THE PUMPKIN TRAP

Queen of the mulch

14 Likes, 1 Comments - Cindy Maddera (@elephant_soap) on Instagram: "Queen of the mulch"

The Cabbage decided that she wanted to carve a pumpkin. I though 'Great! I'll let her pick out a pumpkin at Aldi!" Aldi has the cheapest pumpkins. I got a perfectly round pumpkin for $3 a couple of weeks ago. Then there was talk of going to a pumpkin patch and Michael looked at me and said "Can we do that?" I shrugged and mumbled an 'okay' knowing that if we were actually going to go to a pumpkin patch, I would be the one doing the research into which one and where. This was more work than my previous plan of just picking a pumpkin from the bin at Aldi's. I thought maybe if I didn't mention it again the whole thing would be forgotten. I did spend a few spare moments looking at pumpkin patches in my area and it kind of reminded me of shopping for curtains. They both include spending a lot of money for not a lot of things. 

It seems that pumpkin patches have become this big thing. They all include a corn maze (at an extra cost), a hayride, some inflatable thing to jump on, and a trip out to a pumpkin patch where all of the pumpkins have been already harvested and placed neatly in rows. This is where you choose your pumpkin (which will cost you) and then end up lugging it around along with whatever the child you are with ends up picking up along the way like coloring sheets and balloon animals. All of this without the extra things like the maze and the pumpkin will cost you around $15 a person. We've gone to these things before and every year, I walk away feeling like I've been slammed by a truck. I understand the appeal. Really, I do. Fresh air and an illusion of being on a real life farm. For people who are from the city or the suburbs, this is the idyllic Fall adventure. It is an opportunity for their children to see the country, pet some goats and get lost in a corn maze. It is an opportunity to drag a professional photographer along with you to capture a beautiful family portrait. On paper it all sounds really lovely. All of those places have hot apple cider and some sort of apple pumpkin donut. The reality is that these places are over crowded, the weather is this weird blend of hot/cold and windy and there is no joy in lugging around the giant pumpkin your child picked out while they run screaming from some so-called farm attraction to another attraction. 

Lucky for me, Michael got some sort of food poisoning on Friday. No one mentioned pumpkin patches. I did want some mums for the front porch though, so I dragged the Cabbage out of bed to go get mums and a pumpkin for her to carve. Suburban Lawn and Garden was having their Fall fest which includes hayrides, face painting and popcorn. There's a silly witch that dances and makes balloon animals. And, the best part, it is all free. I still paid an exorbitant amount for a pumpkin, but my mums were cheap and the Cabbage had a good time. Afterward, the two of us had lunch at a nearby Mexican place where we played tic-tac-toe while we waited on our food. Then I made her work on a Christmas list while I finished my lunch. By the time we got home, Michael was almost back to normal and I had plenty of afternoon left to clean up the front porch and plant my mums, as well as clean out my closet. Pumpkins were carved before dinner and I declared the day a success. 

The Cabbage and I don't spend a whole lot of time alone together. The whole point is for her to spend time with her Dad, whom she only sees once a week for an evening and every other weekend. The theory is that the more time she spends with him, the less often she will call him DustinDaddy. Dustin is the ex's boyfriend. Nice enough guy, but you can probably see how all of that would set some teeth on edge. The Cabbage and I alone off on an activity together only happens when Michael is sick. Once, the two of us went to the zoo. Another time, I had to pick her up after school on a Friday. I took her to McDonald's. The pumpkin patch was the third time in the four years since I've known her that we've spent the day just the two of us. And I didn't leave her at the pumpkin patch. So..that's something. These excursions always includes some awkward moment from somebody assuming that I am the Cabbage's mother. This time it was the face painter. When the Cabbage told the girl her name, she turned to me and asked if I was a big fan of Ferris Bueller, assuming that I had named her after one of the characters. 

It's not that I want to be so insistent about NOT being the Cabbage's mother. It's just that I feel like maybe I should just wear a button that reads "Not the Mom!" just so that people don't get any ideas. And when I say 'ideas', I mean I don't want any one to think that I have any sort of parenting skills. I fed the child beans for lunch. Seriously. She ate a refried bean and cheese burrito with a side of refried beans for lunch and I did not recommend she add something green to that plate. We all suffered for it the next day when she continued to fart up the inside of the car on our way back from IKEA. The only thing I will take credit for is the totally awesome t-shirt she picked out to wear that day because I bought the shirt and stuck it in her dresser. She usually picks out a dress, but this time she pulled out that t-shirt that talks about Marie Curie on the back and has science stuff on the front. When people asked her about it, she would tell them "I like science and Cindy's a scientist."

So, yes. I will take credit for that. 

SEVEN

Guess who's tall enough to ride on the back of her dad's scooter?

10 Likes, 1 Comments - Cindy Maddera (@elephant_soap) on Instagram: "Guess who's tall enough to ride on the back of her dad's scooter?"

The Cabbage turned seven on Friday. I made her stand against the wall to mark her height and then we ate pizza and watched the Cosmos. Her birthday party was on Saturday at a gymnastics place. I was pretty put out with the 'No Adults Past This Line' rug separating the waiting room with the gymnastics equipment. I wanted to jump on some trampolines. There was cake and presents and then we left the Cabbage with her mom so she could spend time with grandparents who had driven in from Iowa to see her. The Cabbage and her Mom met us the next day at the body piercing place. Our gift to her this year was ear piercings.

Michael and I rode our scooters to meet them. We had a few minutes of waiting for the shop to open and the four of us were just standing around talking. The Cabbage walked up to my scooter and hopped on. Erin, her mom, started to tell the Cabbage to get down, but I stopped her said it's okay. Then I looked at the Cabbage and told her not wiggle around too much. We were all kind of looking at her sitting there on my scooter and noticing how her feet almost touched the floor board. Suddenly Michael beckoned the Cabbage over to his scooter and made her climb on. He pulled out the passenger foot rests and asked her if her feet touched. They did! We all did a happy dance (except maybe Erin, because it makes her nervous, she is the mom). The Cabbage is tall enough to ride on the back of Michael's scooter. 

The Cabbage is tall. I think the most fascinating part is that I swear, just three weeks ago, the Cabbage was asking to be measured on the wall. She stood up tall and Michael put his fingers on the wall to mark it. When he looked, he said "Nope...not marking it. It's barely changed since the last time we measured you." The Cabbage pouted. When I marked her height on Friday, Michael and I stood there looking at all her growth and how so much of it seemed to happen in just three weeks. She's grown almost a foot in one year. We are having a problem buying pants that fit her length wise without falling off width wise. She has complained about gymnastics and how she doesn't want to do it anymore. She says the stretching hurts. Part of that is because her leotard isn't long enough for her torso and it ends up in an uncomfortable wedgie up her butt. I went to buy her a new one, but buying a size up wasn't fixing the problem. 

I ended up getting her a two piece set with shorts and a tank. The Cabbage wasn't happy about it, but we had a long talk about how the one piece wasn't going to work well for her body. When she whined about really wanting the one piece, Michael chimed in with "I'm sorry honey, but you're just too tall for the one piece." I immediately corrected him by saying "It's not that you're too tall, Cabbage. You're perfectly tall. These leotards just aren't the ones for you." Michael nodded his head in agreement. "Yes! Cindy's right. You're perfectly tall." I'm being very careful about not attaching negative words to anything about her body and I am increasingly annoyed at an industry that insists that we, even children, are one size number. I am annoyed with an industry that says this particular number and cut of cloth is the average size for all women. This industry is out of touch and ignorant of what average really is. It's hard enough being a woman and trying to figure out pant sizes. Now they have to make it suck for the kids too. 

Or at least for the adults who are purchasing the clothes for the kids.

As a result of all of this, I've taken to only purchasing cool t-shirts that I come across. She has plenty of t-shirts, though she prefers wearing dresses. That has also made things easier because leggings tend to me more forgiving in sizes. She wears a lot of unintentional capris. I leave the shoe shopping up to her parents because I don't understand children shoe sizes. At all. I mean, seriously. Matching a child with a proper shoe size is a MENSA test. Any way.. the Cabbage is growing up and doing big girl stuff like getting her ears pierced and talking about getting rid of her Barbis.

Change happens real fast. 

TWEEDLE DEE AND TWEEDLE DUMB GO CAMPING

Camping

11 Likes, 1 Comments - Cindy Maddera (@elephant_soap) on Instagram: "Camping"

We took the Cabbage to Hannibal MO over the weekend and the first thing she said as we pulled into the campground was "Do we get a house like all those other people?" She was referring to the giant travel trailers that surrounded us in the campground. I think she still harbors some disappointment that we didn't swing for the four bedroom camper with a fireplace and wifi, the kind of camper that costs more than my house. We set up camp reasonably well considering we had arrived after dark and opted to only hook up the electricity for the night. We'd hook up the rest of the things in the morning when we could see what we were doing. 

The next morning started out with pee all over the camper floor because the waste container had shifted during the drive. Then Josephine got in trouble for barking. One of the neighbors complained to the camp host. These were the same neighbors who's dog barked constantly inside their camper all day. Next, we drove out to the Mark Twain birthplace, which is on Mark Twain Lake. We realized very quickly that we should have stayed at this state park instead of the over priced tourist trap campground we were staying in. After learning all about Mark Twain, we loaded up to head back to Hannibal for lunch, but Michael wanted to take a different way back so we could see the lake dam. We did not find the dam and ended up lost on gravel roads and dead ends. Finally we made it back to Hannibal, found a dog friendly place for lunch, and waited for over an hour for a grilled cheese sandwich. 

Michael and I just watched the slow meltdown of the Cabbage. At one point, she got so fed up and said "I'm going to go see what's taking so long." She got up and marched herself inside, but came out soon enough because she lost her nerve. It was now almost 4 o'clock. The kid was starving. After telling the Cabbage all day long that we would not go to McDonald's, we walked out of the restaurant and went to McDonald's. Everything was great after that. We had campfires and smores. Josephine learned to curb her barking. The Cabbage made some camping friends to play with. I ate the biggest ball of cotton candy I have ever seen in my whole life. The Cabbage ordered a grilled cheese sandwich with baked beans, the same thing she ordered the day before, at a new place and she got it within ten minutes. She told our waitress "This is the same thing I ordered yesterday at the other place and I NEVER GOT IT!" We climbed two hundred and forty something steps to see a fake lighthouse that had been built as a Mark Twain memorial. I conned the Cabbage into "whitewashing" a fence and Michael and I were momentarily mesmerized by what turned out to be a christmas light. 

We are getting the hang of setting up and breaking down the camper. We have learned something new on both camping experiences. I suspect that by the end of the summer, we'll be old hats at all of it and may even find that missing set of camper keys in the process. Oh yeah...we've misplaced some keys, but at least we remembered to actually latch the trailer to the hitch this time!

ANTI-MOTHERS' DAY

Come sit

8 Likes, 1 Comments - Cindy Maddera (@elephant_soap) on Instagram: "Come sit"

It's kind of like wearing a shoe that doesn't fit, but you wear it any way because a) you spent a lot of money on them and b) they're a really cute pair of shoes. This is how I refer to my situation of sudo sort stepmom. Really, I am childless, without child, consciously barren. I am one of those women who just decided that motherhood would not be my bag of tea. Sure there have been moments when my ovaries have twisted up at the sight of a cute baby and a tiny voice has ever so quietly whispered "hey...we should have one of those." But I also think at times that it would be nice to just have a baby something...alpaca, goat, pig, monkey. Babies are cute for a biological reason. It is so we won't eat them. I have a million excuses for not having one of my own like timing and money, lacking the abilities required to raise a good human being, but if I take an honest look, those excuses can be boiled down to just one. I am a selfish human being. 

I mean I'm not selfish selfish. I give to charities. I occasionally give my time as a volunteer (I should actually do more of this). I tend to put others' needs before my own. Really, I am a giver almost to the point of being a doormat. I let people walk all over me and take advantage of my generosity. Case in point: I once gave a monk ten dollars for a cheap beaded bracelet. He had asked me for a donation while popping the bracelet onto my wrist and when I pulled a five out of my wallet, he saw the ten. He said I needed to give ten. So I did. Like a sucker. Because they needed to finish building their temple. I bend over and into a pretzel to make those around me happy and comfortable. So when I say my reasons for not having a child is a selfish reason, I say it because I feel this could be one area of my life were I could be completely selfish without making anyone (too) unhappy. Let's face it. Children are not easy to please and they let you know in no uncertain terms that they do not like something or are not happy about whatever. I didn't feel like being a constant disappointment to yet another person. 

Gratitude and appreciation is not an ingrained behavior. It is not just enough to know what those things are but to practice the art of being grateful every day. I know plenty of adults who struggle with this idea daily. The Cabbage has gotten better at this. Her tone is filled with less disdain when she doesn't like something. She's gotten better at being quick about saying when she does like something and saying 'thank you'. I think a big part of it has been that I've stopped trying so hard to please. I don't twist myself into that pretzel where she is concerned. If anything, the Cabbage has taught me to not be such a doormat. So there's that. The Cabbage is very quick to tell people that I am not her mother, which is great because it keeps me from having to explain. She tells people that I am her stepmom and I correct her and say "wicked stepmom". Though I don't really consider myself to be a stepmom either. I understand that there's a need to label things and people. 

People mean well when they wish me a 'Happy Mothers' Day" and every other weekend you can find me doing mom like things. I make sure a six year old has access to the short list of foods that she will consume, that she has clean clothes to wear and goes to bed at a reasonable hour. I have cleaned up vomit, wiped a snotty nose, and cleaned her butt. But I am not her mother. I know that there are those who resist my anti-mother stance when it comes to the Cabbage. It comes down to that need to put a label on me. Also, I have yet to hear about a National Stepmom Day (thank the gods). So my whatever role gets lumped in with Mothers' Day because I am female and a part time care giver to a child. In fact the feminist in me screams against being lumped into the Mothers Day group. The things I do for the Cabbage are the things any general care giver would do. It does not make me a mother. My womb does not ache when she's not with me. In fact there have been times I have sighed with relief after dropping her off at her mother's.

I do recognize that I have influence and I'm helping to mold her brain. I have become one of the women in her tribe of women who are helping to raise her. It takes a village right? I am happy enough to be part of her village. No label required. 

THIS WEEKEND WAS BETTER THAN THE LAST

Mirror image

"Mirror image"

I'm almost a little surprised to say this because Cabbage weekends are always a bit of a challenge for me, but we seriously had a pretty great weekend. We really didn't have plans made and Friday night it was decided that we needed to go to a pumpkin patch. After looking around online, Louisburg Cider Mill seemed like the best (cheapest) option. So the next morning I made us a picnic lunch (mom...you're never getting that insulated picnic basket back...what did you expect...it's covered with elephants) and we jumped into the car and headed south. There was a brief moment of bad bad deja vu as we pulled into a line of cars, but the line moved at a reasonable pace.

Michael had the Cabbage and I jump out to get in line for activity tickets while he found a parking spot. Tickets were purchased just as Michael walked up to us and off we went to jump around on the giant air pillow. We went through a short maze built from wood pallets. We slid down Sunflower Hill and we got lost in a corn maze. We jumped back in the car just as we were reaching hangry levels and drove a couple of miles over to Somerset Wineries. We purchased a bottle of wine, which they opened for us and gave us two plastic glasses. Then we walked over to the very edge of the winery, threw down a blanket and ate our picnic. And it was good. Really good. Our spot was between two large trees. It was quite and secluded. There were no lines or screaming. It was just crisp Fall air with bright sunshine keeping us warm. No one was complaining. No one was crying. Instead we were munching on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, apple slices and cheese curds and laughing about silly things like farts. 

That morning, as Michael was putting on his shoes and the Cabbage was watching cartoons, I told Michael about the email conversation I had been having with Karen. I told him what she said about replacements and I included the Cabbage in this conversation. I said "I am not a replacement for her mother." Then I went on to clarify that I was an authority figure, but not a mother figure. The Cabbage piped up and said "but you are my step mom." My reply to this was "fine. If that's the label you need to use, please add the word wicked before the step." I explained to her that it was fine to call me what ever but recognize that I am not a mom. I'm sorry, but I'm not. When the Cabbage is in the house, I am a child care provider. I make sure she has food and clean clothes. I try to plan some sort of activity or outing because if we were trapped in the house all day I would drown in her in the bathtub. I lack the "motherly" instincts required for nurturing.  She wants to leave the house without brushing her hair? By all means, let's not brush her hair. We did get busted recently for not making sure she brushes her teeth when she's at our house. We've been trying a little bit harder to make that happen now. But again, I shrug my shoulders at this because I, myself have been known to not brush my teeth on Sundays. What? It's the sabbath. 

Sure, the Cabbage tells people I'm her step mom, but really, no one knows what that means. Everyone has their own idea of what that means and there are mothers out there who will look at my situation and declare I have joined their club. I counter that declaration with no offense, but I have not joined your club. There's nothing wrong with your club. It's just not the club for me and I'm tired of trying to make it the club for me. Which is what I think I've been trying to do and why I feel like I'm constantly struggling with the Cabbage. I've been trying to force myself into mom jeans when I'm more comfortable in yoga pants. I've been stuck on a label that others want to give me. So this weekend, I stopped trying to "mother". Instead of trying to please and reason with a five year old, I just did my own thing. Eat the sandwich. Don't eat the sandwich. I don't really care. I pretty much did nothing with the idea of "would the Cabbage like this?" Instead the question was always "would I like this?" And you know what? I heard less complaining. 

My waist sits too low for those high waisted mom jeans any way.