JULIE•PERRAULT

Archive for the ‘Life’ Category

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Party Like It’s 1991

In Family, Getting older, Kids, Life on July 18, 2011 at 8:17 AM

And just like that, 20 years flew by. Our high school reunion snuck up like a pimple on prom night. A wonderful weekend with old friends who look young-as-ever included a “Girls’ Night” on Friday and a couples’ celebration the following evening.

Friday night went off with a bang and almost instantly the years between us dissolved as the decibel level skyrocketed.   Trying not to be the control freak that I am, I rode with a friend who doesn’t necessarily share in my thought that anyone 20-years out of high school should not be out past midnight. So my sound judgement gave way to her possession of the keys and we rolled in at 2am.

Saturday night was the highlight of the weekend and Unnamed Husband (who also graduated in the same class) and I were both excited. Not wanting to repeat the mischief of the night before, I vowed that I would not be over-served or home past midnight. Apparently my commitment was quickly drowned by drinks, 80s music and a homecoming-esque photo backdrop.

After tearing up the dance floor and my feet (in four-inch heels), we arrive safely at home a little after 1am. I walk my sitter to the car and get a brief recap on the kids while Unnamed Husband checks on them in their rooms. Moments later he comes out of Edwin’s room laughing at how he was sleeping. I go into to see and he is upside down with his head hanging of the foot of the bed. Unnamed Husband adjusts him just as Claire - sleeping in the trundle below – wakes up. Bleary-eyed and disoriented, she begins to tell us that Edwin lost a tooth.

What?!, I ask wondering why my sitter failed to mention this.

Yep, it’s under his pillow. she says.

Just then, Edwin lifts his head and in a drunken smile shows the gaping hole from losing his second bottom tooth. We settle them both back into bed and panic sets in wondering how the tooth fairy is going to pull this off on such short notice.

The little guy and his missing teeth

Once I confirm that the fairy was equipped with cash, I make a plate of nachos that could not have tasted nearly as good in daylight hours. Convinced that slumbering was now in full effect, I creep into the room to make the transaction. Navigating the trundle and an additional child proves to be as difficult as maintaining my balance while containing my giggles. Minutes later, success ensues and I greet my bed with open arms (and limp legs.)

I wake to chaos just a few short hour later. After about 10 minutes, I realize that the clanging in my head is actually Hungy Hungry Hippos and I threaten Unnamed Husband with my wrath. This goes on for hours and finally I concede that nothing productive will take place on this gloomy Sunday.

Mid-afternoon I sneak in my first nap in years. While fabulous, it was way too brief as I had to peel myself up for a birthday party. I wash my face and get dressed as Unnamed Husband showers also preparing for the birthday party torture.

Claire comes into the bathroom with her disheveled hair and lavender unicorn pajamas that only a grandmother would buy. She proceeds to tell us that our neighbors came over to drop something off.

Did you open the door?, I ask.

Yes, Me and Edwin (who is also still in his pjs!) both did.

Did they ask for us?, I ask cringing.

Yes, I told them y’all were in the bathroom.

A tad horrified, I remind myself that it’s a once-in-20-years experience.

See ya in 2021!

Senior Trip 1991

20th Reunion 2011

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Summer Lovin’

In Family, Kids, Life on July 3, 2011 at 11:35 AM

Attempting a family portrait in North Carolina

The usual chaos of our household has subsided a bit as summer is in full swing.  The tightly scheduled school year has given way to calm(er) days of slow(er) mornings and good times.  In about a six-week span this Spring: one of our kids had surgery; one had the chicken pox; one had lice (yet again!) and all four had the stomach bug. Needless to say, we have earned some tranquility.

Here’s a quick glimpse of our summer so far:

River Rattin’:

Good times with great friends on False River is definitely one of our summertime favorites.

Edwin and Claire soaking in the golden hour

Two wheelin’:

We came home from work to discover that Edwin had successfully ridden his bike without training wheels. Horrified that he did this with the babysitter, we grabbed the camera and hit the pavement to recapture his big moment.

Unnamed Husband hits the pavement with the little guy

Swim teamin’:

This summer activity is actually a bit torturous for the Momma. In the spirit of summer, we take one for the (swim) team.

Swim team fun

Costumin’:

The days are long and what better way to pass the time…

Cyndi Lauper and the Super Hero Misfits

Waterfallin’:

Best. Vacation. Ever. A week in Cashiers, North Carolina was exactly the relaxing, family vacation we needed. The 11-hour drive was manageable, restoring hope that traveling with our kids won’t always be torturous.

Lake Glenville

This may be Unnamed Husband's finest moment

Day Trippin’:

Despite the heat, we a had a great time picking blueberries at Equiterra Farm in Clinton and then driving over the new bridge that connects St. Francisville and New Roads.

Blueberry picking

The newly constructed Audubon Bridge

Sweet treatin’:

With eight pounds of fresh blueberries, we have made smoothies, muffins, pancakes and this cheesecake. Despite my inability to bake, I was able to reach my culinary peak with this little slice of Summer.

The fruits of our (blueberry picking) labor

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Potty Training Stress Disorder

In Family, Kids, Life, Parenting on February 5, 2011 at 11:47 AM

The bane of my existence

Potty Training twins is a torture that no human should have to endure. I have been dreading potty training Cate and David since they were newborns and I was going through Hell training Edwin. If only there was a potty training boot camp, the Perrault twins would be first in line.

This week has been one chaotic event after another. So after being stranded in the storm that hit Dallas, it only made sense to create a little more chaos as the bad weather approached us. As news stories swirled of the in-climate weather and school closings, I prepared  for our own storm – potty training:

Big girl underwear - Check

Big boy underwear - Check

Dora Pull-ups – Check

Diego Pull-ups – Check

Jelly beans – Check

Ice-cold Bud Light – Check

A great thing about having a large family is that you get another chance at things that you didn’t do well with your first or second child — a “do over” of Bad Mom moments.  I told myself that this time potty training was going to be different. The third time was going to be a charm. Or so I believed.

By mid-morning on Potty Training Day, I had lost all control. I wanted to get back in bed and pretend this day never happened. Unnamed Husband came home for lunch and confirmed what I already knew:

I was suffering from Potty Training Stress Disorder.

Potty Training Stress Disorder (PTSD) is an anxiety disorder that occurs as you experience the traumatic event of weaning a two-year old from diapers.

Symptoms of PTSD:

1. Lack of concern for your appearance or that of your home.

2. Difficulty getting up from the bathroom floor.

3. Irrationally beating small children for peeing on the floor.

4. Overwhelming sense that you are smelling urine all over the house.

5. Excessively eating jelly beans to numb your feelings of failure.

6. Avoidance of your (Facebook) friends for fear they will tell you how easy it was for them.

7. Sense that your child(ren) will be the first to go to Kindergarten in diapers.

That night, after putting the kids to sleep and self medicating with nachos and beer, I realized that despite the harrowing experience, we had made some progress.

If you know someone suffering from PTSD, offer support in the form of fattening food and alcoholic beverages and avoid saying anything that can trigger additional symptoms – like how your child potty trained himself.

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2011 is a Mouthful

In Life on January 1, 2011 at 4:04 PM

Preparing for a new year

[twen-tee, ih-lev-uhn]

My anxiety of a new year has less to do with resolutions and more to do with syllables. Twenty-eleven just does not roll off the tongue like twenty-ten; Adding two more syllables over night is cumbersome and makes the transition of a new year even harder.

The last time we had a five-syllable year was 2007 but we were coming off four-syllable 2006 so it wasn’t quite as painful. Before that, it was 1999 and I would imagine we were too busy rocking out to Prince to notice.

1977 was the mouthful of the 20th century weighing in at a hefty seven syllables. But back then, people ditched the century and rolled with a mere ’77. That doesn’t seem to work with ’11.

On a positive note, 2011 has lots of interesting dates. Usually there is one date per calendar year where all of the numbers are the same.

9/9/99

1/1/01

2/2/02

3/3/03

But this year brings:

1/1/11

1/11/11

11/1/11

And the craziest date in the past one hundred years:

11/11/11

I bet the wedding reception halls are already filling up.

It will also make for a grand Veteran’s Day observance which commemorates the end of WWI which ended at the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month” of 1918.

Cooking up a little New Year's tradition

Despite the extra syllables, 2011 should be a good year. I’m keeping my same resolution as last year: Stop and Smell the Babies.

The peas and cabbage are simmering – here’s to a great year!

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Keeping Up With The Binswangers

In Family, Life on December 28, 2010 at 10:35 AM

The Binswanger grandchildren ca. 2008

Our house was built in 1949 and despite the fact that it is over 60 years old, we are only the second owners. Even though we’ve lived here over seven years now, our neighbors still refer to our home as “the Schudmak’s house.”  The Schudmak’s built and loved this house and lived here until they died, so apparently naming rights still belong to them.

Living in “the Schudmak’s house” comes with many perks like the large storage room, the greenhouse and the camellias. But my all-time favorite benefit of living here is receiving the Binswanger’s annual holiday card. While we probably never should have opened that envelope addressed to the Schudmaks back in 2003, committing a federal offense was worth it.

The Binswangers 2007 holiday card, Independence Hall, Philidelphia

The professionally designed card comes from an extended, Northeastern family consisting of three brothers and their children, grandchildren, a few horses and several well-bred canines. Each year, we are greeted by a fabulously orchestrated photograph of 30+ well-wishing Binswangers in matching outfits. We dissect the professionally designed card, noting additions and (sadly) losses to the family. We admire how much the kids have grown and wonder what happened to the horses.

The back of the card

A glimpse into their adventurous lives, their card has become part of our holiday tradition. Every year, we wait in eager anticipation of our favorite holiday greeting, hoping that they do not learn that the Schudmaks died. When friends and family come over, they sift through our cards looking for the Binswanger’s.

Keeping up with the Binswangers

The themed greeting gets better and better each year. This year’s Facebook themed greeting highlighted the Binswangers with snappy status updates like:

Whitney loves living in San Fran and working for the Old Navy Brand.

Zach is living the dream while a sophomore at Wesleyan.

Elizabeth is traveling in Indonesia.

Ahhh, the fabulous Binswangers. To know one, is to love one.

I hesitated posting this as I know I may be risking my love affair with this clan. So here’s my pathetic attempt to woo the Binswangers:

Dear beloved Binswanger family,

Your family is beautiful and very blessed. We have enjoyed watching you grow over the years and we would be honored to receive your holiday card addressed to us (at the Schudmak’s house).

xoxo,

The Perraults

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The Kids on the Bus…

In Family, Kids, Life, Parenting, school, Twins on December 1, 2010 at 12:07 AM

Here comes the bus!

The school bus is a rite of passage for kids and a breath of fresh air for mammas everywhere. After two years of wasting time in the carpool line, Unnamed Husband and I decided that it was time for kids to ride the bus home from school. Claire and Edwin were super excited when we announced the news and the preparation began.

Verify with school office. Check.

Talk to first grade teacher. Check.

Talk to pre-K teacher. Check.

Find our bus at school and talk to driver. Check.

After a week of coordination, the big day was here. Claire and Edwin could barely contain their excitement.  Armed with signed notes typed with every detail, we head to school. On the way, we go over the rules:

Stick together.

Sit in the front.

Talk quietly.

Obey the bus driver.

At 3:00 p.m., I pick up the twins from Mother’s Day Out and we hurry home to wait for the bus. Cate and David are as excited as I am. We arrive home, grab the camera and head outside to our stop. We wait for several minutes in anticipation. I could hear the bus before we see it and I alert the twins. They start chanting, “BUS! BUS! BUS!” as the yellow wonder turns down our street.  The bus stops at the corner and our neighbors jump off. As the bus heads our way, the twins wave their arms and I raise my camera ready for the perfect shot. I watch through my viewfinder as the bus passes us unnoticed.

For a millisecond, I am stunned immobile. And then like any crazed mother, I start screaming and chasing the bus.

The driver stops 20 yards away and as I reach the door, she recognizes me from the week before.

Ms. Jackson: Are your kids supposed to be on the bus?

Me: YES! Are they?

Ms. Jackson: No, they never got on.

Me: What do I do? {I know. You are probably wondering, why I’m asking the bus driver. But I had NO idea what to do.}

Ms. Jackson: Go check at school, I’m sure they are there.

I grab the twins, race to the car and call Unnamed Husband who excitedly answers the phone in anticipation of the bus report. I frantically spew the scenario and he calls school while I load the twins in the car. Meanwhile I call my friend whose kids ride another bus. No answer.

Luckily, we live close to school and in minutes, I’m there. I run to the after school program and  before I can say anything the teacher says, “They aren’t here.”

I run to the office, where I bump into Claire’s teacher who was retuning from the parking lot. Her face ashen, so I assume she just got called back to school. We go into the office and both administrators are on the phone — one with Unnamed Husband the other with the School Board office. I listen to one side of the conversation.

Administrator: “We think they may have gotten on the wrong bus.”

School Board Office: {insert Charlie Brown noises here: wangh wah wan wangh wan?}

Administrator: “Bus number 2365.”

School Board Office: {wangh, wan wah wangh, wan wangh, wan wangh, wan.}

Administrator: “Oh, it’s a sub. Well, do you have her cell number?”

School Board Office: {wangh wan  wangh wan wangh wan, wangh wan.}

Administrator: “Well, if you don’t have her number…what will happen, if they don’t get off the bus?”

School Board Office: { wangh wan wangh, wan}

Luckily, our school only has two busses so I call my friend again. She answers, I tell her the scenario and she agrees to get my kids off the bus. I tell the office staff that I think all is well and they explain that the kids are on the bus they are assigned to. I attempt to process why they wouldn’t be assigned to the bus that passes in front of our house when I remember that the crossing guard is watching the twins outside in the car.

I arrive to my friend’s house to find my kids snacking on popcorn and sipping juice, thrilled with their bus ride. They never knew they were lost. I peel them away and we finally make it home an hour after their expected arrival.

The next day, we iron out the confusion and the kids on the bus make it home, safe and sound.

But of course, I forgot to take a picture.

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When Duty Calls

In Family, Life on November 14, 2010 at 9:45 PM

When a good week goes bad

Several weeks ago I received notice that it was time to serve. Having never been called to jury duty, I was momentarily intrigued. Then it occurred to me how one tiny piece of computer-generated mail could potentially wreck my week. I franticly prepare the week prior – getting ahead at work, planning sitters, listing things I could work on during jury duty. The morning of my summons, Unnamed Husband is reading the paper when he says, “uh oh.”

He tosses me the paper to an article about a murder trial that is beginning jury selection that day. Crap. Who better to be selected for the case of a suburban mom who snapped and (allegedly) murdered her husband?

I hurry to drop the kids off and run by my office before heading to jury duty. Unnamed Husband had informed me of the lengthy orientation, so I intentionally arrive 15 minutes late to find out that they have already ushered a third of the of the potential jurors to the courtroom for the selection of the murder case. Whew. Saved by the (tardy) bell.

My first three hours of duty were surprisingly delightful as I was trapped in the quiet library with wi-fi access, my laptop, to-do list and my book. The next three hours were not as productive. Panel 3 was ordered to the court room to begin selection for a medical malpractice case. Convinced I would probably be dismissed based on Unnamed Husband’s work in the medical field, I still had to endure watching the first 15 potential jurors be questioned. Five were dismissed for conflicts and ten others sent to the jury room.  Then of the remaining twenty left in the courtroom, my lucky number was called for questioning with 14 others. After a barrage of questioning, it was clear that I wasn’t as controversial as some of the others. The judge rattles off the list of the dismissed and I listened intently for my number that was never called. For a brief moment, I was honored to be deemed fair and impartial and then as I headed to the jury room, panic set in.

The bailiff enters and briefly describes what lay ahead: three days of testimony, mouth shut, ears open, phones off. Yikes.

A little after 5pm, we are dismissed and I quickly head for my car and call Unnamed Husband with the news. The reception in the parking garage was awful, but his aggravation is crystal clear.  I tell him about the trial and he tells me about his two hours occupying the kids in the backyard while the painters finish. Crapola. I totally forgot that our living room was being painted. It seems like days since I left the house this morning with rugs rolled up and furniture stacked in the middle of the room. I muster up the strength to remind him that I have a work event in less than an hour and that it’s a Halloween event and the kids need to be in their costumes. Just as I am wincing in anticipation of his reaction, a driver rear ends my car.

Me: I gotta go, someone just ran into the back of me.

Him: This day can’t get any worse.

Me: Yes it can. I don’t have my license. (On our lunch break, I ran to get my flu shot and left my license. The clinic called Unnamed Husband and he texted me to go get it. Which of course, I didn’t.)

I hang up the phone and survey the damage which was minimal. Unnamed Husband had told me to get a police report regardless of the damage and since I was treading lightly I insisted we do so. After 45 minutes, I realize that it is unlikely that I will make it to the event. That suspicion is confirmed minutes later when my car battery dies. The cop arrives, jumps my car and graciously doesn’t give me a ticket after I played the husband-is-going-to-kill-me card.

And thus begins my week.

Three days and $250 in babysitters later, I know way more about hernia surgery and polypropylene mesh than anyone with a BA should. By Thursday evening, juror number 12 is dismissed and the verdict is unanimous – Momma needs a drink!

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