Sacramento Parent Magazine

I love summertime, in fact I love August, well the beginning of it anyway. I love the warm days and cool nights.

In August the dear little ones go back to school, get new clothing, new teachers and a new first day of school photo in front of the house.

In August the kids soccer season heats up and I get to watch my kids have fun on the field and I have fun with the parents on the sidelines.

In August we begin birthday season and there are cakes and pies for birthday breakfasts. Dinner choices to be made. Gift packages come in the mail from out of town relatives.

In August the beloved Red Sox are getting ready for October playoffs. Also, NFL hype is at a fever pitch…WOOHOO!

Then sometime in the third week I begin to falter. I get grouchy. I wish for Autumn. I long for late October and to trade in my flip flops and sunscreen for shoes and a shirt with sleeves.

At the end of August the energy has been sucked out of me due to another 100 plus degree heat. Next year I swear we are going to get that new A/C unit. It’s just that in June, vacation seemed like such a better idea to spend money on.

At the end of August the joy of of making sack lunches has departed and I am left with nasty day old food to clean out of backpacks the next day. “Hey, for the love of all things juice box, will ya clean out your flippin lunch sacks at school!” It’s only been one month but it’s enough to make a Nun cuss!

At the end of August I’m fed up with weekend soccer tournaments. They leave me dazed and confused on Monday mornings as to why we have no food in the house, the lawn not mowed and a trail of sweaty smelly sports clothing goes from the garage to the laundry room. Then, THEN there is the issue of WHY do I want to spend any more time with over achieving soccer parents, “Attack the ball!” “Win the ball!” “You Gotta want it!” It’s only 8am on a Sunday morning and my head is ringing…

At the end of August…more cake, really? Anybody got a Rolaids and how about a fresh vegetable? Hey step away from the POTATO! Something green please.

The Red Sox aren’t going to be playing in October. They suck and they suck me in every year???

And would somebody please tell all of those NFL analysts to SHUT UP! The Niners and Raiders wont be any good this year. Call your “fun and amusement purposes only” friend and bet the farm.

By the time August ends I’m acting like a crazy person. Exhibit A: I lost it with the kids yesterday over regular stuff. Stuff that I wouldn’t loose it over in say, June.

Think John Belushi at the end of that famous SNL Weekend Update skit ‘Ode to Spring’:

“Now look, pal! I know a country where March comes in like an emu and goes out like a tapir. And they don’t even know what it means! All right? Now listen, there are nine different countries, where March comes in like a frog, and goes out like a golden retriever. But that- that’s not the weird part! No, no, the weird part is, is the frog. The frog- The weird part is-”
[has seizure and falls off chair]

I really should get a grip, my house didn’t burn yesterday like those poor folks in Auburn. I bet they are really glad to see August leave.

I’ve never actually lived in the city of Sacramento, but the Sacramento skyline looks like home to me.  I grew up thirty minutes west of Sactown, and now reside thirty minutes east.  The Sacramento skyline is most familiar to me.  Whether I’m approaching it from the Yolo Causeway, or catching a glimpse as I fly drive cautiously down the Newcastle grade, the small, smoggy skyline of Sacramento always catches my attention.  It’s simple, yet stunning, rising from the flat valley floor, surrounded by rivers, rice fields and strip malls. 

Last night we were driving home from my parent’s (who still live west of Sacramento where I grew up), and we were lucky enough to see fireworks erupting from the Rivercat’s stadium.  Though it was 10:30, and we were really hoping the kids would fall asleep on the way home, I’m glad they were awake to witness the display.  Smoke hung over the former Money Store pyramid as bursts of red, blue, purple, white and green punctuated the black sky above downtown Sacramento.  It really was quite beautiful.  I have no doubt my children will remember the night for years to come, much like I remember images of the Sacramento skyline from  my childhood.

From mid August to mid September it’s “Birthday Season” at our house. In those four weeks all four members of this Roseville family will celebrate another year older and wiser.  Each of us has things we like to do on that day. For example: the boy likes pecan pie instead of cake.  I like to eat ribs with peanut slaw for an entire weekend.  RosevilleMom likes to float with no neighborhood kids invading the pool.  My daughter likes go to dinner at Macaroni Grill and have the singer sing Happy Birthday in Italian.

Last week while at Marcaroni Grill, eating a $12 bowl of macaroni, the boy whispers, “Dad, you need to get the singer to come over and sing to Syd.”

“Yes Sam, I already set it up.” He is not yet wise to me speaking earlier to the waitperson about the singing.

A bit later, Sam is tugging on my arm with some urgency, “Daaaaad, you better check with the lady, I think she forgot about the singing.”

“Relax dude, it’s all set. Finish your pizza.”

Then after the dishes are cleared a slice of chocolate cake with a lit candle arrives. Just as the special plate lands in front of my girl, the singer magically appears and it begins…

buon compleanno a te,
buon compleanno a te,
buon compleanno a Sydney,
buon compleanno a te,

My daughter is pleased that the whole restaurant knows its her special day.

Upon completion, with slight of hand I slide a few duckets to the singer who knows a whole three words of Italian but has the courage to sing in front of an entire chain restaurant.

Sam says with a bit of wonder and relief, “Dude, you really did have it all set up.”
I reply, “They teach you that stuff in daddy school.”

Wary of my shtick Sam looks to RosevilleMom for confirmation, “Do they really have daddy school, and did he actually go?”
Mom, not skipping a beat, “Sure, but ask him what grade he got.”
“Hey, a C is a passing grade!” I defend.

“Dude, no B’s, no keys.” the boy reminds me gleefully.
With a sigh I mumble, “Relax dude, relax….”

There are certain foods that one must have when they are sick.  Most likely, these are foods that one had as children when they were sick.  For me, the must have sick-foods are toast with butter and peanut butter for breakfast, and chicken noodle soup for lunch and dinner.  For my husband, it is a strawberry ice cream and lemon-lime soda float.

We’ve been sick for the past week.  Too sick to make bread, for sure, so there has been no peanut butter toast.  My son started crying for chicken noodle soup Friday afternoon, but I didn’t feel up to making it until Sunday night.  I should have gone to the store to buy a couple cans of Campbell’s, like my mom used to.  Of course, once I made the soup, he didn’t feel like eating it.

While there has been a shortage of mom’s sick-food the past week, there has been no shortage of dad’s special medicine.  We’ve gone through three boxes of strawberry ice cream and several liters of lemon lime soda.  You know what?  It works.  I always feel better after a float.  We’ve had them for breakfast, lunch and dinner (though not all meals on the same day).  My daughter has become quite good at serving them up.  Perhaps one day she’ll make them for her kids when they are sick; let’s hope grandpa’s medicine will still work it’s magic. 

4:50pm Arrive for swim lessons and realize there are about 500 kids in the small pool with the stained green water.

4:51pm Severely wish would have register Doodles for his own class and not the mommy and me class because god knows what is in that water. Really wish that red trail myth was true. Bet that pool would look like the red sea.

4:53pm Catch sight of a mom in a tube top, mini skirt and some serious heels trying to shove her daughter into the pool to partake in the lesson.

4:54pm Daughter is having none of it.

5:00pm Lesson starts, get in the pool-OH MY GOD IT’S FREEZING- and feel slightly awkward in my flowery Ross Speedo. Looking around didn’t realize this was the Miss USA swimsuit competition and now my ragged triathlon one piece makes me look like one of the teenage teachers.

5:02pm Start singing songs and quickly realize the songs are a disguise for dunking your kid underwater provoking sheer terror.

5:03pm Okay this is fun.

5:08pm Oh dear god all the kids have something coming out their nose.

5:11pm One of the exercises involves blowing bubbles in the tainted water. Not on your life.

5:14pm The Boy from Down Under proceeds to pole dance with the pool railing and yell out, ” Hey Mom! You like my moves?”

5:15pm Pretend there is no one staring at you.

5:20pm Toodles starts screaming, “My bottom hurts!!” He refuses to quiet down and the mystery of why the bottom hurts continues for the rest of the lesson. (Found out later he hit his tail bone on the side of pool which would have been nice to know so I didn’t have to keep looking down his pants.)

5:30pm It’s over and come to the sobering reality that this is for 2 weeks.

**Prologue- Due to his new found confidence after taking the swim lessons, Riley stepped off the stairs at a pool and proceeded to hold his breath until we turned around and grabbed him because yes, we are stellar parents and left him alone on the steps. I would have to thank the lessons for him not gulping in gallons of water further showboating how we lack common sense.**

My husband found himself in a very awkward moment with my son’s preschool teacher last week. Apparently Riley requested to give her a kiss. Thinking he was being sweet, she knelt down and offered her cheek. “No,” he told her, “I want to kiss you like Dad does.

She then asked my spouse if he requests to kiss me like that. My husband stammered, “ Um no, I mean I don’t know.” I felt like we got busted making home videos. We aren’t even the public display of affection type- my husband can barely hold my hand in public on our anniversary let alone shove his tongue down my throat.

We have no idea were Riley picked up the amorous moves but I am ready to blame Disney and all it’s child stars.

On a hot afternoon last week this Roseville family was in Rocklin, waiting for Syd’s pre season soccer scrimmage to begin. This was the first time I had seen her on the field since I blew up at her after a game in Folsom a few weeks back.

It was there when she was playing in a ’seeding’ tourney and she gave up on the field. This event is a one day tournament and the kids play 4-5 games of 20 mins each over the course of about 8 hours. The weather was very hot and she did pretty well until the last two games. I could see that she was starting to loose it in the next to last game; then she mentally checked out in the final game. To be fair to Syd, team Zoom fell behind 3-0 pretty quick and never mounted much of a comeback, but I struggled to see her give up and take the easy way out. No hustle whatsoever. I lost it when she walked to retrieve a ball that had gone out of bounds; walked, gave up, took the easy way out. It killed me.

To be honest, the issue was with me. I tend to give up when it gets too hard, too hot, too lost, too far out of reach, too easy not to complete.

In the car on the way home I got on her about it and I couldn’t let it go. I kept going over it and I was long winded. I told her that she doesn’t need to be the best, but she has to hustle and try hard from the time she steps onto the field until she steps off. It’s that way with most everything in life, do your best work and you will pleased with the results. If it’s hard, its worth it. After a while RosevilleMom said, “Good words, just too many. Less is more.” She was right.

Fast forward back to Rocklin…Syd worked hard for 3 straight quarters. She made some good plays and she made a few mistakes but…she hustled. She got tired, really tired, but she gave it her best effort. At the end of the third quarter she figured she’d get replaced and could sit out the rest of the game. The coach told her she was back in at left defender with that big left foot (Coach Chris knew she needed to work hard). Her eyes found mine, I could see she was struggling. I walked over to her and whispered in her ear, “It’s hard, it’s worth it and I’m proud of you for working so hard today.” She forced a smile. The girls took the field, battled and let up a late goal loosing 2-1. It was a good game as they all worked hard, especially my favorite player.

When even the smallest victory is claimed in our family, the victor gets to choose dinner. So on the way to the Sushi place, I asked her, “Was it hard?” “It was real hard, dad.” she said. “Then it was worth it baby!” I said with a raised clenched fist.
“Yeah, it was.” she agreed.

While the Zoom team lost, the family team was victorious.

I wrote a post recently over at A Foothill Home Companion about some advice from Eleanor Roosevelt I’ve been trying to follow lately:  “Do one thing every day that scares you.”

Well, yesterday I did something quite scary.  I took the kids to Sunsplash.  No, I’m not scared of waterslides.  In fact, I love them.  Here’s a short list of what I was scared of:

- Being the only adult solely responsible for the lives of four children (two of which were not my own).

- Walking around in my swimsuit in public all day long.

- Swimming in the same water that thousands of others had been swimming in.

- Eating junk food from the concession stand.

- Paying for junk food from the concession stand.

- Standing in line for hours for a ride that lasted minutes.

- Standing in line in the heat and harsh August sun.

You know what?  I had nothing to be scared of after all.  The lines were relatively fast, the food (though not very good) was affordable, I was far from the only person walking around in my bathing suit all day long, and best of all, it was not ridiculously hot.  I was even cold a few times.  The best part was the absolute joy of seeing my children and their friends genuinely happy and squealing with pure delight as we went round and round in an inflatable tube down the waterslide.  We might have to buy season passes next year.