some ice cream) and we were buying souvenirs--but for $26 I got each of the kids and myself one of these little leather notebooks in varying colors and this uber-cool pencil:

But even with those costs, the free things I got were worth far more in value to me: 

Slay At Home Mom and her little Misadventurers

The Princesses and the little misadventurers

Happyboy being adventurous 

Rose hanging out in a Sky Chair--literally.

A Sun Sprite who spent some time interacting with the young misadventurers

A fun day at the Faire for all.

The "Me Do It" Stage

The "Me Do It" years of a toddler's life can be your salvation or the bane of your existence.  Nine times out of ten, it'll be both.

Rose has hit the "Rose do it" and there are days where it's adorable:

Rose put her rainbow hat and green Froggie boots on all by herself.

And then there are times where it's not so cute.  For instance, today Rose wanted to change her diaper.  "Rose need do it a' by ha-sef!!"  Unfortunately, there was poop in her diaper.  And on her hands.  And on the potty.  Sigh.

I've decided to come up with a plan for Rose so that she can do as much "ha-self" as she possibly can--without getting crap all over my bathroom.

I put out some big shoes:

And lots of hats:

...in the hopes that the more she can do herself the less she will be...toddlerific when I have to help her.  I even bought some pull-ups, in the hopes that letting her pull up her diaper like underwear will give her the feeling that she is doing everything herself.

On the (very) bright side of the "me do it", she loves to help put silverware in the dishwasher, or clean up her toys.

Now if I could just convince her that a cup is much more exciting than breastmilk, I'd be in business!

Museum of Fine A**

I took my kids to the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston, taking advantage of the Highland Foundation's Free Fun Fridays. I had taken my older two when they were 7 and 5, and being the bizarro kids they are, they loved it.  We went again a couple years later, and again--they were thrilled.

So when I found out it was free I jumped at the chance to go.  Even though the baby is just 19 months, I was sure I could handle it alone.

I had forgotten how many things were in reach in the Museum, and also, how many paintings of nudes there were.  Of course this led to some giggling.  I'm ok with that, as long as it's good-natured.  But eventually this quickly turned to an embarrassed teenager telling her tween brother to "grow up."

Punkgirl has anxiety, especially in strange places, and sometimes takes it out on everyone she comes in contact with.  I tried to quash this, and of course Rose took the opportunity to become a full-fledged "me my mine do it myself!" toddler.   

We made it through at least three temper tantrums of epic proportion and two proximity alarms (whereupon I cursed myself for bringing a toddler to a place where they can't touch anything!) when we arrived at a gallery full of European Art.  Punkgirl had headphones in at this point, stressed to the max by the little terror dressed in purple and her ear-shattering squeals.  In the corner was a woman who saved our entire trip to the Museum.  She had large clipboards full of sketch paper, and every sort of pencil created.

Rose colored with a pencil.  

Happyboy sketched a European silver service set

I almost hugged the woman.  She gave me two minutes straight where Rose wasn't setting alarms off or screeching hysterically, and bonus, Happyboy got to enjoy sketching too!

After that, even Punkgirl enjoyed herself.

And we got to see a giant baby head:

And this guy:

And last, but definitely not least, we got to see this:

Psst! Look behind the dancer!

You can't tell me that placement is accidental.

All in all, I probably wouldn't take a toddler again, but the sketch pad was a huge hit, and I got the kids to take a family picture with this nice couple:

Happy 4th of July!

We're a little bummed out--one of my favorite cousins had to move her annual 4th of July party to Saturday because of Hurricane Arthur, and we already have plans on Saturday.  Today has been spent playing video games and avoiding going out in the rain.  Still, it's never the wrong kind of day for a tutu photo.

It's quick, it's easy, and with the Pic Collage app, it's a simple jump from a cute pic to a fantastic greeting card photo.  Go download the app--it's free! And enjoy!

The Adventures of Punkgirl and Happyboy

      Punkgirl and Happyboy are twelve and ten, respectively.  Punkgirl is my Joplin-loving, record-listening, knee-high-sneaker-wearing writer.  She has super short hair and a super long memory, she is snarky and smart, and if I were a kid she would be my idol.  Happyboy is her younger brother, and he has idolized her since birth.  Over the years, he has developed his own personality, though, and now, instead of wearing cute things that his sister would wear, he wears cute things that he likes for himself.  These range from pretty butterfly cardigans to Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle t-shirts, so needless to say his taste is unique.  The emergence of his own sense of style and his own sense of self has caused some troubles in our house, mostly because his older sister and he both have control issues (and gee, I have no idea where they got them from.  Ahem.)  There are times when I watch them, and everything jells, and they hit that groove.  In the groove, they are so creative and funny and loving together.  And then there are the normal days.

     On normal days, they correct one another constantly, tell each other what to do, and the word stop (which becomes stooo-ooop) is repeated more times than I can count.  There are times where I think they can't stand it when the other breathes, and it just kills me.  Having lost my youngest brother at the bright young age of 31, I feel every snipe and every sneer like a sharp knife in my heart.

     At the beginning of the summer, I started giving them "challenges" to get them to work together.  Eight out of ten times they got frustrated and angry because neither wanted to compromise on a project.  It became a struggle between them and I began to despair.  But eight out of ten became six out of ten.  By last week it became four out of ten.  They're finding the groove.  

     For my brother and me, it was comic books.  We could fight all day, but take us to the comic store and we were the best of friends, picking out the best issues that we both could agree on (for you fellow geeks, it was Avengers, Xmen, Thor, Iron Man...occasionally Batman, though I had my concerns with the slim coverage Batgirl was given in that comic...) For Punkgirl and Happyboy, it's creativity.  I give them the camera and a theme, and before I know it there are costumes and props and can they use this or that.  I tell them they need to make a comic book and they are on the computer, heads together, the argument they had ten minutes ago about Happyboy constantly singing instantly forgotten as they come up with graphics and snappy dialogue.  They hit the groove.  I don't have to worry then that they might grow up disliking each other...these moments are proof that their sibling love exists.  I cherish them, those moments, more than I could possibly say, and I miss that bond with my own brother keenly but bitter-sweetly.

      I suck at being a stay at home mom. But sometimes, even I get it right.  That's when we're in

the groove.

Boston Comic Con and Other Adventures

     This was Adventure Week, and boy, was it ever.  I gave Punkgirl and Happyboy the life skill challenge of navigating the bus system, and we made it to our destination (a local crafts store) after a somewhat rocky start (Happyboy had read the wrong bus schedule.)  Rose demanded to be breastfed in the middle of said store, so I had the dubious honor of taking my boob out in a back aisle to placate her.  It was an experience, and the trip itself made me realize that we needed to spend more time on the local T.

     My favorite challenge was the spy training, though.  I wove a web of red yarn back and forth through the hallway to make "laser beams", and had them start from opposite ends, forcing them to cooperate to get by one another.  Then we did a few campy pictures for our Camp Awesome scrapbook.  At the end of the day they made Coffeeguy make a hilarious attempt at maneuvering the overs and unders and small spaces.  I'm fairly certain it was a favorite challenge for everyone.  

     Although the spy challenge was a fave, my favorite reward was a trip to Boston Comic Con.  I am a geek's geek, and I love the things you can see and do at Comic Con.  My brother and I collected comics for years, into our adulthood, and just the sight of those characters coming to life brings a warmth to my heart.  Although it is hot, and packed, and often difficult to maneuver (more so with Rose's giant dino-carriage), people are so happy to be there, amongst their own kind--geekdom--that it's a pretty friendly crowd.  The kids love it too--it has a way of letting them feel their individuality, and it leaves me with that feeling of "ok, I'm raising them right!" (rare for me, so it's a bonus!)

     The one thing that did make it difficult was that, as a Mom, it's tough to go in costume.  I did--throwing together a hasty Scarlet Witch (Avengers) look, but I felt kind of foolish, with my three kids in tow.  As a younger woman I frequented many a convention in costume, without a bit (well, ok, maybe a teensy bit) of embarrassment or hesitation.  As a Mom, you suddenly feel like you should be more grown-up, and that you don't have time to do the silly, fun, extraordinary things you once did.  You don't have a lot of time to put the effort in either, so while you may feel a little brave for putting the costume on, you also have this overwhelming sense that the real costumers are snickering--I can assure you, they are not,

but it doesn't stop the feeling.  My cardboard headpiece looked sad and pathetic next to another SW, who had a little hand-crafted leather piece.  Ahhh, I digress into geekdom again.  But I'll tell you, the guy who stopped me to take my picture made my day--thank you, guy. (But no thank you, guy who wanted to take it while I was breastfeeding Rose!!)

     Bottom line, great week!  But now Rose is fussing (for the tenth time--not sure if this is a growth spurt or what!) Suck at home moms, how do you fit in the things that made you you?  Or do you?

Green With Envy

     It's "Going Green" Week here at what I like to call Camp (Insert your last name here.)  Let's just call it Camp Awesome for the purposes of this post.  Every week, I give the kids little challenges to complete, and in return I take them someplace not only fun, but almost always free.  The purpose of the challenge is one of three things--to get them to work together, to get them thinking, or to give them a little friendly competition without actually giving them competition.  For example, this week one of their challenges was to take a two-story "dollhouse" (two wipes boxes taped together) and use recycled materials to decorate it.  There were a couple of requirements--it had to have a "character" living in it, it had to have a recognizable couch, chair, bed, and wall decorations, and lastly, it had to be good enough that it could get 25 likes if I put it on my Facebook account (I had no real worries about that as I have enough adults on there that it shouldn't be an issue.)

     Fun, right?  Right away there were issues.  Punkgirl had jumped right up for this challenge, thrilled because she had made a dollhouse before,  so this should be easy, right?  It's actually kind of tough when you can only use the materials provided.  Happyboy, who had been hesitant, realized he could use a toy dragon as a character and immediately began designing a funky cut-up water bottle chair.  Punkgirl did not like this.  Being the older child, I think she thought it should come much more easily for her, but she was stumped.  There was a mini meltdown, which frustrated both of us.  At twelve years old, Punkgirl is still a master of the mini-meltdown--it just doesn't involve tantrums like it did when she was little.  There is an icy silence, followed by retreat from the family, followed by a few grunts and frustrated howls in the privacy of her room.  I often am at a loss as to whether to ignore these outbursts or meet them head on, and sometimes I do lose out to my own sense of frustration--after all, it's supposed to be challenging but fun, and as an ex-teacher you tend to expect yourself to be able to engage your children without all the nonsense!! 

     I took a few deep breaths and decided not to screech back at her, but the only thing that got her back to the table was the conversation that this was supposed to be fun, and the reward was the chance to go to a neighborhood playground cookout, complete with a dj and prizes, the kind of thing Coffeeguy and I generally shy away from in the heat.  

     In the end, she took herself a little less seriously, and didn't worry as much that her little brother was finishing faster, accusing her of copying his designs, and boasting that he would surely get more "likes" than her.  I explained carefully that I was posting them together, and that they needed 25 likes combined.  Once she realized they wouldn't be in competition against each other, their efforts were pretty darned admirable, and the resulting cookout was surprisingly kind of fun!  (The other added incentive was a chance to win 'chore bucks'--which they can trade in to get out of a chore here and there.)  

     So my question today--Suck at home Moms...do you encourage competition? And how do you handle jealousy and the occasional mini-meltdown?

The Snooty Spoiler (aka The Tooth Fairy)

     How ridiculous is it to have your ten year old look disappointed because there was "only" two dollars in his tooth box (left by the tooth fairy)?  Happyboy was so excited to check today to see if she came (since, being the suckiest tooth fairy ever, she forgot to come the night before) that he asked if I would come into his room with him to check.  I went in, secretly excited that he had "extra" $$ in there...only to see his little pixie face fall when he opened up the folded dollar bills.
     "What's the matter buddy?" I asked him.
     "Well, you know...my friend, she is the most spoiled ever, even by the tooth fairy.  She gets twenty dollars for a tooth."
     TWENTY DOLLARS?  Are her teeth lined with imported diamonds?  Can they be recycled into ruby rings?  What tooth fairy leaves twenty bucks for a ten year old's tooth??  It's not like it's a good investment--it's not even an adult tooth, it's a baby tooth that is almost certain to be disgustingly caked with blood.  You can't wear it, eat it, sell it, or even recycle it.  Does this girl's tooth fairy work for Santa? It's a f%$ing tooth!! 
      I had no choice but to sort of say, "Wow, buddy, that's crazy.  Maybe your friend is exaggerating."  I freaking hope your friend is exaggerating, because if she's not, she's in for some disappointment when she gets her first job in the 7th grade, walking somebody's dog for $5.  "Five bucks?" she'll ask disgustedly.  "I get more than this for a tooth." 
     Now, I admit, the tooth fairy in our house doesn't really like inflation, but she has kept up with the times by offering $3 for the front teeth, and $1 for anything else.  Even this, to me, is more than reasonable for something that really is only there to hold a place for real teeth.  I got a quarter for each of my teeth, and I was thrilled.  Ok, ok, a quarter went a lot further back in (harump harump hmmmp), but still--they really don't need to make a living at it!  No wonder kids are ripping the teeth out of their heads the instant they seem loose!  Even when the tooth fairy forgets to come (which, unfortunately has been more than once--she's a lackadaisical sort of tooth fairy and she really ought to have her tooth fairy license revoked, but I guess you get who you get...) she still only leaves an extra .50 or dollar--you know, for emotional damage.
     I refuse to let her be bullied into leaving more.  Isn't there a tooth fairy union against this sort of thing?  Some tooth fairy etiquette that says one tooth fairy shall not leave a ridiculous, exhorbitant amount of money for one child, way outside the bounds of etiquette?  And really, isn't it the child's parent's job, if the tooth fairy is such a snooty spoiler, to admonish her child not to tell everyone that she gets snooty money for one little un-usable tooth?
     Suck at home moms...what does the tooth fairy leave in your house?  And do you have a good one, or a slacker, or a snooty spoiler?

My Damn Happy Place

     Dinner time in my house is like a descent into the depths of hell.  The room is hot, thanks to the tiny windows and lack of oven vent, and there are all the noises I imagine would populate the underworld--Punkgirl grunts, Happyboy makes repetitive noises over and over, and Coffeeguy yells at the offending party.  Oh yes--and Rose makes a screechy noise I'm fairly certain is designed to ward off predators.  Someone always leaves the table crying, pissed off, or defeated.

     Now, I know we could just eat in the living room.  But inevitably the tv or music is turned on, the baby cries, the children fight, or we just ignore each other.  It's not the way I want dinner to happen.  As I am cooking, I clean off the kitchen table, envisioning us sitting down discussing our days as we did when the kids were younger.  We would ask them the best and worst parts of their days and tell them ours.  I want that for Rose, to grow up with that tradition, so I cannot tell you how much it depresses and pisses me off that every night ends in a shouting match.

     Coffeeguy has said he doesn't want to eat at the same time as we do, because he spends his entire meal angry that Happyboy won't eat.  Sure, as if I  am going to sit at the table with three kids and no help--I eat a cold dinner every night, already, thank you, Rose!  Punkgirl doesn't want to eat in the kitchen because everyone is stressed out and that's "the reason I'm grumpy--I know how it ends!"  Happyboy doesn't want to eat anywhere that anyone can see how much he's not eating.

     This is supposed to be my happy place.  This is supposed to be a pleasant gathering.  I don't know why Happyboy refuses to eat his food, or why Coffeeguy gets so stressed out that Happyboy won't eat, or why Punkgirl gets so stressed out that they're stressed out, but it's fu#@ing stressing me out.  I spend all night cooking, and I am determined that I am going to have my damn happy place.  I am going to have conversation and pleasantries, dammit, and I don't care what I have to do to get it.

     To that end, I have resorted to putting signs on the wall.  That's right...signs that say this is my happy place, and you cannot shout, whine, grunt, complain etc.  Feel free to complement the cook, who spent all damn night cooking while Rose watched me like a hawk, making sure I didn't fry that pepper the wrong way.  This is my reward, dinner in a pleasant atmosphere, so read the signs, bitches, and man up.  Put away your sour puss and smile, because Mom's in charge now.

     Suck at home moms---where's your happy place? And how do you get there?