Nicole Locke - Get Me Out of this Car!

I’m a stay-at-home mom. Doesn’t that sound divine? To be fair, I know I have it easy. My husband makes the majority of the income, so I’m able to do the other stuff.

The other stuff is enormous. Huge. It’s so big, my husband has to help, too (the garage does not clean itself). I work as well. I do this writing thing, and it has deadlines, and some days it’s incredibly hard.

Add in this moving thing I did in December, and well…. My ship is sinking. In fact, I’m typing this at 10pm because it can’t wait until tomorrow, or the next because I have deadlines looming, and my 7yo daughter has this concert, oh wait, two concerts, and my 14yo son is in need of clothes because I’ve shrunk everything (or is he getting bigger--again!).

In truth, maybe if I had this home schedule all along it’d be easier because I wouldn’t know any different. But I’m in culture shock. London school life was so different.

There, I walked my daughter the half a mile to school every day. That got in my exercise and times-tables quiz time. All moms brought their kids to the gate, we visited, and then got on with our days.

 

My son had been getting himself to school and to his after-school activities by age 12. Other than making sure he did his homework, I didn’t have to worry about him at all.

In America, my son starts school at 8:45am. The bus can’t get him there on time unless he leaves much earlier. Since we are new, I’m not putting that burden on him. So I schlep him out of the house at 8:20. Unfortunately, my daughter has to come with us. Really unfortunately, her school doesn’t start until 9:30. So she’s stuck in the car an extra 45 minutes (we do her homework and run errands).

I’m not even going to mention that my son gets out of school at 3:15pm, and my daughter at 4:10. Or that some days he can’t get himself home. Like Tuesdays, when I have to pick him up, and drive him to the library for volunteer time. Then drive to pick daughter from school, only to return to the library (while she eats in car) to pick up son. Continue driving to another school so my daughter can have orchestra practice and where my son can take a bus home. She and I don’t return home until 7:30pm when we eat dinner (maybe…if I prepared it earlier).

I can’t start work until 10am and on good days I write until 2pm. And I don’t want to think about my house, that I’m living in a suitcase still or the fact our container full of clothes hasn’t arrived yet (though the moving company has had it since December 6^th). It’ll be Spring and I’ll still be wearing my winter wools….

Am I crazy. Is this driving all around schedule normal for parents in America? How have you been doing it all this time? And why is the image of stay-at-home moms all about eating bonbons? It’s not that way in the UK. Here, I feel I have to justify my day with people I meet. Do you?

Whew. I’m glad I can share this. I truly do want to know how you do it, and if I’m missing a trick. Please tell me there’s a magical time bending necklace I didn’t know about….

Nicole :-)

 

Nicole Locke is the author of Harlequin Lovers and Legends series. For more information about her and her writing, check out her website and follow her on Facebook, Twitter, Google+ and Pinterest.

 

Confessions of a Game-aholic - Jenny Gardiner

(note the wacky family fun, above)

The other day we were sitting around, a little bored, and I almost offered up that the family play a board game together. Luckily, before the words came out of my mouth, I realized the error in my ways, and opted against such a ludicrous notion. But it got me thinking about a piece I wrote a while back for my newspaper column, so while it's not a cold wintry night any more, the sentiments still hold true!


These cold wintry nights of late have conjured up images in my head of cocooning with my brood, crackling fire in the hearth, ready to play Monopoly, Jenga or some other classic Milton-Bradley special.

There’s only one problem: I am a game-aholic. I have a real problem with board games. It’s not that I necessarily have to play them. It’s that if I do play them, I have to win. Now, I have children. And for my kids I am fully prepared to surrender my dying breath, my last drop of blood. A lung, a kidney, any other vital organ. To hurl myself before a runaway bus to ensure their safety and well being. But I’ll be darned if I’m gonna let them beat me at Parcheesi, War, or Scrabble.

I don’t know when this win-at-all-costs notion became so vital to me. I have fond recollections of playing Sorry, Yahtzee, Masterpiece, and Hearts with my family when I was a child. I don’t think that I was fixated on crushing the opponent back then.



Way back when Trivial Pursuit (old edition) was all the rage, I so dominated that game that winning was a non-issue. My brain’s mother load of useless trivial knowledge was finally successfully put to the test with that one. Even Pictionary was fun during its heyday, although my drawing left a bit to be desired.

But somewhere along the line, I developed a bloodlust for winning. Gamesmanship became second mate to kicking butt. Even if it meant leaving a trail of friendships in my wake, like Sherman burning his way to Atlanta.



Lately I’ve taken to enjoying most the games in which you blurt out the answer: that way I can ensure that I am at least the loudest at the game board, even if I don’t actually get to win. So not only do I tick off my fellow players, but I also leave them with a ringing in their ears that retreats only days later. I worry that if this keeps up, I could cause serious injury to someone.
I guess my way of avoiding the heated game-type fervor is by staying away from games altogether. Usually I politely decline and sit with a book whenever my family chooses to play. But every now and then, I succumb to the temptation. One roll of the dice leads to another, and the next thing you know, I’m sucked into the vortex of that old “crush the opponent” mentality. In the word game we play with the kids, I take their word “hair” and make it “chair” and gloat my way to the bank. My God, I’m like an alligator, eating her young.

Things are getting so bad that I fear my family hopes I get swallowed up in some Jumanji-type game in which the players actually become part of the imaginary play. So a herd of elephants will trample me and ensure that I no longer destroy family game night with my antics.

I think the solution to my problem is some sort of 12-step program. Perhaps while I’m at it, I’ll just tackle all the other addictions in my life. Sort of like an Over-Everything Anonymous kind of thing. One thing I’m worried about though: during the downtime at these rehab places, I’m not going to have anything to do. Hmmm, I guess I’ll have to pack a few board games and a deck of cards to bring along…