the sara ochs blog

So Sullivan has two imaginary friends. He is the first of our babies to have imaginary slash invisible friends. I, myself, remember having an imaginary Cocker Spaniel puppy named Muffin when I was little. I wanted a dog more than anything, but our apartment living prohibited pets. It is funny now because I am not an animal lover, so much.

We first met “Joanie” last Friday. Sullivan was driving around the yard on his four wheeler while the mister and I tended to the garden and hung clothes on the line. My overalls were at the cleaners or I would have been wearing them, I am sure. Sullivan drove up to me and told me that Joanie had a pink four wheeler and she drove with him on the nature walk (a cleared path near the edge of our property line) and that she liked lady bugs. Joanie seems nice enough if you ask me. I have not met her parents yet.

Today Sullivan introduced me to “Coach Sally” when he asked to play naked baseball on my bed. For the record, he was nakey nakes because he had just taken a bath, not because I am a permissive parent or am overwhelmed with laundry and force the babies to have naked time and save clothes for special occasions. Coach Sally likes baseball but not football and she likes to use shirts as baseballs and train track pieces as bats. I have mixed feelings on Coach Sally. I am not very athletic and feel slightly threatened by her presence. I should get over it, I suppose. 

There you have it. Please welcome Joanie and Coach Sally to the Ochs crew. Now I have to make even more PBJs and fill more juice cups to keep the crowd controlled. And I have heard that grass stains are a beast to get out of baseball uniforms so I hope Coach Sally keeps the slides into base to a minimum. 

Yesterday I had a rare morning alone. Anderson and Caroline were at school and Sullivan was with Nana. I hardly knew what to do with myself. I think I might be lame. The mister and I planned a lunch date but that left me with about three hours to kill. I forced myself to leave the house and not squander the time with housework and chores. That would have definitely made me super lame.

My first stop was Goodwill. I have heard stories of the glories to be found there but have never wanted to take all three childrens there without other adult chaperones. I had cash in my pocket (wallet actually. I am girl. I do not put things in my pockets.) and time on my hands. I was ready to find the deal of the century.

Almost immediately I spotted the twin of a blue and white canister that I have in my kitchen. Mine was a wedding gift from our Pier One registry almost eight years ago. The original cost was about $30. Eight years ago. All this flashed through my mind in a millisecond. In my opinion and using Sara Math (different from actual math) this used canister should have cost about five bucks. Right? Wrong! The price sticker said the cost of the canister was THIRTY DOLLARS! I am serious. That was the original price of the brand new canister from the actual swanky Pier One store almost a decade ago. What the what.

When did Goodwill decide to be so fancy? Why does Goodwill charge more for donated items than the brand new equivalent at a retail store? This is craziness. I agree with the mission statement of Goodwill but I think it has gotten a little out of hand. I almost regret the van loads of stuff we have donated over the years.

I applaud everyone that has found awesome boots for a dollar or a couch for a quarter at Goodwill, but I think I will take my money elsewhere. Or just save it. Because how many blue and white canisters does a gal really need?

I finally went on a preschool field trip with sweet Caroline. It was long and exciting and exhausting and I left with a new appreciation for teachers that do not require prescription drugs. The preschool classes have all been studying their city and neighborhoods and the services and products available in those areas. Pretty heavy stuff for a four and five year old crowd. The destinations for this “all around town” field trip were the post office, the library, a bank, a florist, a locally owned restaurant (praise! Mr Chick!), a grocery store, a hair salon, and the city works department. Yeah. All in one day with almost sixty preschool students. Off and on and off and on one school bus. Three teachers, three paraprofessionals, and me following the bus in my green minivan. 

We started at the post office. I learned that Cairo does not have much in the way of sorting capabilities and that all outgoing mail from the city of Cairo is sent to Albany for processing and then returned to be delivered. Seems antiquated to me but thank goodness for the government right. All the students got to climb through a mail truck and jump out the back. We got to see postal workers sort mail for delivery. And we learned the MOST IMPORTANT LESSON OF ALL: DO NOT RUN UP TO A MAIL TRUCK BECAUSE THE DRIVER CANNOT SEE YOU AND YOU WILL GET HIT BY A MAIL TRUCK. Seriously. That was the “one thing” that the tour guide emphasized more than anything else. Oh and also that the sorting machines have fast moving belts that could rip your fingers off and then you would not be able to count to ten. She really said that and demonstrated by tucking one finger under the others and trying and failing to count to ten on her fingers. So I will not be sending or receiving anything via the post office from this point forward. It is too dangerous.  

Next we went to the library. The fancy one that I might have mentioned before. We made one long snake line and walked the circumference of the library. We ended in the children’s area and listened to two books about pigs read from one of the librarians. She also had a pig puppet and kept stroking it in a creepy kind of way. Above the “secret garden” reading area were four butterflies that a local artist made for the library from recycled materials. The librarian asked the preschoolers to guess what those materials were. Hands were raised and suggestions were thrown out. Paper. Chips. String. No dice. The librarian offered a clue when she said that on Sundays your mom puts these on for church. I knew where she was going (obviously) but knew the four year olds would never guess. Except I was wrong. One girl has a fancy mommy and she knew what pantyhose are. Good for her. Caroline knows about tights but her knowledge ends there. Really I feel like I am doing her a service by not wearing pantyhose and thus hating my life. 

We left the library and walked the block to the bank on a back service road. Pause here to take an anti anxiety slash tranquilizer pill. 

And now we are at the bank. The group splits into two more manageable groups and tours the bank. We see the tellers, the desks, the window that the drive thru tellers run, then we went to the vault. Which, I have to say, was nothing like the movies. We saw a room of safety deposit boxes and one little girl told me she wanted one for her birthday. I asked her what she would put inside the box to keep safe. Her answer was that her birthday is on the sixteenth. So there. Then we got to see stacks of cash (a stack of $50K) and a bag full of quarters. A bag of quarters that valued at ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS. I wanted to steal it and have vending machine drink money for the rest of my life. We walked out of the vault without anyone stealing anything and headed back to the lobby. Then a little boy threw up. On two other kids and on the floor. And it was officially a field trip. 

Moving on to the florist. We saw a local florist and were told the God created flowers (true. He did.) and that we should have our moms come back to buy those flowers and also browse the jewelry and balloon bouquets. (side note: I could spell “bouquet” but not “balloon” without computer assistance) Mister florist then pulled out a giant vase filled with Easter eggs because it is close to Easter time. He wanted to give an egg to each of the students. He then asked if anyone had questions. Everyone did. Except they were all comments about the color of the eggs and inquiries about wether those eggs would open and if they had candy inside. No one cared about the flowers. I think the florist played his hand too soon. Don’t give out anything unless you are prepared for a mob of children bum rushing you and not caring about anything but what you are holding. But that is just my opinion.

And then it was lunch time. Mr Chick time. Angels sang and chicken was dipped in honey mustard and eaten like a boss. And all was well with the world. 

At that point in the field trip adventure I had to head back home to see about a little girl and fulfill my babysitting duties. I am not totally heartbroken that I had to leave early. I was spent and I have spent enough time in grocery stores and salons to last a lifetime. Add to that zero interest in the mechanics of trash trucks and I was happy to sip on my free refill from Mr Chick all the way back home. My hat tips to those brave and inexhaustible teachers. You took us all around town and lived to tell the story. Now if you will excuse me I need to rest because just typing this has exhausted me all over again. 

P.S. I was going to add pictures from the field trip to this post but then I realized that all the pictures showed the name of the school on the student’s shirts and I decided not to. The street I live on and the school my childrens attend is on a need to know basis. And you, my dears, do not need to know. Just use your imagination, please and thanks. 

Yesterday was not my best day. As we were loading the childrens into the van to leave for church I had a total meltdown. Like crying, screaming, stomping my feet, and slamming doors kind of meltdown. Yeah. It was horrible and I am embarrassed by the memory of my reaction. What prompted my reaction slash meltdown you might ask. Half a bagel and six blueberries were dropped on the ground. That’s it. It was accidental and not uncommon but I lost it.

Sunday mornings are a smidge stressful since we have decided to all ride together in one car instead of staggered departure times in two cars. Staff is required to be at the church by eight on Sunday mornings and that means that we have to leave NO LATER THAN 7:30 a.m. We have to leave a little earlier than that on school mornings but I rarely put on makeup or even actual clothes for that occasion. So it is a rush but we usually handle Sunday mornings just fine. Except yesterday. I lost it then I was mad at myself for losing it and that just compounded all the emotions. When I finally stopped the ugly cry that was happening my sweet mister said JUST what I needed to hear. He reached over and grabbed my hand and said that I needed to understand that I am not a bad mother that occassionally gets it right but that I am a great mom that sometimes gets frustrated with the logistics of getting five people out the door on time.

He forgave my outburst, my babies forgave my tearful apology, and now it is my turn to acknowledge how my family thinks of me (they love me! they think I am great!) and act on that. So to help me from lapsing into freak out mommy I have decided to tattoo “I AM A GOOD MOMMY!” on my forehead as a reminder. Well maybe not. But I will think it a lot and maybe even say it out loud if the situation warrants it.

I am a good mommy. I am a good mommy. (say it with me. with feeling. believe it.) I am a good mommy.

Last night I had an at-home date with my two little misters. Marshall took Caroline out for a daddy and daughter date and the boys and I had the house to ourselves. We cranked up the hip hop music that the mister hates. We practice our sweet ninja moves. We ate Bagel Bites and blueberries and peanut butter crackers and M&Ms for dinner. We made chocolate chip cookies that look and taste strange (I blame the help). We played Mario Kart on the Wii…after we found the controllers and the game and batteries and remembered which buttons had to be pressed on which remote to make the game visible. We played three rounds of Mario Kart which lasted approximately 17 hours. None of us are good drivers or have any hand-eye coordination to speak of. (Judy Kirk: please read as “…of which to speak.”) We crashed more than we drove and never made it past 12th place. We screamed at the TV like a bunch of crazies. We then polished the night off with a little “Americas Funniest Home Videos.” Now it is just not the same without former host Bob Saget but it is guaranteed laughs for two year old and six year old boys.

It was a great night. Anderson told me at least four times that it was the best date ever. I am glad he thinks so because I will be his ONLY date until he graduates from college. You think I am joking…

So the neighbors behind us train hunting dogs. Apparently it is a lucrative business because they live in a mansion on an actual plantation. Who knew. So back to the dogs.

Each spring a new “batch” of dogs is carted to the area of their plantation that is closest to our property. The dogs are driven in on an animal control type kennel trailer pulled by a pickup. It seems to take approximately 15 men (maybe only three with extra loud voices) to train these dogs to heel, stay, come, and respond to duck calls without being terrorized by the shotgun noise that follows. The trainers have to make sure that the dogs continue to work after the eardrum piercing shotgun blast. Yeah. Except (can you tell we have been reading a lot of “Junie B. Jones: First Grader” books) this latest batch of dogs seems to be total duds. The men shout and scream and holler all. day. long. The dogs seem unaffected. OUR dogs however want to be part of the action. Wishing to transport themselves over the invisible fence and into the dog party (a big dog party) next door.

Today was the actual hunting training. So imagine a simulated duck call that sounds like a duck rape whistle then a simulated (maybe real and actual) shotgun blast then the whimpering and whining of dogs that wish only to bark at squirrels and pee on bushes. In my opinion this latest batch of dogs is a wash out.

The mister proposed that we offer to adopt any dogs that are too dumb to be trained as duck hunting companions. And we could do it every year so that our dogs would always be little and adorable. Like perma puppies. I vote yes except the question remains as to what to do with the old dogs. It seems complicated so I guess we will keep Maggie and Mollie dearest and wear earplugs all spring. Or learn to hunt ducks ourselves. At this point the shotgun blast does not even phase me.

Anderson has slash contracted poison ivy. It really was not a surprise. Not really. We have lived in the woods for just over a year and we have thus far (how fancy I must be feeling tonight) avoided the itch and scratch of poison ivy. I remember my dad teaching me a little jingle that went “leaves of three beware of thee” as a way to identify and thus (again with the fancy!) avoid the leafy devil. I guess there was a lot of poison ivy in the suburbs of Tampa and Austin. Anyway. I should have taught Anderson that jingle so he could have avoided the torture of poison ivy. Chalk it up to another mom fail I guess.

Maybe we should have also better taught him not to cross over into the neighbors property without us since that is where the leaves of three were. Maybe he has learned his lesson. The poor little man child is covered in welts and is itching so so much. In the last twenty four hours I have changed his sheets three times, washed everything he could have even possibly touched, and washed my hands one million times. All the while trying not to think about itching, failing, and scratching imaginary itches all over my body. The mister has washed Anderson four times in the same twenty four hours and applied calamine lotion and antihistamines to all affected parts. The mister has also kept Anderson entertained while they waited for the calamine lotion to dry with stories of ninjas and other boy things.

The affected parts are as follows: his face, back of his neck, arms, and bottom. The initial contact was only on his face and arms. The other spots came from scratches that happened while he was sleeping. Boys will be boys I guess.

The zoot suit I recently bought Anderson has served as an effective poison ivy spread blocker. (by which I meant that it keeps him from touching his skin and spreading the rash) (I think I should go back to college) I can safely say that the five dollars I spent was well worth it now.

I can only hope that this post on the perils of life in the woods was more riveting then it seemed to me when I proof read it. Stay tuned next week for a post about ticks and septic tanks. Wait. I might have already written about those. My apologies and thus and such.

Dear Diary,

I did it again. I got frustrated at the babies and at life. And then I got more frustrated for being frustrated. Maybe it was because I did not eat enough. Maybe it was because I was so tired I thought I was going to die. Maybe it was because my outfit made me feel like Ellen Degeneres.

Now that the babies are in bed I regret some of my reactions and attitudes. But tomorrow is a new day and I can show them how much I love them with chocolate milk at breakfast.

Now to eat popcorn (because something went horribly wrong with dinner and I am hungry and need second dinner) and make the mister rub my shoulders.

Love…Sara