Gal Smiley has been invited to a sleepover, and it’s causing me some anxiety.

It’s not the first sleepover invite she’s received. Last year, when she was in grade 2, she made friends with a girl in her class who is very, very, into sleepovers. Early in the year she started inviting the Gal for sleepovers.

This girl seemed perfectly nice and her parents seemed perfectly nice but we were a little nervous about the concept. Gal Smiley was into it, make no mistake about it, but we were the ones holding back. She just seemed too young. We didn’t know the family at all. It was a big step and we were not ready for it.

So we deferred, made excuses. The Gal went over for playdates, but we picked her up before bedtime. Still, the friend continued to press for a sleepover, making elaborate invites detailing all the plans she had for this epic event. I started to feel really guilty about saying no all the time, when it was clearly so important to other girl, and her parents really went out of their way to make us feel secure about the whole thing.

So when spring rolled around and we got one more invite – this time for the girl’s actual birthday – we decided to go for it. Everything was great, Gal Smiley got zero sleep but had an amazing time, all good.

Of course, she was invited for a sleepover the very next week. That girlfriend likes her sleepovers. We went back to making excuses.

Now it’s a new year and a new grade and two weeks in, we got our first lovingly handcrafted, extremely detailed invitation for a sleepover. GAH.

I can no longer tell if I am being a paranoid, helicopter parent, or if I’m being remotely reasonable. I’m out of excuses and I can’t really explain that I have to say no, even when both girls are excited about the idea, because it’s just too much for me, as a parent. When I was a kid, I had exactly two sleepovers, both in Grade 5, both with a girl who was my super most excellent bestest friend ever, and we were inseparable. They were amazing, but clearly defined special events. Unique experiences that would not be repeated on a weekly basis. Have times changed?

I think I am having some kind of knee-jerk reaction where I fear Gal Smiley being slowly enveloped into another family. They are more than happy to have her sleep over every weekend. But it’s not okay for me. Sorry, Gal.

I am acutely aware lately of how fleeting these days are with my children. Of course, they’ll always be my babies, but these times when I tuck them in at night with a story and a hug, then see their sleepy eye-rubbing first thing each morning, are precious and few. I love my mom and would consider us close, but the truth is I have not lived at home since I was 18 years old, and now that I live a seven hour drive away and have three kids of my own, I only see her three times a year for a couple days at a time. Maybe someday I’ll be cool with that, but while I have the chance to keep my own children close, I’m going to take it.

I like the feeling of curling up on the couch at night knowing all my kids are snug in their beds. I like the feeling of us all being together, safe in our home. I like the feeling that my family is still intact, just us, together.

Is that weird?

I used to think I’d be the kind of mom that welcomed every kid in the neighbourhood over. Who kept an open door policy, and our house would be full of my own kids, and their friends, and their friends’ friends, while I kept everyone full of cookies and apple juice (while wearing a really cute 50s style apron, of course). Now I fear I am the exact opposite – I want my family here and everyone else out there.

I know it can’t last forever – but why rush them out the door?

So for this week’s invitation – we decided not this time. Playdate, dinner, okay. Sleepover – not okay. I’m sorry, Gal – I know you’d love to go. I know this other family is kind and nice and would love to have you sleepover.

But I am going to be selfish. This time, the next time, and for as long as I can hold on.

So Blissdom Canada is coming up in a few weeks. Whenever there is a big blogging conference approaching, I go through this cycle:

1. Get excited, imagine how fun it will be, imagine attending.
2. Pay attention to when tickets go on sale, monitor the situation closely, load up the ticket buying page.
3. Chicken out, don’t buy ticket, watch it sell out.
4. See people on Twitter and Facebook talk about what they are packing and who they are rooming with and how thrilled they are, and get bitterly jealous.
5. Read people’s tweets from the conference and see their blissfully happy child-free photos and feel extra bitter.
6. Read people’s joyful post-conference posts and feel totally disconnected from the entire community and vow to give up blogging forever.
7. Sulk around the house for a couple of weeks before reading something funny on someone’s blog and deciding not to give it up quite yet.

Repeat.

I have been blogging for over 10 years and have never been to a conference, but I am seriously trying to talk myself into going to Blissdom this year, just for the experience.

Here’s how serious I am: I told my husband about it. That’s MAJOR, people.

However, I still haven’t made any actual plans to actually attend or anything.

Still, the hope is there. Baby steps.

On the weekend, I took the kids to swimming lessons. There’s a Parent And Tot class in the pool at the same time.

I spent a lot of time watching the parents and their wee ones. You can always spot the parents who are out with their first child. The dad or mom is in the pool with the kid, while the other parent claps enthusiastically from the sidelines, calling out encouragement, rushing over with a towel for cuddles and praise at the end of the lesson.

When I see really young families like this I get nostalgic, although I wouldn’t really want to go back to the world of diapers and naps and mystery screaming and having to cart around a giant stroller all the time.

Those parents aren’t so many years behind me but it feels like a lifetime ago. I’m in some kind of parenthood limbo now where I have passed out of the fog of babyhood, but haven’t yet entered the terror of teenagers. It’s a good phase.

I find myself now constantly wondering what other parents, other mothers, think when they see me out with my kids. Whenever I was out with a baby – or two, or three – we’d get a lot of wistful looks, a lot of older ladies stopping to tell us how lovely the kids were, a lot of “boy, you must be busy!” type comments. We drew attention.

I admit I was rather wrapped up in the world of who-dropped-the-sippy-cup to pay much attention to mothers with older kids that I passed in the mall, unless it was to briefly gaze at them in envy, wishing for the day when everyone would carry their own damn coat (still wishing, by the way).

When I see parents now at the mall with their older teens, maybe shopping together, maybe splitting a cafe mocha at the Second Cup, there’s my wistful feeling coming up. I can only hope to have such a great relationship with my kids in the coming years. I want so much for us to be close as they grow older, to keep thinking of me as a tolerable, benevolent presence in their lives. (Fingers crossed!)

But this age, these in-between years, I think are perhaps the golden age of parenthood, and they go overlooked. Moms like me don’t get the soft looks in elevators, don’t get the yearning look from parents struggling with teens, don’t get the pats on the head from parents who have been there.

I think that’s maybe…wonderful. This is the age when everything clicks. Everything is as easy as it’s going to get. Everyone can put on their own shoes. Everyone can join in on a game of Sorry. Everyone can share a bowl of popcorn during Family Movie Night. Everyone can help carry picnic supplies from the van to the park.

It might not get the most attention. But it makes the best memories.

Friday was Gal Smiley’s 8th birthday, and we gave her a magic set.

On Sunday, Sir Monkeypants was performing a trick for Little Miss Sunshine, with three cups and a ball. He moved the cups around, then lifted them to reveal that the ball had gone missing. Then he pulled it out of the Little Miss’ ear.

She was completely dazzled. She demanded he do it again, so I could see it.

The second time around, there was a fumbling of the ball and the Little Miss caught sight of it in Sir Monkeypants’ hand. But rather than have the illusion spoiled, she angrily demanded that he “do it right, Daddy! Do the it the magic way so it comes out of Mommy’s ear!”

We laughed, but not because we felt superior; rather, because we were delighted to think, just for one moment, that real magic still exists in her world.

We have two cars. One is a minivan, standard issue for all suburban parents. Despite many efforts over the years, it has resisted all nicknames. We just call it “The Van.”

Our other car is an aging red Forester that we call “James.” The name harkens back to a time when the Captain was heavily into Thomas The Tank Engine. He named all vehicles after the train of their corresponding colour, so blue cars where Thomas or Gordon, and green cars were Percy. Ours was red, so it became James, and it stuck.

This morning I had a dentist appointment. I was taking the van so I’d have it later to do school pickup (I’m running a minor bus-delivery type service for kids in the neighbourhood, more on that some day, I’m sure). Gal Smiley wanted to wait in the driveway as I backed out so she could wave goodbye to me.

Me: Be careful where you stand. If I hit you with the van it would be the worst thing EVER.

Her: What if you hit me with James?

Seriously, sometimes I feel like I am raising three lawyers over here. Be exact with your language, or face cross examination!

Tonight’s the night – two champions will be crowned, amazing dancing will happen, and then I’ll go into withdrawal for another year. Dance Show! Don’t leave me!

First, some quick highlights from last week’s show: did you notice, when the boys came out for the intro part, that they each did another dancer’s style? Chehon did some kung fu moves, Cyrus posed with ballet arms, and then Cole did the robot. Possibly my most favourite moment of the entire season. Second, I was just super thrilled to see Jean-Marc Genereux in the house, and the number he did for Benji (Benji!!) and Tiffany was a highlight of the night. Third, Ray Leeper is still creepy but the dance he did for Witney and Marko (the wedding that didn’t happen) was, I thought, the best work he’s done on this show. Lastly, Eliana and Cole were marvelous in the Mia Michaels number, making me sad that Cole didn’t get more choreographers who didn’t want him to be evil, and also making me ask, yet again, why Mia does not have her own show. Why, TV Gods, why?

As fits with this season, when I have been off-kilter and out-of-sync and unbalanced and other words that mean TOTALLY WRONG, I find it almost impossible to predict the tonight’s winners. Both the boys’ race and the girls’ race seem, at least to me, to be too close to call. Let’s discuss.

Eliana over Tiffany

Although I have a feeling she is the underdog, I want Eliana to win, so I’m putting her on top. I think she’s the best dancer this season, and also has the most winning personality. She’s had some great moments, held her own with the all-stars, and shown that she can handle pretty much any old style. Tiffany, while popular, is missing something for me. She’s a great dancer but I find her forgettable – she does not have the stage presence of past champions like Lauren, Janeane, Melanie, and Sabra. She’s dynamic and beautiful, but I would say that this entire season she has not shown a lot of maturity (like say, Chehon’s tango with Anya); depth of emotion (like say, Lindsay’s recreation of Mia Micheal’s addiction number); or personification of a character that is completely different than her own personality (like say, Witney’s bad ass hip hop vixen with Twitch two weeks ago). So although Eliana perhaps hasn’t shown the kind of growth we usually see from a winner, I think she deserves to come out on top and I’ll be rooting for her.

Chehon over Cyrus

I just changed that title about 10 times, back and forth. This one is seriously SO close. I am putting Chehon’s name down (in very light pencil) because I think he’s surged ahead with the back story these past few weeks. His family history is adorable, he’s shown a lot of emotion in both his dancing and in his personal moments on stage. Plus, he’s a kick-ass dancer and I think the SYTYCD audience, in the end, really respects that. On the other hand, Cyrus had an amazing week last week, with his Dubstep with Comfort (I admit I am not cool enough to know what the hell that is, but it was awesome), and his super sweet Broadway number with Tiffany (Spencer Liff, you super cutie, call me!). So this one really could go either way – your guess is as good as mine!

Who do you think will win?

[Edited to add: The show as on last night, and it was performance only – they didn’t pick the winners! I could not be MORE out of sync with this season. In any case, I stick by my original predictions – the winners will be announced next week, presumably during their usual “best of” show. GAH.]

It’s been a hard first week of school around here. This year has been the first that one of our kids isn’t totally happy about their classroom situation.

It’s not Gal Smiley – she got every last one of her bestest buds in her class, loves her teacher and her classroom, and is over the moon to be back in a heavily social environment.

It’s not Little Miss Sunshine – although she was nervous about starting French Immersion, she’s discovered it’s actually really fun, and she’s in with all her friends from last year. Plus, she gets to go down the hall to the big kid bathroom and that’s the mark of maturity, right there.

So…that leaves one. It’s the Captain. I worry about him. This year has brought so many changes – too many, it seems. It’s his first time in a portable, and he’s really struggling with the different procedures and rules, and the lack of a space to call his own, even if it is only a hook on a wall. He’s in a split class for the first time ever, and he’s intimidated by the older kids. Grade 4 apparently means he has an array of teachers now – his nominal “teacher” is only around for 1/3 of each day, with six (six!) other teachers filling in the rest of the periods. Worst of all, all of his friends are in the other class, so he’s feeling awfully alone and lonely.

It’s been a hard week.

These, I think, are the really hard times as a parent. When they’re babies, you know it’s all on you to solve their problems. As they grow, when they run into trouble, you can offer solutions, ideas, comfort. You’re their guide to every single last aspect of life.

But now that he’s nine, the Captain is reaching an age where he still needs us, and wants our support, but at the same time, would just DIE if his parents tried to interfere with his school life. My God, can you imagine your MOTHER coming into the school to talk to your TEACHER about your lack of friend situation? DIE. SERIOUSLY.

And it’s not like I have any magic answers, anyway. I can’t just Google “diaper rash” and be rewarded with 10 different suggestions on how to fix the situation. Times like this, when your kid is unhappy at a place where he’ll be spending 8 hours a day, for a myriad of reasons, are complex and delicate. There is no easy answer. I have advice, but who knows if it will really work, and half the time (okay, more than half), he feels like he just can’t take my advice, anyway. It’s to hard, nothing is easy, I don’t understand.

Oh, my dear, but I do. All too well.

It’s been a very hard week. I hope things get better.

I had a post syndicated on BlogHer! I’m…not really sure what that means. Or how it all works. All I know is, a wonderful, magical fairy came out of the sky and blessed one of my posts with sparkly BlogHer-ness and I was totally, totally flattered. BlogHer can play fairy godmother to my Cinderella ANY DAY.

(The post, by the way, is this one from a few days ago, and you can see it on BlogHer here.)

(Also, about that post – thanks so much for all your kinds words of empathy and sympathy. I have happily bucked up.)

In other writing/blogging news, I will be teaching a class for Ottawa Catholic Continuing Education this fall. I am alternating between being excited and being horrified. But mostly, excited. MOSTLY.

The class is Blogging 101 and you can sign up for it here. If you’re reading this blog and you already have a blog, you’re probably not going to learn much here. The goal of the class is to introduce newbies into both the technical side of creating and maintaining a blog (using WordPress), the social side of becoming part of a community, and the writing side – how to find inspiration, what to blog about, how to compose a blog post, and so on. It’s a day-long workshop (or two evenings) where we will actually be building the framework of a new blog for each student on the WordPress.com site. Everyone needs to bring a laptop or some sort of internet-accessible device so they can work in real time.

I guess it might be useful to current bloggers who are on Blogger and want to learn WordPress, or maybe bloggers who are very new and still aren’t sure what to write about. In general though, it’s for the new and curious. So if you know someone who is looking to take the leap, point them in my direction!

And in other writing news, I have a small part-time gig over at SavvyMom, where I’ll be occasionally reporting on new businesses, services, and events around Ottawa. If you hear of a cool new store, or an older store with a new feature, or a new service in town, or a cool event, please let me know.

Last week I was chatting with Finola and she caught me using the word “writer” to refer to myself. And I was totally ashamed, like, who am I to be calling myself that? Who other than J.K. Rowling and Stephen King ever really feels comfortable using that word to describe themself? And yet. Perhaps I am…perhaps I am.