We just moved to Fort Lauderdale and for the past week, we have been unpacking. Unpacking is the absolutely worst part of moving. Because anyone can throw crap in a box and then pay (or beg) someone to move it.
But it takes a genius to figure out where the heck to put all the stuff in the new home.
3 year old Cash is not really the greatest helper either (no offense Cash if you suddenly figured out how to read which would really piss me off because he should definitely learn how to help me unpack before learning how to read).
He starts preschool soon. But not quite yet. Why don’t preschools ever start at the same time as regular schools?
But Cash had a big day at Trader Joe’s recently. I was there with him and my 6 year old twins. Cash was attempting to grab fruit and toss it playfully when a Trader Joe’s employee intervened and asked him his name.
Now Cash has a very hard time saying “sh.”
So his name comes out “Ca.”
And everyone always responds quizzically, “Your name is Ca?” Because that would undoubtedly be an unusual name.
But I’ve been working very hard with him to learn “sh.” And today, when he said his name, the Trader Joe’s employee responded, “Your name is Cash? That’s a great name.”
I was so proud that he finally learned it and I actually helped him that I thought, “My gosh, why aren’t I homeschooling all my children?!”
Then 6 year old Chase ran his mini kid size Trader Joe’s cart into my ankle 6 times and I decided that the government funded education system is just fine by me.
Because I’ve been trying to unpack, I’ve needed some childcare help with Cash. One morning, I had a babysitter borrow my minivan and bring him to a science museum. When it was time for them to come home she texted me, “I can’t get the car to start.”
Say what?! But the maintenance light has only been on for 3 weeks!
She said the key wouldn’t turn in the ignition. I thought maybe the steering wheel was locked or the battery was dead or maybe I had mocked my minivan just one too many times and it had finally revolted in protest to my surly attitude.
I was about to take an Uber to meet her (like I’m some kind of auto mechanic who just needs to tweak a few things under the hood to get it going) when I got another text.
She was in the wrong car.
Yup. There was another gold minivan in front of where she parked ours. The doors were unlocked. And there was a carseat in the exact location. So she clipped my son in and attempted to start the car.
Obviously it didn’t start.
The sitter and Cash finally had to get out of the car because it’s Florida and it’s soooooooo hot. And that’s when she noticed the second gold minivan. And the fact that this look-a-like car was missing our flashy red Phillies plate.
So they got in the right car and came home.
I don’t know why Cash never mentioned he was in the wrong car.
But I’m sure my husband will be talking about how the Phillies saved the day for a very long time.
This post is sponsored by PediaSure Sidekicks.
I have five kids. And I feed them all the same thing. Wood oven roasted main lobster, pan roasted scallops with smoked tomato and sweet pea risotto, duck confit with cream lentils, that sort of thing.
Okay fine… turkey tacos, chicken, mac and cheese, pork chops, etc.
And despite the fact that I pretty much expose these children to the exact same foods, they have completely different eating habits. I’ve got a kid who eats olives for breakfast. And another child who only likes carbs with a side of carbs.
The carb girl is my 9 year old daughter Summer. She is soooo limited in what she likes I can’t imagine she is getting the nutrition she needs. Which is why I was very interested when PediaSure offered to let my kids try PediaSure Sidekicks.
These shakes (which come in chocolate, strawberry or vanilla) have 7g protein, 3g of fiber and 25 essential vitamins and minerals. They also are gluten-free, kosher and okay for kids with lactose intolerance.
So I headed on over to Walmart with 3 year old Cash. Could this kid be a PediaSure model or what?!
We found these shakes in the baby section of the store (although they aren’t just for little kids!)
In fact this drink is meant for children like 9 year old Summer who need some nutrition to fill in the gaps. As you can see, the list of foods she doesn’t like is long….
I think many kids would dig these shakes as a snack or special treat. My 11 year old daughter Dylan seems to be getting into it…
I have been compensated by PediaSure for this post; however, I am sharing my own thoughts. All opinions are my own.
I don’t know when the term “life hack” became a common term. All I know is that I had never heard of it and then suddenly it was sweeping the nation. I think it all happened in about two hours.
Life hacks are tips or tricks to handle everyday tasks more efficiently. Something you may not have thought of – like using a tennis racket as a pasta strainer. Or using pants clips as a chip clip for your snacks.
Somebody apparently comes up with this stuff. Probably the same people that video cats doing crazy things.
This was one of my favorite life hacks I saw recently. Someone turned a crib into an art center.
Well, I had my own not-quite-as-genius life hack moment.
You see, suddenly one day my glove compartment broke. It just hung open like this. All the time.
Now obviously this is no way to live. A glove compartment can’t just always be open. It makes the world off kilter. So I did a lot of sighing about it and when that didn’t seem to fix it, I went and got an estimate.
And it was going to cost a couple hundred dollars.
Now there are things one might spend $200 bucks on but a glove compartment should not be one of them. So I went to a hardware store, bought $5 worth of some kind of dual lock, stronger than Velcro material and sealed that glove compartment shut.
Upside: 5 dollars! And my glovebox looks normal again!!
Downside: I can no longer use my glove compartment.
Upside: I don’t really care because remember… $5!
After doing this task, I pretty much felt like some kind of auto mechanic superhero.
And with that, I went home to drain my pasta with my tennis racket.
This summer, I spent a month in Westport, CT. It’s my hometown and completely gorgeous with beautiful marinas and views of the Long Island Sound. And the town is just a part of my soul.
Even before I moved to Westport in 7th grade my grandparents lived there.
My childhood is memories of swimming in their pool, trying on my grandmothers 1950’s bathing suits, doing cartwheels in their thick grass and wiggling my body through a small service window that connected their kitchen to their outdoor patio – so they could easily move hors d’oeuvres outside when they were having a party.
I remember every inch of that house from the mints in their living room to a white pencil my grandmother kept to clean under her nails to a small smooth rock that sat her on her dressing table that read, “Make Love, Not War.”
At the time, I didn’t know what “Make Love” meant but it sounded a whole lot better than war.
Everytime I come to town, I visit their old street, Bluewater Hill South. I drive slowly up the road imagining they are still in the house with the familiar wallpaper and a pitcher of ice tea with mint leaves sitting on the counter. I can almost taste the scrambled eggs my grandmother would make in the morning.
But as I pull up to their old address, I only see a gigantic house that I know was built long after theirs was gone.
As I look across the street, I can still see the old clay tennis courts we played on many many times. And the winding trees that I can remember climbing in and out of. And just for a moment, it’s like they are still there.
And I guess they do intersect in a way. With me.
But my grandparents died long before I ever leaped into the journey of parenthood.
My children will never experience the taste of those mints or all the great hiding places in that house or wiggling their bodies through that service window.
But they will experience other things. With their own grandparents. Stories I’m sure they’ll tell their children someday.
It’s their own Bluewater Hill.
Last week we had the chance to meet my sister’s new baby…
She’s the smaller one.
The baby is completely adorable. And the great thing about having an infant around is that there is plenty of baby apparatus. Which means 3 year old Cash took the opportunity to squeeze himself into a baby seat.
And we couldn’t exactly get him out.
Eventually my Aunt Terrell did manage to get him out of there. I would have helped but then who would have taken the video?
And it was great to have Cash out of that thing because it freed up his time to go break some big glass Japanese inspired bowl in Terrell’s yard.
I guess everyone has their own way of saying thank you.